Sonnambulism

This spiritual waking thing
is less about shaking yourself from a dream
and more about recognizing sleep.
If you can see the ways you fall asleep
unraveling the dream won't matter so much.

Of Course

There is a difference between being lost
and not knowing where you are going.
Only one requires a map.

Called On The Carpet

Love is not an emotion or an action.
It is a power; a force of unimaginable capability.
It is not something I can acquire or perfect....
not something I can get better at...
no matter how hard I try.

The most I can do is surrender to it,
get out of Its way and let It move through me.

And if  I can't or if I won't,
Love will not abandon me.
It will simply break me in two.
Split me wide open and spill me
all over the good carpet....
in front of everyone.

If I am wise I will go with it.
I won't apologize or rush to clean up the mess I've made
in the middle of the living room floor.
I'll lie there in pieces for a bit,
wrap my arms around my brokenness
and surrender to it.
I'll say, I knew this was coming,
and simply go with it.
I'll let it teach me, and show me, and heal me
in only the way Love can.

But if I am foolish I will pick myself up....
hurriedly.
I'll attend to the mess right away
and dash about in search of the strongest glue.
I'll dress to hide the scar
or better yet pretend it was nothing at all.
I'll have the carpet replaced....
definitely have the carpet replaced.
Or removed altogether.
Hardwoods!
Yes, hardwoods would be better,
easier to clean.....should it happen again.

No Body

If you find your nobody-ness in being somebody you are not awake.
If you find your somebody-ness in being nobody
you are not awake.
Discovering that to which you subscribe
does not awaken you, but simply
reveals the ways in which you sleep.
To awaken is the freedom from nobody-ness and somebody-ness.

Side Stepping

There is an intelligence that has nothing to do with learning.
There is a being that has nothing to do with becoming.
These move gracefully, in perfect step,
tripping only on the learning and becoming.

Blooming Madness

Something arises from the wet,
damp soil of my existence.
I did not plant it there.
I grows and I fool myself into believing
I can cultivate it and shape it
into something all my own

.....uniquely pruned.

I toil and sweat in the effort.
And then there is the endless weeding
that goes on around it.
As if it could ever be choked out.

After a while I show off my creation,
enter it for awards....the finest specimen.
And it wins....having no relation to that which rose
in the wet, damp soil of my existence.

I did not plant it there.