Soul

There Is
the You
that Is
a Fractal of
The Light
that Flashed into
All That Is.

Forever and Ever
a Perfect Beam

that Chose,
for a Time,
to Inhabit
the Flesh and Bone
Made from
Your Mother’s
Flesh and Bone.

Alive with
a Brain and
a Protective Ego
Shield that
too Often Draws
Its Life from
Fear,
rather than
Love.

But
You can Choose to
Be
The Light
that Is
You,

and Play
The Beautiful Game
of Dowsing
All You See
with
The Love and Laughter of
The Light
that Is
You,

and from this
Love Bath
will Emerge
The Glistening Spirit
that Is
Your One-of-a
Kind Soul.

(Photo by Omar Elsharawy: UnSplash)

 

Unbecoming

I’m Guessing –
No, I’m Willing to
Wager –

You’ve Spent Much
of Your Life
Becoming,

at the Urging of
Imagined Betters,

Some Thing
You Imagine
You are Not
Yet.

The Priests may be
The Worst,
with Their
Holy Books of
What You Must
Become –
Or Else.

But They’re
hardly Alone
in The
You Must
Become Better
Department.

What If
The Whole
Becoming
Enterprise Is
a Control Device, or
a Moneymaker?

A Dangling Carrot?
A Calculated
Behavior Modifier?

What If
You Already
Are?

What If
Unbecoming Is
What You Need
To Be?

(Photo By Quan Nguyen; UnSplash)

 

Q&A

I had Occasion
to Review
the Report of
a Traveller Who,
by nearly Dying,
Travelled to
The Other Side of
the Gossamer Veil
that hangs between Us,
the Earthbound Ones,
and the Home
to which
We Will Return

when We Cease
Breathing
Our Planet’s
thick Atmosphere
and Rise to Be
Greeted by
The Maker’s
Adoring, Cherishing, Grinning
Embrace.

The Traveller
was Allowed to
Return –
Her Choice –
to The Body
which She’d
become quite
Attached to.

But not before
She was Gifted
a Heavenly
Q&A.

She Questioned This and
was Answered That,
until She was at
Her Last Query:

“Oh, Maker,
Why did You
Make Us?
We’re rather an
Obstreperous Lot.”

The Maker Laughed.

“Indeed You Are,
But All of You,
My Precious,

Are Works of Art.

I call You
My
Eternal
Celestial
Collection.”

(Photo by Zalfa Imani; UnSplash)

 

Prodigals

You’ve heard
The Story,
even if You’re not
a Righteous Reader of
Holy Writ.


The Errant
Disrespectful,
Selfish Son
Who Strong-arms
His Father to
Purloin a Share
of The Family Jewels
by Abusing His
Birthright.

Then creeps Home
to Beg a corner
in the Barn,
to Sleep and Cower,
after Losing
the Jewels
in Faraway Flings.

To which
His Father grins
as wide as His Arms
stretch to Welcome
His Boy

to a Celebration
in which the Neighborhood
will Feast in Joy
at His Return.

I imagined my own Version
of this Parable of
Unconditional Adoration,

wherein Grandma offers
Her Cherubic Grandson
a Bowl of Chocolate Ice Cream,
served in a Bowl
given to Granny by
Her own Grandma.

But Little One
grabs the Bowl and
drops It,
Shattering The Heirloom
in His Eagerness to
Add More Scoops.

Grandma Smiles and
Scoops Him Up,
pulls Him Cheek-to-Cheek.

“No Tears
My Cherished Chickadee,

there are Plenty More
Where That Came From.”

(Photo by Jordan Whitt; UnSplash)