Near the Bottom of the Soul

Is it possible to find myself my true self
so near the bottom of the soul--
so empty the echo rings off the sides of this space
like the pebble dropping into a well
dug by hand
by one experienced
in longing?

I am so near empty tonight
even tears are hard to bring up
as witness to a life
unworthy of reflection.
Why cry when the slate is so blank?
Why mourn a loss unrecognized by no one?
What meaning can be found in nothing?

Alone, unaccounted for,
no one waits to hear the reverberations,
the sound that comes again from a call
into the darkness.

Looking up at death
is so easy.
Looking back on this life
I step away into the darkness
relieved of the body
searching for something soft to hold onto—
a child’s hand in the depth of night
probing for the comfort of warmth
of the breast or some small, sweet gesture
of humanity.

Tonight I keep death close
as a reminder
to breathe.

Tulpa

I feel you breathing tonight
my hands resting on my heart and below--
my belly rising and falling toward each exhalation,
each awakening of this sacred knowledge of love.

Each night you come quietly,
your body curves around mine,
gathers me in from the day
of wisdom or sorrow
like the flowers, brilliant blue
and the purest white,
from a mountain meadow.
You, always gentle and strong,
find this path to me so easily in the dark
of this aloneness. The stars or moon,
some cool breeze or distant song of a wood thrush,
let you follow my voice to this new place where
the love of a thousand lifetimes comes alive again.

Each embrace, each exotic kiss lingers in every ignited cell of my body.
I am awake and looking into your eyes,
our heads bowed to the heart of the eternal
and the purple flame where we are transformed
into the mystery of all that we cannot understand at this moment.

Patient lover. Generous lover.
Place your trembling hand on my breast
and feel the heat of this desire.
You honor me in this way
as we are woven together,
fire and water,
by the universal weaver.

You come invited to the tips of my fingers, the curve of my neck
and the small of my back. You come to feast on sweet citrus, warm
bread slathered with butter and honey, and to drink my wine.
You must remove my soiled sandals,
wash my small feet in cool water,
and stroke my humanness with your compassion.
It is a sacrifice we both know from our lessons--
the teachings and the tasks being asked of us.
It is our duty to draw up this impoverished world by the hand
and embrace her, offering her the enlightenment,
the bliss of unconditional love.

the alter of living

I’ve been listening to a audio version of “A Year to Live”. It is very powerful to hear the voice of Stephen Levine reading the words I’ve read several times and tried to bring with me along this path. I’m realizing that there’s so much more attention I want to bring to this life I’m experiencing. The mind is so full of ideas about what should be. I want to be living in my heart and that open space that can bring so much more love and understanding.

I keep hearing Stephen’s voice tonight telling me to soften around pain and fear. I’m hoping that I can get that voice to stay with the mind and heart as I open to the possibility of really living in the present moment. I’ll just keep noticing the fire in the heart and the fluidity of the essence of what remains in my life force.

That’s the alter I want to live and die in front of.

heart wide open

June 1st

Love looks not with the eyes but with the heart. –Shakespeare

If love really looks with the heart, that’s where I want to be this month. I want to open my heart up over and over again to look at the world as if it were only through the heart’s eyes. My retreat was a place for me to remember what I know best about myself—I am centered, compassionate, loving, open, optimistic, whole.

That’s what June gets to be about. . .looking at the world with my heart wide open.

Love looks

Love looks not with the eyes but with the heart. --Shakespeare

Luna Moth at Mindfulness Retreat
26 May, 2007
Barre, MA

Sweet moon flier
captured by day outside my window
like a snapshot of the broad smile of a girl.
The crescent of the night
tempted you with happiness.

The breath of spring air
is on your green, feathery wings,
lightly reminding you of the dark
and the other breezes that brought you
here to me now.

Or, was that just a dream?
Imagined pure joy—
to be heaven bound
toward your true love,
round and full of peace—
a pregnant kiss on the cheek
of nothing but the hope of trying
again tomorrow.

Until then, rest here with me.
We will share the darkest longing together,
in love with what this waiting offers us.