Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Sitting My Own Shiva

For many years I sat Shiva for my own life and my own dreams,
Allowing in only good stories, so as to invite eternal peace.
Never would I allow others to tell me that I was mistaken,
That not all that had happened was worthy of fond memory.

I have only myself now with whom to share my fantasies
Of a life of love and sharing with all who crossed my path.
It is easier this way that listening to lying accusations
That seek to re-frame my history to fit another's stage play.

I know who we have encountered and given some of our sacred;
I am now at peace with hoping that my staying silent may help heal them.
I know our goodness wasn't false, though it has been turned against us,
As if we were stealing the very spirits out of the mouths of their babes.

The final words have been spoken. The casket is now closed.
No more will I suffer from seeing the accusations in their eyes.
How did I not realize that life among what are called humans
Is infinitely more dangerous than life among rabid wolves?

I will arise as a new person, this time with my spirit fully armored.
I have released the lies about myself and those who promoted them.
I see clearly beneath the shame and fear of my tormentors,
To my original strength and fully human dignity.

No more will I make excuses in the guise of forgiveness;
My silence has led others to overlook continued and great abuse.
It is not love accepted that heals all wounds; it is openness to loving,
That comes only with humility to accept our part in another's pain.

A heart that is closed to vulnerability cannot ever truly love another;
Because love, like conception, requires complete sharing of our energies.
How sad that we are taught that love is only ministering to others,
Without any acknowledgement that it also requires being ministered to.

How easily we give gods credit for our food, safety, and shelter;
It is easier than sharing in the pain of people who make these available.
If manna, loaves, and fishes actually appeared from the surrounding air,
Someone would surely have had to stoop to collect these miracle meals.

The scent of sweat from honest labor should be life's finest perfume;
Washing soil from work boots should fill us with gratitude for the work.
Signs of dogs that shed while watching over our children all night
Should become to us symbols of true protection partnerships.

What if fathers were allowed to catch their own new born babies,
And to wash the mother's sacred blood out of their almost open eyes?
Couldn't we reclaim shared parenting as a sacrament, like lambing,
In which all are in the effort to bring new life from the mother's pain?

We must give ourselves over fully to all aspects of life and creation,
Rather than sanitizing experiences and leaving others with the mess.
The greatest sense of peace on earth is completion of a cycle,
Sharing every aspect with a partner, from conception to afterglow.

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Can You Hear the Holy?

Can you hear the Holy in the whispering of the wind,
And do you still hear it as it roars through a thunder storm?
Can you see the sacred in an an puckish twinkle in an eye,
And do you hear it in a small child's tinkling, delighted laugh?

Do you feel baptized in the warm waters of the ocean,
And does garden soil marry your flesh to our shared earth?
When you cut an onion, do you delight in the tears it produces?
For tears wash in peace as they wash away our pain.

Does a fresh-baked cookie feel to you sacramental,
Especially when you know it was special made for you?
When you lay your weary head upon crisp, clean sheets,
Do you feel a bit of heaven is where you will spend the night?

Does the scent of your dog make you feel like you're home,
And do you love small boy sweat smells on your playing son?
Do little girl giggles and teenage code words delight you,
As you look on in wonder that they think they invented both.

Are all who pass your door welcome to share a cup of coffee,
Pull up a chair and throw unfolded laundry on the floor?
And what about the people who occupy your home?
Are their voices as precious as those on your telephone?

We no longer even take the time to make a full sentence,
Very little communication means anything personal, anyway.
Background noise, even mindless conversation and ritual,
Seems to drown all that is personally sacramental in its wake.

The scent of a babies breath as the babe breaths out innocence
Cannot be fully appreciated in the glow of a television screen.
The sound of sizzling onions and butter with their sweet scents,
All are carried away by the roar of the overhead vent fan.

What happened to our culture that we run from sun and pollen,
And never take the time to listen to spiritual voices of the trees?
We remove all natural foliage and hang up bird feeders,
Seeking to control even the flights of birds through international air.

How have our homes become so sterile, not temples of love,
Where we share homemade sacraments with all who come to us?
How have we humans become so crowded into empty spaces
That we can no longer hear the sounds of our own humanity?

When will we learn that no new animals should be born
Without the need for their efforts at creating work for them?
How have we not understood that war is fed by futility,
Humans without sacred vocations have no reason to survive.

