The Barn

The barn,

     although young, 

sloped into herself.  

Where most barns

    crumble in straight 

lines, she softened 

    in curves.  

And although the fall 

     undoubtedly occurred in 

an instant, 

the appearance was such 

    that it had happened 

over many years of

    gently letting go.  

Certainly she didn't look like barns should.  

But her beauty 

    would make any 

warm body weep

   and draw them into 

The tender earth surrounding her.  

Tender Angles

The snow
             flake, so
                       soft, melts
                                      right through

The misplaced
              skin where
                           there used
                                        to be
                                              a breast

"Easier access
                   to the
                         heart," she
                                        says, floating

inward to
             the beating
                           and with
                                   first contact
                                                  expands, wrapping

Her angles
               around the
                             tenderness becoming
                                                              one
                                                                   with her.

The Most Daringest Thing

Is looking straight
into your eyes
the daringest thing
I have ever
done?

Perhaps.
Yes.

Because not turning
away from your eyes
roots courage and
now I look
into my own
eyes.

And I don't
turn away from
these soul windows.
Which is precisely
the same daringest
thing.

Perhaps.
Yes.

Prayer Leaves

The leaves
fall like
prayers, filling
my spiritual
inbox with

messages from
my teachers

and as
the rusted
yellow and
burnt red
soften into
the grassy

fingers of
the earth

my heart
expands into
the soil
of my
own body

with a
knowing gratitude
that is
the surest
and gentlest
confidence I

have yet
to know.

Your Voice

I scrinch my eyes and try to will your voice into my consciousness.
 - - -
But all that comes up is my own.
- - -
I could be sad.
And at times I have been.
Desperate, really.
- - -
And then gratitude
enters my head through way of my heart
and it surely wins.

I Look

I Look

I
Look
For
You

Every

Where

But
Then
Realize
The

You

I 

Am 

Searching
For
Is
In

Every

One

On A Tuesday

On Tuesday, yes, Tuesday, I will drive myself to Rhinebeck, New York.  I will enter into a new building - a retreat center.  I will meet strangers and I will sing with them; chant with them.  For the whole day.  This will be prayer and joy and space and connection.  I will listen to and join beloved voices: Krishna Das and Nina Rao; individuals who have given the greater part of their lives to devotion through song.

Last year, undoubtedly around this very same day, I went to a yoga class.  I don't think I had been in some time, it being summer.  During this particular yoga class, a voice came into my being.  A voice of compassion and unwavering love.  I was shocked by this and my ego was full of doubtful protest: "no way.  This is made up.  Listen to ME!"  

But the voice persisted and she said things like,

"I have been here all along and I will always be here.
No matter what.
I love being with you;
I have always loved being with you..."

I kid you not, in this very same class, while I was in shavasana my right hand moved over my left breast and I felt something that did not feel right.  My knowing body went into a different kind of shock - that of deep fear.  I cried then.  And I called the doctor the very next morning with a shaking hand.

In the weeks that followed, I recall a crisis of my mind/body.  The only things that could calm me were laying on the earth, doing a walking meditation where I would count 1-10 and then backwards 1-10, or washing the dishes.  And in the cracks between fear, there was just enough space for that sweet yet strong voice to emerge again.  Over the next nine months or so, I would both intentionally and unintentionally create space for this voice which required work and trust and patience and forgiveness for forgetting that she was there.  Always.  No matter what.  As she kept telling me.

I have read and could write many cliche things about this voice, but rather I will just stick with this: s/he is in all of us.  I know this for sure.  And we must make space for her in whatever way works for us.

And, sometimes, we must honor her; we must bow down to her.  For me, I will do this through singing to her and with her for a day.  And by singing to her, I will also be singing to the voice within every single one of us.  

Which is what I plan to do on Tuesday.