You Showed Up

When the Casting Call
went out,
You Showed Up
and told The Director
You wanted to Play
You.

Which Lit
The Director’s Face
like a Sunrise
in Paradise.

Because You were
Perfect
for the Part.

At the Audition
every Move was
Flawless,
as if every Line
was Written
Only for You.

I’ve heard
The Director
gives You a Single
Note
after every Show,

whether the Theater
was Full or
running on Empty,
whether You
stumbled over
broken Lines or
brought down
The House.

The Director always Says
Something like This:

Act as If
You Belong
Right Where You Are,
as if
You Own that
Stage,

Because You Do.

(Photo by Dea Tycor: UnSplash)

 

You Choose

Who will You
Attend To?

The Scribe
Who Imagines
a Maker of
All That Is
with an
Ego?

With a Desire
to be Worshipped,
a Command
to be Obeyed,
a Demand
to be Feared,

Or Else

be cast into
Darkness
teeming with
Demons
custom made for
Torment?

Or will You Hear
the Teacher
Who Imagines

a Father
with an Heir Apparent
Errant Son,

Who leaves Home
without a backward Look,
pockets filled with
His Father’s Gold,
eager to spend it
destroying the
Self Adored by
His Benefactor?

Only to come Home
pockets torn and
Empty,
Begging to sleep
in an empty corner of
His Father’s barn.

Greeted instead with a
Banquet of Celebration,
a Ring and Robe,
woven of Love
that knows Nothing of
Judgment or Consequence.

Which Story
would You
Like to Be Told?

(Photo by Chuttersnap; UnSplash)

 

Awareness

She Awoke
in Darkness,
day after day,
even on
the Brightest of Days.

Feeling like
an amorphous
Blob,
overhearing Passersby
commenting
to each Other
that She
needed to come
Out of Her Shell.

It felt like a
slow Death,
as if she were
consuming
Her own Body,
day-by-creeping-day.

One torturous day
She felt Her Self
breaking into
brittle pieces,
crack-by-crack.

She began
One Last
Striving Struggle,
One Last
Desperate,
Dangerous Dangling
over the
Disaster of Her
Falling.

But instead of
Falling

She Became
Aware.

Aware of the
Besotted Beauty
of Her
Sun-Orange
Wings.

And She Flew.

Are You Aware
of
Your Wings?

(Photo by Joshua J. Cotten; UnSplash)

 

Look At This!

I was sitting
on the couch
with My Maker,

morose and mawkish,
examining
all the Reasons
I should be
Ashamed

of My
Scared and Scarred
Little Ego,

“So Sorry,”
I said,
“for this
narcissistic, lazy,
underachieving . . .”

“Oh, be Quiet,”
The Maker said,
laughing.

And The Maker
thrust a
Light Hand
into My chest
and pulled out
a tiny,
burning,
Pebble of Brightness.

“Look at This!”
The Maker said.
“This is the
Part of You
that’s made of
Love and Light and Laughter,
that longs to Be
a Gift
to All That Is,
without Regard
to All that
Comparative
Claptrap.”

“I Adore This.”

“Now,
go give It
to Someone
Who needs It,
there’s Plenty More
where That came from.”

And then I Knew:

When The Wise Ones Say,
“Find the Divine
in Every Being,”

They’re talking about
That Pebble.

(Photo by Ben Collins; UnSplash)

 

Know This

You know when
You’re watching
that YouTube Video,
the One
that Makes You
pump Your arms and
hammer Your legs
in time with
that Wild Drummer,
and close Your eyes
and see Yourself
as that dancing
Rhythm Guitarist?

You know how
You Feel like
Your Heart will
lift You right out of
Your computer chair
and You’ll float around
giving random hugs
to your
sleeping dog
and blowing
Kisses everywhere?

The Joy
squeezing Your
Viscera
like a sponge
dripping Euphoria?

Remember
How That Feels?

Know This:

Your Creator
Loves It
when That
happens,

even More
than You do.

(Photo by Spencer Davis; UnSplash)

 

Just Be

When You Feel
Like It would be
Better if
You just Ceased
To Be . . .

Just Be.

