Come with me into the expansive gift of poetry to experience a disruption of habitual ways of thinking and perceiving. The magic of poetry happens when it is spoken, heard and felt as vibrations in your body.
Things don't happen for a reason
Life doesn't need a reason
It simply blooms forth
With breathtaking chaos
Rains down on you
With senseless beauty
And immeasurable heartache
You can make up stories
If you like
About why things happen
The way that they happened
You can close one eye and squint
To make up patterns
You can tell stories of
Or you can simply stand naked in
You can realize nothing
Will ever really make sense
Not if you're really honest
Not if you're truly listening
Nothing happens for a reason
Yes, this is the truth
This is it
There is nothing else
But your own heart
Your own heart
The eruption of stars
That is this radical emergence
Of soul in body
Of breath meeting sky
There is nothing else to look for
Maybe it didn't work out for the best
Maybe it isn't an unfortunate mess
Maybe no great spirit is helping
Anything go your way
With no holy plan
It is sacred
Just as it is
Its power and innocence
Require no justification
Its perfection requires no meaning
Other than what the Rose
When it blooms
Here I am
Here I am
Here I am
Here I am
- Maya Luna
When i had finally had enough
of my own endless,
I made my promise to do better.
I turned around.
I journeyed backward
for millions of miles
and millions of years
into the end
of miles and years
to retrieve these words
You must be the one
to do or undo
whatever it takes
to remember and activate
furiously prolific heart,
and your innate allegiance
to every creature living
and dying here with you.
Our whole world is aching
to be intimate with you
when you make it
- Brooke McNamara
You didn't come here to get mangled
by the gleaming machinery of the Mind.
You didn't come here to get welded and forged into a
Republican, Democrat, Sunni or Shi'a,
to get angry at your jagged shadow in broken glass,
or see your own reflection as approaching disaster.
You came to be astonished by a dust mote.
You came to find the Maker of all things
embodied in a dandelion.
You are here to be torn by laughter and pain,
then healed by the tang of a berry
on your wild tongue.
There are no right angles, no straight lines
in the serpent body of the earth.
Valleys, rivers, and hills are the only borders.
Dark-eyed Mother Raven looks down
and sees them as restless waves in the ocean
of Holy Matter.
What makes this planet sacred
is the unfinished circle, not the wall.
What guides us is the wayless curve
in a labyrinth of fallen alder leaves after the storm,
a cloud that stains the soft rice paper sky,
brushstroke of geese in flight.
Why waste another moment arguing
for or against
when you could slip back down a beam
of breath, soft as moonlight,
into the silent radiance you Are?
- Alfred K. LaMotte
inside of you right now there was
the precious treasured long-awaited radiant beloved You,
just waiting to be born...