Regret

You heal me—
burn bright
behind my eyes, each holy kiss
rearranging the cells,
all the molecules of a body
that has forgotten love.
This secret chemistry
heats inside us,
boiling at nuclear precision,
firing exactly
as predetermined instructions read. . .
iron of my blood
and oxygen of my breath
combine carbon
and silver rings around each finger—
encircling the lobe of an ear
and turns the mysterious
into solid, shining gold.

Purple flame, magic flame,
I have invited you in
to the sacred space of my heart.
Thankful transmutation
moves what cannot be moved
in one lifetime
into the spirit world.
This is not the lavender
or lilac of spring, but the eternal
color that permeates my soul.

You bring me closer to God.

I am a witness of your power
standing still at the entrance
to Nirvana.

Mark me with that white, cleansing heat.

* * *

How I resist this bond now,
the one forged in gold
that sits, staring in judgment
at me each day,
mocking the promises
I’ve made,
my hand heavy with regret.

Who was I then,
the woman with such certainty
of a future filled with abundant laughter
and a satisfied heart?

It was folly to wager on happiness,
knowing what I knew
about the statistics,
the imperfected formulas
for this kind of chemistry.

Today I want to cast off these invisible chains.
No one else can see them anyway.
There is no loss
that cannot be healed
by freeing myself from a false hope.

There is only freedom in the acknowledgement
of constant change.

* * *

Each waking these days
I am more and more aware
of what is right in front of me.

Each breath
a meditation.
Each step forward
an opening up of the universe--
to change that brings peace and hope to my heart.

If I concentrate with my eyes
on the dew forming into droplets
on a blade of grass
sliding down,
soaking deep into the earth
right outside my kitchen door,
or if I direct my heart
to open
to letting love rush in
like a great thunderstorm
waking me from my sleep

it is all the same.

I can’t ignore the calling to this prayer,
this place of steady, smooth sound.
I am a singing bowl
perched lightly on an elegant, red pillow
calling what can not be seen
home to the fire,
home to rest
for an eternity of knowing.
This is the truth
each soul is searching for
in a thousand lifetimes of searching.

I open my mouth,
smile,
and I am filled again
with undeniable love.

Transmutation

Transmutation

Come and find me
when you discover
where love begins,
where love ends—
when the elements
that make up your body
and my body
are not a betrayal,
but an opening to the great
knowing of all the ages.

Run to the dark corner of the universe
if that is what you must do today.

It does not matter. Love
will find the opening--this door,
in this life, or the next,
or the one after that.
It is then that the atoms
that make up your spirit
will understand
who you are
as a great lover,
the bringer of some small peace
to a world confused
by the expectations
of a false pride.
There is no ego here.
There is only the transformation
of the world from fear
into the golden flame
of love.

Love

I can’t do it today. I can’t make my face look happy. If this were my last year, this would be a sad weekend of loss. I should have been overflowing my joy for celebration of my son’s second birthday and for digging up the ground to get ready to plant. I just couldn’t get myself to that place.

What is it about life. . .when everything should be wonderful, happy, content and it doesn’t seem possible to get there. So much of my life, when it is unhappy, is about being confined by people’s expectations or the norms of our culture. Left to my own patterns and opinions, I’d be happy most of the time. If I could ignore what other people tell me I’m supposed to think and feel. . .I’d be left without that veil of doubt.

Let’s talk about love for a minute. A friend recently asked me about being “in” love. I told him I didn’t really know what that meant any more. As I learn more about the world . . .there’s nothing I know about American “love” that fits. If I am left to my own thinking and feeling, I can often get filled up with love for my children and for my friends. I can find good boundaries and outline this life with lots of love. But “in” love seems to be something more of a function of our cultural expectations. . .Hollywood. . .In love for me is about being so filled with love that I start to overflow into a spiritual/sexual/physical expression that is about an unexplainable connection. This love can’t be contained in words or a common life of adoration. . .it spills over into the passion of creation and connection that can only be absorbed at the spiritual level. I think I’ve been “in” love a few times in my life. I am just not sure my evolving definition fits with anything I meet these days. There’s no definition that fits in our culture for the person I become when I think of that kind of love. It isn’t who I am as a wife. It is more of who I am as a mother or a friend. It is much more expansive than one relationship—sexual or not.

Today I want to tear down my expectations. Today I want to take down barriers and untie myself from any kind of rule that makes love smaller. I want to be open to the possibilities of something much greater that what is available to me now. I want the universe to rush in to all the empty places and fill me with joy that knows nothing of fear or disappointment. I want to be ignorant to everything but love.