Are we really ready to face our own, and our children's annihilation,
Because we refuse to understand the sacred scriptures of greed?
When will we realize that going forth and fruitfully multiplying
Has nothing to do with spreading our own physical seed?

I believe the object of human intellect is to help to implode the earth,
Not in ways that are negative, but in ways that feed eternal energy.
As we choose to leave our peaceful stamp on all that we've achieved,
We leave the resources we don't use to those still on an earthly path.

Monday, April 28, 2014

Each In Eternity

We're all pretending to be adults, which keeps us prisoners to childhood.
As we act like other than ourselves, we follow bigger and louder frauds.
The true self is that we discovered before being our six-year-old selves,
And adults began to imprint us with their own superstitious words and fears.

What they never told us is that they weren't, anymore than we, adults.
They were sending us out on an expedition to explore their own fears.
How were we so naive as to believe they were our protectors,
When what they wanted was for us to protect them from themselves?

Is it even possible to save all of humanity from this endless loop,
Or do we have to focus on protection and education of our own progeny?
I have chosen to direct my attention to only those with whom I share blood,
Hoping that each of them will share what I shared with each,  in eternity.

What a mess the men have made in shutting out their wives and mothers.
Who is left at home when they come home to heal their self-inflicted wounds?
I wish not to threaten you , but you must put down your weapons;
You and your brothers will be bandaged and fed while we heal you, one last time.

Those who ridicule your attachment to me are not offering you succor;
They are attempting to take your place at your own loving mother's breast.
Turn away from them and help me,  as I hold and heal all others;
We can, together, save energy for eternity,  if we work in partnership.

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Amidst the Matriarchs

How important my aunt's husband felt as he pulled out his method of payment;
How my aunt pretended that her old lion still had the strength to lead.
He regaled us with his glory days, as if her father hadn't held him up;
She acquiesced, as if neither her parents, nor she, had shored up his ego.

My father's father was jealous as my father's mother held him to her bosom;
She had already given one child back to a jealous and vengeful god.
Where was the woman he had chosen for his partner in life?
How was he to earn a living and eat without his strong woman's help?

My poor father and his brother were pushed away by their mother,
Who knew that they had to spread their own wings and fly away.
Their sister and her husband reaped the rewards of the sons who stay.
How many generations will suffer for their parents' disconnection?

How arrogant are we humans that we believe we began the planet
Though cosmologists have proven we are new to life in eternity.
It will not displease me if my grandchildren are the end of our era;
As long as what they leave in our genetic wake is positive energy.

The time has come in human history to free the females from fertility;
It has also come the end times of continuing brute strength in males.
There is no more need for endless offspring of witless children;
There is need for courage and wisdom in how to enfold eternal energy.

Friday, April 25, 2014

Endless Loop of Love

I suspect the first face of the Divine we see is the light in a parent's eyes.
This was denied to our babies in the days of fatherless, sterile births.
Our babies were born to brilliant light blinding them to all faces;
Robot-like doctors caught them and slapped them on their tiny butts.

The babies were quickly whisked away, after a brief glimpse of mother,
To be weighed and measured for any signs of less than physical perfection.
When our babies were finally handed to us, they were tightly swaddled
To discourage mothers from examining their tiny genitals, fingers, and toes.

Fathers were banned from participating, except during visiting hours,
Where they were encouraged to hand out cigars in front of a window of glass.
The first time a father was allowed the scent of his son or daughter
Was on the day that he was summoned to take his wife and this stranger home.

Babies didn't know that they were beloved above all others on earth
By these two vulnerable beings who would give their lives for them.
At birth, made part of a greater creation, without individual importance,
They were weened away from their parents by an angry, vengeful God.

My grandchildren were born into the loving arms of both their parents,
Who have never been other than vulnerable, yet loving, gods to them.
How humbling it has been to be allowed to participate in the process,
Knowing they are part of the procedures for setting our wounded world aright.

I pledged to do all in my power to protect my children and their progeny
From any and all influences that attempt to drag them back to our mistakes.
How hurtful it has been to watch them choose to walk  backward
To rescue beloved others left behind, in their family's progress's wake.

