Take Back the Pen

I urge you
to consider
who has been
writing
your bio.

Beginning with
whoever wrote,
or even told you
in person,
from that pulpit,

that you
were born a
sinner.

Or the ones who
reported
that you could
be graded
A through F.

Are you still
reading
that faded
sheet,
hand-typed
on a Smith-Corona,
that your boss
handed you
on his way
to lunch,
that concluded
you lacked
an adequate
work ethic?

How about
that bio
that won’t let you
sleep,
that last hour
before sunlight,
as it weaves
nightmares of your
unworthiness?

Dream your Self
a new Bio,
my friend.

Take back the pen

and write that
you have sprung
from the same
Imagination
that only knows
how to

let there be
Beauty
from Light.

(Photo by Grisha Tadevosyan; UnSplash)

 

Ovation

You don’t need
anything.

Nothing.

You are Everything
You need
to Be.

You have been
since before
there was a
Before,

and You will Be
long after
The Hereafter.

Yet,
every single day,
new Lists of
What You Need
show up,
uninvited,

along with
warnings
about failure to

Do Be Do Be Do.

Your Question
should really be –
since You
asked to Play
this Game
exactly as You –

did You arrive here
in need of
repair,
damaged in delivery,

or is this the
Role of a
Lifetime,
from curtain
to curtain?

Every act a
character study
in the alchemy
of compassion,

an invitation to
transform
scene and prop
and dialogue

into grace
that belies
the need
for anything

but amazement
at the
standing ovation
of Love.

(Photo by Guillermo Latorre; UnSplash)

 

Party Time

If you knew
that You
transcend
Time and Space –

and by You
I mean that
Awareness
that has travelled
the Cosmos of
All That Is,
perhaps even last night,
while that snoring
kept your body
occupied –

when you
wake it up,
consider
throwing
a party,

with your favorite
music and
lots of cake.

Here’s who
I think
you should
invite:

Every
Fear
you can
think of.

I know You have
your Secret List,

but turn on
the Light
and start to
write

invitations,
to be
hand-delivered
to each one.

When they
arrive,
embrace them,
pull them close,
kiss them
on each cheek,
your hand in the
small of their
back.

(Photo by Nicole Herrero; UnSplash)

 

Daydreams of Art School

Perhaps,
as a Young One,
you daydreamed of
Art School,

but your Elders
insisted the Way
to The Top
ran through
laboratories or
law school or
calculus or the
supply and demand
of Economics 101.

But daydreams
can be relentless,
grinning at you
from between the pages
of your beach read, or
beckoning to you
from whatever screen
you use to watch
“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,”

until they persuade you
to wake up
in The Mystery,

to see you’ve
only ever been
in Art School,

and there isn’t
a birth or
a death,

a love lost
or beauty found
in hopeless heroics,

transcendence
discovered in some
bungled business
of one kind or another,

that isn’t Being
transformed by
your eyes,
seeing through Love’s Lens,

into a Wondering
how it is
that you
found your Way
into Art School
after All.

(Photo by Barara Froes; UnSplash)