Lineaments of Love

A Cadre of Accusers,
in Service to Fear,
Assail You.

Prosecutors,
Accusing You of
Terminal First Degree
Immoral Slackerdom,
in multiple counts.

The Threat is
You will be Convicted,
Your Identity as a
Layabout
Exposed for All
to See.

But Wait …

You are a
Light Being,
on an Adventure of
Experience,
Cloaked In Flesh,
Hiding in
the Assumed Limitations
of Five Senses,
to add Degrees of
Difficulty.

But, when Called Upon,
You can Unveil
The Divine Spark that
Lights You Up,

Shine It in Fear’s Eyes,
Beam Your Self
at Your Tormenters
Until They Flee.

Tell Them
They can Return,
In Fact You’ll
Welcome Them.

But only when
They’re Dressed as
Teachers,
Prepared to
Take an Oath to
Follow the Lesson Plan
You Prepared before
Your Birth,

Exchanging Their
Fearsome Costumes
for Lineaments of
Love.

(Photo by Prateek Gautam; UnSplash)

 

Lights! Camera! Action!

Imagine
You’re a Filmmaker,
a regular Camera Artist,
and You’re Making an
In-Real-Time
cinéma vérité
of Your
Quest

for the Book
of Truth
that drops from
The Shelf
into Your Eager Hands,
The Prophetic Practice
that Propels You
Up The Mountain,
Where You Know
You’ll Find
The Guru
Whose Beatific Smile
is The Harbinger of
The Word
that will

Cause You to
Inhale Heaven
every Time
You draw a Breath.

Imagine
You bring
Your Camera to
the Entrance to
The Cave of Truth.

You aim the
Spotlight at
The Guru
and

It’s You!

Aha!

Are You Ready to
Begin Filming
The Sequel?
Now?
In Real Time?

(Photo by Jakob Owens; UnSplash)

 

Plus One

You were Invited
to the Party and
the Invitation
specified You were
Welcome to be
accompanied by
a Companion,
a Plus One.

As Usual,
You had little
Choice
In The Matter.

As You donned
Your favorite
Habiliments,
hoping to Hide
inside zippers,
behind buttons,
beneath bright fabrics,

Fear appeared and
draped Its arms
around Your neck,
Whispering the usual
Warnings.

“Remember,
You have the Right
to Remain Silent,
to look for
Hiding Places,
to slip away from
the Small Talk and
Garrulous
Gratuitous
Chatter.”

But this was not
As Usual.

You peeled Fear
from Your
Sovereign Self.

This Time
Your Plus One
would be
Love,

Grinning at You
in the preparatory Mirror,

Alight with
Devious Designs
to turn
Gratuitous Chatter
into the
Semantics of
Soul Embracing Soul.

(Photo by antenna-ZDN; UnSplash)

 

The Science of Love

I stare out
the rain-stained
window
at green fronds
doing a slow dance
with wind
running its
warm fingers
across the soft
cheeks of leaves
still damp from
being licked by
impertinent raindrops
and
remember that
Mr. Science
taught me that
all these frolicking
flirtatious dancers
are really
trillions of
infinitesimal bits of
electricity
not much different
from
the charged bits
that form my
hungry eyes.

That all these
charged bits
can be measured by
the Speed of Light
multiplied by Itself.

But Wise Ones
invite Us to
remember that
The Light is
made of Love
that is
The Breath of
All That Is
and
remind Us that

the only Sin is
to imagine there
is Anything not
made of
that Love.

(Photo by boliviainteligente; UnSplash)

 

Being

You Will Be Told
You Should Be
more Sociable,
more Involved,
more Community Minded.

You Should Be
less Quiet,
less Inclined to
Sit in Your Corner
Reading, or
Swiping on Your
Screens,

You Should Be
more Sensitive
to the Feelings
and Mood Swings
of Others,
more Willing To
Consider Beliefs
that Do Not Align
with Your Own.

More Often Than Not
You Will Be
The One
Telling Your Self
What You Should Be.

But What If
You
Are a Ray
of Pure Light,
Luminous With
the Love
that Forms
The Light
that Created
All That Is,

Always Have Been,
Always Will Be,
So
All You Need Do Is

Be.

(Photo by Omid Armin; UnSplash)

 

Wavelengths of Light and Water

If You Knew
that All
is made of
Love,

in One
Form or Another,

much as
a Rainbow
is a Prism of
Light and Water,

in One
Form or Another,

separated only
by the Velocity
and Artful Variety
of the Dance Steps
of the Waves of
Light and Water,
when Measured
by Lengths;

If You Knew
that All
is just such a
Prism of
Love,

Measured only by
Vibration,

Why would You
Fear?

And,
for Heaven’s Sake,
Why would You
pay any Attention
to Anyone
who tells You
to Fear
God?

(Photo by Austin Schmid; UnSplash)

 

Wakeup and Daydream

When was it
You left the Door
to Your Holy
Inner Sanctum
open?

Where You keep
Your Canvases
and Paint Brushes,
Your Pens and Ink
and Manuscripts,
Your Movie Cameras
and Dancing Shoes,
Your Costumes and
Makeup?

When did the Cadre
of Drill Instructors
march in
with plastic bags
and garbage cans
and scoop and sweep
until all that was left
was a bare floor

just big enough
for a desk and
some filing cabinets and
a To Do List?

Where You once
Danced on Tightropes,
Swung Words on
the Trapeze,
made Movies
of Bare-legged Beauties
on Bareback Horses,
and Painted
Circus Clowns
with too much Lipstick?

Now You mostly do
To Do.

Is it Time to
Wake Up and
Daydream,
show The Drill Sergeants
the Door?

It’s not
Too Late to
Run Away and
join The Circus.

(Photo by Raphael Maksian; UnSplash)

 

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)