How Do We Color Love?

Step out on a clear December night
and look up past the shadows of tall pine,
the shape of smoke escaping the chimney
into the white hot stars
and you’ll realize it is impossible
to describe the color of love.

Try, if you will, to make the mind move
into the rustling sweetness of happiness,
kick your feet through those leaves of joy,
rake them into a pile of pleasure,
walk away and turn quickly
to run back into ecstasy
only to fall heavily, confused
to the cold frozen ground of expectation.

When I was a girl I stretched out in the warm
green grasses of shaded June afternoons
and imagined myself into the clouds
above the Minnesota prairies.
I could get there,
a little bird of hope,
resting at the edges of that misty whiteness,
it was where I first knew the infinity of the soul
rested only in my young body for a moment
and then it learned it must rise up to the call
of our mother’s loving voice.

When you close your eyes each night
at the end of a long day of trying
not to be swallowed
by the grief of all the strangers--
by planting the healing mind in the center
of each suffering heart—
what color do you see?

If I am lucky,
if I pay attention to the collective breath
of the gentle universe
in the stars of one clear December night,
I see the brilliant purple Aurora Borealis
start at the edge of my dreaming,
the ripple of beautiful forgiveness
for needing to know again
that this kind of enormous love
has no beginning
and no possible ending.
The crimson of this blood
will eventually run clear
without the sacrifice of one more child
in this kingdom of grey forgetfulness.

Perhaps it will be here,
in this place of calm abiding,
we will remember
the color of love.

As If We All Matter

In the dream this life is becoming,
I can only go gently from day to day
consorting, and sometimes dancing
with angels.

These heavenly beings are my cousins
in this incarnation,
sharing stories about the vibration
of the stars in the fibers that make up
the essence of our hearts

And our minds fly like hawks
to and from the roosts
we’ve made in the stony places
overlooking the oceans,
gleaming and fresh as we find the quickest passages
to the places love needs us most.

How can it be that just yesterday we flew past the dark face
of a crying child without compassion
toward the breast of a mother
aching t nurse her sleeping son to health?

We open all compassion for all children in the nipple she offers
to those small, pink lips.

How can it be true that in the place I am from
could deny bread to the sad, hungry eyes of a neighbor
on the way to put out the fire at a stranger’s home?

We hold the cup of cool water
to the parched mouth of all.

What safe haven, safe harbor
will we douse from heaven
for all the suffering to bathe in laughter
and safety,
heal in the quiet pools of kindness,
if we only notice a single drop of dew
forming on the edge of a leaf at dawn.

I must be willing to talk honestly
with my sister angels
to clear the sky of all clouds and darkness of doubt
to fly straight into the fear and ignorance
that blocks our vision of the truth.
There is too much to be done to be anything less
than magic and miracle
with each beam of light approaching this atmosphere
searching for hope.

I reach out both hands
to the other dreamers waking and acting
as if the God in each of us
really matters.

Accepting the Invitation to Dine

Even the wisest of my handmaidens
don’t understand the way this vibration,
this movement that starts just inside my mouth,
at the place where my lips come together in a smile,
at the epicenter of where all things kind
have changed forever,
this pulsation of truth,
is the source of forever.

Right here inside of my mouth
the universe is transforming herself
into something wonderful.
My tongue can’t help but find the edges
of this miracle ready to explode into every cell
of my body—I’m ready to depart on this journey
to the cessation of light into light.

Who could have imagined this would happen to me
in this lifetime, with this set of maps that anyone else
would confuse for directions to nowhere. North is not
where it seems to be. The heart is the only compass available.

But you knew, from the first time you saw me,
in this simple form of woman sitting unaware
in a place of no significance,
even blinded by the illusion of beauty,
you knew that I would be here facing this lonely path.
You knew the words before I spoke them
because you’ve traced them under your skin,
you’ve wrapped your wrists like a prisoner
with the vows of loving kindness,
you knew that you’ve promised
a thousand lifetimes
to help me find my way.

I wouldn’t ask you again
to this same place of sacrifice,
our children and our honor on the line
if it didn’t matter so much to the birth of another reality.
I wouldn’t ask you again if I didn’t feel your heart
continue to beat in my own chest
when I only stop long enough
to notice one breath.
I wouldn’t ask you to help me
if I didn’t know that you are the last key
on the ring that holds the answers to everything.

I am packing my bags carefully now
one item at a time. You know how it is
to leave again the place that has become home.
Why wouldn’t I want to choose carefully the garments
I’ll wear to the place we will meet.
Each morning I bathe as if I were the bride
preparing for my groom, careful to smooth
the roughness of each weary foot, arranging
my hair and perfuming my skin with goodness,
ready to accept the invitation to dine at this shared table.

There is no hurry now because I am no longer confused
about my place in the future or how to get there.
I have meditated quietly and have been answered.
You have opened the doors fully to the truth.
I am waiting for that love to bring you home.
This is where you will remember how to love me.
This is where we will openly seek our thanksgiving
and rejoice at the abundance we’ve become.

Circle

How can I tell you about the dimensions,
the circumference of these colors and fractions of fragrance
in these places that are no longer flat,
no longer round like the curves
of the horizon,
only wave after wave of life
crashing blue, green, and healing purples
against my skin.

The sky is constantly changing in front of my watchful eye.
I have learned to read these clouds, the graying smoke signals
of change, the dreams of all the people I have been—
the love that pounds messages from stone.
Delicate petals on the white places of promises.