. . . As If
You Broke
What You Were
Given,
In some Fit of
Childish Rage,
or
You Twisted In
upon Your Self,
a Narcissistic,
Comfort Seeking,
Selfish Centered
Fool . . .

Just Be.

Don’t Try to
Fix It.
It’s NOT
Some Thing
You Do.

Just Be.

Stop Trying
To Be
Like God.

No!

God Is
Being You,
Silly One.

Just Be.

(Photo by Anthony Tori; UnSplash)

 

LightWorks

Sitting at a Table
with Banana Bread and Coffee,
in The Dining Room
of a Hawaiian
Hotel d’Paradise,

I Imagine
a Cloud of Light
that Covers
and Inhabits
All That Is.

(I will Concede
the Ease of That
in This Place.)

If All That Is
is Made of
The Light of Love,

I have
Nothing to Hide from,
Nothing to Fear,
and
Everything to Embrace.

Knowing That

The Apparitions
that Appear
to Be
Dark and Dangerous

Don’t Have a Chance,

and Will At Last
Surrender

To This Cloud
of Light
That Is Drowning
My Table
In The Dining Room
of Hotel d’Paradise.

(Photo by Volcano Inn)

 

Wrestling

Suppose You wanted to
Spin a Yarn about
Love and Fear,
wherein
– Spoiler Alert –
Love Wrestles Fear
to the Ground
with a Move that begins
in an Embrace and
Ends with Fear
Pinned to the Mat,
Surrendering to Love.

Here’s a Yarn:

The Maker of
All That Is
Pours Divine
Love and Light and Laughter
into
Two Human Skin Suits,
then Plants Them in
The Garden of Paradise.

To Liven the Plot,
The Maker also
Plants two Trees:

One is Life,
with Fruit that
Smacks Their Lips
with Love,
The Other
bears Fruit that
will Sour Their Faces
with the Knowledge of
Something called “Evil.”

And then some slithering,
Lying Snake persuades
Our Divine Twosome
that Knowing Evil
will make Them Wise,
but It only
makes Them Fearful.

And hence
The Wrestle,
Love and Fear.

It’s just a Yarn,
but I submit that
We Light Beings
Love a Good Wrestle.

(Photo by Felipe Simo; UnSplash)

 

Come Out of The Closet

I see You
In There,
that Closet
You’ve filled with
Judicial Robes,

One for every
Occasion,
mostly Black, because
Judging Everything is
Such Serious Business.

Keeping Your
Motor Mind
revved up,
Hearing All The Arguments,
Considering all the Evidence,
constantly Preparing Opinions.

It’s Bad Enough
You’re handing Your Judgments
out Everywhere,
the Worst Ones
are The Judgments
You’ve taped to Your
own Forehead,
Blinding Your Eyes
so You’re stumbling around
Banging into
Everything and Everybody.

Have You Forgotten?
You’ve got
Another Closet
filled with Swimsuits and
Party Dresses and
Business Casual and
Motorcycle Jackets and
Hiking Pants and
Tuxedos, with Cufflinks and
Bright Bowties.

The Love that
Birthed You Into
This Playhouse of
a Planet
didn’t Mean for You to
be in Trial from
Birth to Death.

Come Out of the Closet.

(Photo by redcharlie; UnSplash)

 

Front Man

How do You
Imagine Jesus?

(If You do at all.
I understand.
He’s been kidnapped
by some Unsavory Types,
who want to pose Him
as a Judicial Officer.)

Maybe You see Him
surrounded by Kids,
crawling all over Him,
braiding dandelions
into His beard, or

Maybe You see Him
making sure
there’s enough wine
at the Party, or

cracking jokes
with a bunch of
Derelicts
hanging out
in the Park, where
He brings Them lunch
every day, or

Walking on Water,
daring His Followers
to join Him, or

pulling more lunches
out of thin air,
after hugging
The Little Guy who hoped
His Five Pieces of Bread and
Two Fishes would be
enough for five-thousand
Hungry Listeners.

How about this:

Could You see Him
as the Front Man and
Lead Guitarist
for an Indie Rock Band,
bouncing around and
flipping His long hair and
covering “Dreams”
by The Cranberries?

Why not?

(Photo by Joel Muniz; UnSplash)