It is with eternal grief that I have set them free from further obligation
To celebrate with me that we have all, together, won the fight to survive.
Our celebrations, finally may have felt to them, like deepest betrayal
To those who are still married to their painful patriarchal security.

I have been asked to tell my stories of my triumphs and traumas
By one to whom I have connected over many thousand miles.
The growing pains of the women and families of my country
May give guidance to those still sacrificing their children to gods of war.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Production of Peace

Earth Day could be every day, if we would simply slow down;
We cannot cherish that in which we are never fully engaged.
What if we looked into the eyes of our babies as we fed them,
Instead of focusing all our attention on other activities in the room?

What if we really listened for true meaning as others speak to us,
Instead of treating conversations as mindless background noise?
It seems to me that even childbirth should be slowed down in families;
The human animal takes many years to become a responsible citizen.

What good does it do us to continue to create more life on earth,
While we assist in destruction of the environment to support it?
Instead of travelling to rural areas to teach them our ways of life,
Perhaps we should visit them to learn how to live happily on less.

It takes time and attention to appreciate what we already have;
Humans have the ability to dine with others, rather than simply to eat.
How often do we take the time to ask about the origin and treatment
Of the products to which we have such abundant access?

Do we ever take a moment to thank the steer who gave his life,
So that we may enjoy becoming one with his blood and flesh?
What about the bees and butterflies that pollinate the fruit trees;
Do we ever stop to thank them when we bite into a juicy peach?

What if every item we purchase carried an environmental impact label?
Would we then consume only what protects our grandchildren's earth?
We have been programmed to expect to have an excess of everything;
What is good for unfettered capitalism is destroying our own homes.

Poverty is, itself, a product promoted by managers of mindless machines;
Excess numbers of people are created and destroyed by corporate will.
There is no weakness in simply sharing appreciation with another,
Rather than proving supremacy over others by acts of ownership.

We have the ability to channel overwhelming awe into productive action;
Productivity has to be redefined as earth's protection and our appreciation.
How much greater would earth's future be if we measured human success
By how much peace and safety we generate in the most vulnerable societies?

Monday, April 21, 2014

Why Does Peace Continue to Perish?

Did a certain god choose the Jews or did the Jews define a certain face of a god?
It seems rather obvious that they did not all agree on the same face and voice.
With Moses, the people at least attempted to agree on a book of rules,
But even that was positioned by priests as needing their special intervention.

Why can't we be comfortable with the definition of the truly human species?
When will we recognize that we can all choose to be a face and voice of eternity?
The Jews were right that we become fully human through The Sacred Spirit,
Then many set out to define their god in the images of themselves.

How foolish are we humans that we seek to shut out immense intensity
By seeing our own faces in every earthly manifestation of absolute awe.
Burning bushes, parting seas, blind men seeing, walking on water
Are actually no more miraculous than every act of true earthly compassion.

The rules of sacramental relationships have always included each other;
Worshiping a separate divinity does nothing to honor our earth.
We are made to create sacraments in our everyday existence
By being fully in the moment of each action experienced physically.

Why does each generation continue to look backward for inspiration,
Denying the sanctity of those not of their blood or their beliefs?
All around us simple life sacraments are being shared
Every time one being reaches out to another in compassion.

Every morsel that is turned to physical sacred flesh for service
Is transubstantiation of the fruits of the earth to Sacred Spirit energy.
Each person who loving gives their bodies, sweat, and blood to feeding
Is serving as a priest in the vast community of this, our only earth.

There is no Jew, Gentile, Muslim, Buddhist, male or female in Sacred Spirit
There is nothing to fear when we share compassionately with all the earth.
Listening and learning, sharing one life with the neighbor next to us or far away;
We are given the ability to choose to manifest The Sacred Spirit on earth.

Be proud of your own priesthood, as you dedicate your own flesh and blood
To seeing and helping to heal the pain of another's present and past.
Each physical entity we encounter will forever hold our Spiritual energy
It is our own choice to leave the earth greater peace or more brokenness.

Friday, April 18, 2014

Passion to Pentecost

The passion of Jesus was not in his death, but in his great love of life;
It was in his heart always open to the secret joys and sorrows of others.
It was in The Sacred Spirit energy that radiated from his very being,
Infusing new hope and joy into every human he encountered on earth.
It was in his disciplined devotion to the future fulfillment of the universe.

