All That Must Be Done

The day ambushed the percussion of the rhythm of my body
like the legacy of all women who endeavor to accomplish anything.

My plans are quashed,
extinguished

in the fracas of all that must be done.

Acceleration, in this instance,
does not assume anything
that won't also be overcome,

like the runner at the end of a long race

by a few deep and steady breaths
from the observer's perspective
and silence from deep within
the inner room.

Finding Each Other in Love

Remember a time before we were withered,
tethered to the earth

full of questions and quizzical prodding
of the truth from quince
and from the haunches of humanity.

Remember a whisper in the dark
like a child calling out from the depths
of a bad dream or for a drink of water.

Repeat the chant
over and over again
until you remember
what it all means
to be completely awake.

This is where we find God
and each other
in love.

Swinging Pendulum

Sidle up close
In the glade of this new spring
And,perhaps, burrow
Into the chasm
Where we all watch the pendulum
Swing and flow in rhythm with
The moon and her desire.

Violaceous

The color purple
scales my mind,

the abrasions of my past
healed by the coiled auora
of the heart.

These flagrant gestures
of love are unstoppable
and surrender only
to the Beloved.

Each day we muddle along,
jostling the tasks that boggle
the heart.

The mind makes out like a bandit
with deftness to follow the twists and turns
of too much to do. It is in that over done labyrinth
that she is in her element.

This breach of trust
between between heart
and mind is inevitable.

The heart is wiser
and secure in the fullness
of life forces at the edge of grace
where the sea touches the earth.

Nothing can steal the wealth
of that place where God breathes.

At Ease

On days I am jumpy with jitters,
like a new contestant on the game show, Jeopardy,

waiting for the hazard of the wrong answer
to throttle me

I say a prayer
a million times, the benediction
to the rest of my life

"My servile ways are over."

There is a harmony that reverberates
to the sound of that simplicity
of taking charge of all that is in front of me.

There is no one to blame,
no one to blame me.
I am responsible for my own way
with the help of love alone.

From that perspective
my heart slows, my breath is even
and fills my belly
with life. My shoulders fall loosely
into their sockets and I am ready

to fall into step and conversation
with the Beloved.

This yoke is so easy.

The Beloved Arises

These cavalier thoughts
are the tincture imposed
strictly as an overbearing father

with a beautiful daughter,
fair and pure
as any damsel
to be protected,

the quill of her body
expressing itself
in words of a defiant child.

But the Spirit is God's centrifuge,
reducing the mind to chanting
until the Beloved arises

and takes the day by the hand
like an ordinary rosy sunrise.