You circle my mind like silver
wrapped around the small bones at my wrist,
priceless, with delicate instruction
in how to take a vow.
The heat of this sincerity burns my flesh
with truth. Ink pointed under the surface of cells
helps me remember even when the body is gone.

What kindness did I lay at your feet
when you were lost
to bring this unconditional desire?
Foamy resistance to nothing
as the quiet lapping of this miracle
slowly erodes my resolve,
breaks my heart open, gushing with thankfulness.
This is the fountain where I offer you
everything I will ever be.

Wise circles of jade and gold, pink quartz,
stone and metal unite in the breath we now share.
Come find nourishment here under this wing.
Come here to the place where the swirling universe must stop,
stand completely still
and bow to love’s absolute power.

The Force of Love

Your story about the hip of the woman
stretched out, sleeping next to you
is hiding in the corner of my mind this morning.
I call to her from this rocking chair
wondering where she’s gone to
in her too quiet play.
You said you put your mind
to that fleshy place—
a healing mind that brought warmth
and the tingle of life to those curves
you attach yourself to.
No wonder you prefer that place
with the strong arms that enclose you in embrace.
I have nothing to offer you
from the drafty attic of the ghost I am becoming.

The force of love isn’t what we all think it is—
hearts with the richness of the darkest chocolate
rolling on our tongues, fragrant fruit or the swoon
of red wine, a hand
brushing a wisp of hair
from the flushed cheek, replaced
instead by long kisses
leading to the bed of shared grace.
No, that is not what you would find in this sanctuary,
empty of any warm prophecy,
only the flight of the soul exiting the vessel
again and again, night after night alone.

You comfort me,
patting my shoulder with your words,
kind with the reminders you are witness to this leaving.
Sometimes I think you might like to join me,
book passage on the same steamer
across the great waters of time.

But then there are those hips
and the gatherings around the fires
that draw you back
to the recognition of the healing of laughter
and the promises of more
made to your children.

I close my eyes to that longing, the tightening
fist around the thing not offered to me,
and begin to sing another song.
This song sends what is left of my generosity
to encircle your head with the crown
to my small, yet royal, domain.
Here I can offer you
the remains of the riches
I have gathered
and must now leave behind.

This kind of love
is the only inheritance you or I
will ever require for that safe passage
past the gates of forever.
The apple orchards blooming
with delight as we enter.

There are only three things
that are important in a life.
The first is to be kind.
The second is to be kind.
The third is to be kind.
–Henry James

Everything Has Changed

I can’t remember when the things of my old self started to fall apart
to where they are now—where everything has changed.

This is not to say
that my life, from the outside, is much different.
My children are happy
and growing up
as children will do
if we are lucky—like I seems to be today.
I haven’t decided to leave my current husband—
though I often plan my escape route
for when he will have me no longer.
I wake up to tea with cream, drizzled with maple syrup
each morning grateful for my tall cup of goodness
as I watch the seasons change around the white pines
of my windows in the woods.

But everything has changed.
Every cell in my body has been replaced by a knowing,
brick by stony brick,
toward a stairway to a home
I’ve never seen.
Each exhalation
I am shedding my old skin
from the inside of my snake self out,
layer after layer gone
until I crawl, naked
of any knowing.

There is nothing to say of this loss.
I am a neutralized solution, condensing again
toward a droplet of pure truth
on the tongue of God—
a waiting tear of joy and forgetfulness.
Until I am ready to fall
into that great nothingness,
I must remember to be kind.

I must walk gently
in the midst of mere mortals
without disturbing the myth
of the importance of the mind.

As my feet touch the wooden floor
of daylight, I am reminded
to be grateful for the lack of pain I might find
in the world, my ripple on the surface of the pond
of compassion
bringing comfort to everyone,
on even the most distant shores.

And, when the time finally comes to depart
and my shining key of kindness locks the door
behind me one last time, I will gladly place that glowing hope
in the hands of my loving family of friends,
my palms and pockets free
to scatter the seeds of goodness
along the path of searching,
feeding the birds
and small creatures
that will heal all of tomorrow—
making my way without words
clear as a dark December sky.

Unbreakable

In this new body
I descend the familiar stairway
into hell again,
past the snake of temptation,
sharing the secret password
only snakes can know--
Eve’s lesson still fresh
in my mind.

In this new body
I gladly walk the plank,
swan diving,
back flipping,
into the depths of redemption
pulling hard at this thick water
toward the pearl
hidden from my view,
my lungs filled
with the heat of holding
until my face can break surface,
gasping for just one more
bite of sweetness.

In this new body
I am learning to strip myself
naked of fear,
bind my feet first.
then hands together,
with faith in knowing
the oncoming locomotive of future.
In this speeding light
and trembling place
I lay my willing nature
down on these tracks
waiting under calm
for this accident
to release me.

The planets know this body of light
like a sister. They have orbited
my soul for a million millennia,
watching this cycle,
this rebirth like late night reruns,
sleepy in the artificial light
of illusion, faces glowing blue
through the windows of the universe.
They are tired and waiting for real rest to come
or for the surprise of something new
to watch.

In this new body
smoking fresh from the fire of creation,
crawling, clawing, with my nails dirty,
embedded with the earth,
I gather the remains of wise old blood,
compassionate flame,
struck new again
to light the way
of a new set of footprints.

And what of my love for you, sweetness?
What I would give to exchange
just one true kiss.
From this place of passion
I would turn us to stone,
frozen in time,
longing finally captured,
contained in the unmoving
marble of these two
unbreakable hearts.