There are 365 days in the year and we concentrate our spiritual energy on so few.
Jesus is born. Jesus is tortured. Jesus is dead. Jesus lives, and we forget his life between.
Jesus lived for over thirty years as an example of sharing the Sacrament of life.
Jesus suckled at his mother's breast and had teenage power struggles with his parents.
He was poor, but very bright, and drew friends and foes like honey bees and flies.

He, like we, ate; he drank; he bathed; he relieved his bowels and bladder; he slept like we do.
Most of his life was not dramatic; it was the life of a boy well-guided by a family of great faith.
He, like we, knew that all of life is a gift of The Eternal Sacred Spirit back to the universe,
And that every encounter with others impacts the whole of the earth forever.
He, like we, at the very end, wanted a few more fond moments with his best friends.

He, like we, gave his life everyday in sharing The Sacred Spirit of his human, earthly joy.
It matters not to me whether he actually walked the earth, or whether he performed miracles;
What matters to me is the miracle that so many have been affected by the stories of his life.
What glorious stories there could have been told by his mother. What happened to these?
How I long for a woman's perspective on this man that so many follow as their Christ.

The women who knew him would have talked about the small signs of his friendship,
And of the daily challenges and joys they shared in feeding his huge entourage.
How many women did it take to cook those miracle fish and bake the miracle bread?
They would probably tell less of the storms at sea and more about his strong kindness.
They would barely mention his torture and death because their words had died with him.

They would have silently tended his broken body and washed it with their tears,
Knowing that his Sacred Spirit would live in them and their world forever.
The women would not have had to see a vision of his risen flesh;
They would have already continued to see him and hear his voice without this.
It took fifty days of mourning before they could open their broken hearts to new life.

When they finally came together, the women with the men, to share their faith,
They were on fire with how much Jesus's Spirit remained in all of them.
What a feast they must have shared while experiencing the light in each other;
The sounds of shared celebration must have been deafening to their ears.
Imagine the Jewish joy in hearing that all the rules came down to only two.

So many who have gone before me live more fully in me now;
They had become part of my marrow with their influence on my life.
I still see and hear them in my most cherished memories,
Though I do also still feel the pain of where we most disagreed.
Daily life, death, resurrection, and, hopefully, a personal Pentecost.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

We Women and Patriarchal Potentates

I've interacted with many women,
Many of them from my distant past.
It has left me in a state of confusion:
As we claim the same religious base.

Can each of us have been taught the same,
While acting out the values so differently?
How many of us have had the courage
To stand strong and proud in our dissent?

I have been most upset with those who
Sneak around behind their "God's" back,
Pretending to follow the religious rules
That damn those they claim as family.

What friend or family denies bread or drink
To those holding hands with them on their path?
How can one say, "You must believe what I do,
Or I will not serve you my words or my wine?

It seems to me that the way to see into a soul
Is to sit and share the bounty of our earth,
Inviting all who pass our celebration
To bring their gifts and graces to the table.

No one has to believe in the goodness
Before they are allowed to taste a morsel;
Let each take a taste of everything offered,
Accepting all that pleases their own palate.

It does not harm my tastes or beliefs
If those sitting beside me disagree with them.
I am simply happy that they have allowed me
A glimpse into their, to me, exotic tastes.

What if we were all strong enough in ourselves
To enjoy differences that we don't fully understand?
What if we could say what you like isn't for me,
Without offending the giver of the gift or grace?

How much better our world would be
If we honored the values of each other,
Knowing that business and personal beliefs
Require different sets of rules and regulation.

I may never like the person who pays my salary,
But I must honor the values of his responsibility.
In my life outside business, I can experiment;
Responsibility, over myself and children, gives authority.

Mothers should have authority over their own children,
And fathers should preside over their own responsibilities.
But we should not listen to those who assume authority,
While offering no commensurate personal commitment.

I'm through with women who are "She who will be obeyed"
And the males who think they are patriarchal gods.
Relationships based on responsible compassion attract me;
There seems no religion that is based on that model.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Dare I Bungee Jump?

Why did I not remember so many women and so many names?
It was as if I had spent four years with only a handful of their faces.
Did so few of my high school class sisters impress me enough to imprint,
Or were only the best and brightest memories forever preserved in me?

One woman who I thought was extremely close to a grammar school friend
Seems to have lost all touch with this woman I thought was her sister.
A woman that I barely knew thanked me for a long-forgotten kind word;
Some seemed to still hold disdain for members not then seen as like-minded.

Does following a parental path and staying in one single-minded society
Forever lock us into childhood with our fears and beliefs held then?
Can one become truly reborn, destroying all past instinctual inclinations?
At what age do we become cast in stone, without ability to metamorphose?

These women who did not impact me enough to impact my memories:
Can I meet them again and have none of us affected by previous contact?
Do I have the desire or the energy to stretch myself any further 
Than the relationships that I already consider my reasons to live?

Is it our mission on earth to stay within a certain community,
Or to reach across boundaries and include all those we can attract?
Should I simply wait for those who seek out my companionship,
Or is it my duty to seek out opportunities that encompass the earth?

I may never know the answer, but I do seek to honor those
Who have worked at becoming part of my life and spirit.
May I never turn away one who wishes me a kindness;
To do so would surely deprive both of us of a new lease on life.

I will continue to expose myself to other human experiences
As long as there are people who invite me to come along.
This causes me no small bit of anxious anticipation
That I may create a climate where I owe another restitution.

May my deathbed be surrounded by only those who love me
And are ready to forgive me all the ways I have harmed them.
I want them to know that I did not seek their forgiveness
Only because I did not know that they wanted this from me.

I live in fear that I will harm others with my presence,
Often wishing that I could live alone in a dark cave.
How else can I feel sure that my life's energy will balance,
Leaving no more pain than peace from my presence on earth?

Ah, here I go again, as my mother said, with my great arrogance,
Believing that my actions could make a difference in this world.
Where am I to go from here, now that no vulnerable creature needs me?
I simply close my eyes and ears and jump off a spiritual cliff.

Saturday, April 12, 2014

My Metamorphosis

We are all priests as we honor each moment,
And make sacred each moment to which we are born.
Mindfulness is the method by which we worship,
The Universal Energy manifested in physical form.

Sacred Spirit is not limited by time, form, or space;
It is possible in all that we are and that we perceive,
Like a shape-shifter, one moment as a flower,
And at another, the baby sacred sex has conceived.

The Sacred Spirit, as held in bondage by religion,
Worship being denial of the abundance of earth,
Has stripped humanity of awe in physical creation,
Making sinful our own perfectly innocent births.

They have replaced compassion with judgement,
Preaching earthly perfection of their own design.
They imagine some vocations as wages of sin,
Their leisure as signs that they pleased the divine.

Collaborative work seems to be the only heaven,
All the earth honoring the contributions of others.
Isn't it time that we go back to the beginning,
Before competition between sisters and brothers?

What we call the knowledge of good and evil
May be the advent of jealousy and competition.
Humans can choose to reclaim collaboration
Before we create our own earthly oblivion.

We must stop believing that a few will survive,
When our lack of compassion destroys our earth.
All creation is interdependently formed,
Giving each creature equal intrinsic worth.

It is impossible for anyone to predict which action
Will tip The Eternal Universal scale to its end.
I prefer to live each day as if it is my last,
And treat each life form as a trusted friend.

I am ready and willing to become cosmic dust
That nourishes other life forms in the universe.
My personal metamorphosis of matter
Seems to be the reason I was given birth.

I have no dreams about how my energy evolves,
As I had no control over the form I was given.
I only work to bend my aura toward the positive,
And contribute this energy toward universal heaven.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014


It is time that we stop waiting for eternal forgiveness,
When we have hurt so many on our journeys through life.
Eternity is that which we already shared with others on earth;
It's not begun at the point at which we swear eternal sacrifice.

We all make mistakes, while some intend to visit evil on others.
Repetition is always the difference in how we impact eternal life.
Greed is the greatest of all evils visited upon our earth;
The confessions of parents won't, for children's ills, suffice.

Each child has ears that hear and eyes that see their parents;
The examples of parents are those that they're lionizing.
It matters not what the church and community leaders profess;
Parents lead their children by example, not by proselytizing.

Stop, all parents, from correcting your adult children;
Admit to your wrongs, and ask forgiveness of them.
Free them to follow the paths they have been given,
And hope that, in adult humanity, to be their friends.