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No Idea

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I had no idea
so I went to the bones,
the skulls, and the dirt;
seeking counsel from those
who had gone before me

- silence -

Perhaps, like the simple child,
I did not even know
how to ask the question –
I spoke my heart
confused and stumbling and
more than a little bit
awkward –
indeed, this is why I sought their wisdom
in the First Place

- silence -

Some kind of snarky ancient master?
“The answer lies within you, Grasshopper”
telling me this
by telling me
Nothing.

Not helpful.
I found a trance
I let go of as much as
I could let go
and I looked
and I stumbled
more than just a little bit awkward
I had gone within

- silence -

So I went to the trees
to the Green Ones in the cove
seeking counsel from the ones
who had seen the beginning

- silence -

In cahoots with the bones and skulls and dirt
no doubt
a conspiracy
of mystery
to deny me
of clarity

In the darkness, I closed my eyes
perhaps when there is naught to hear
there might be something
to see

An emerald green light
seeped into my field of view
displacing the darkness;
I welcomed it
hoping this was the trees speaking
in light.

Eagerly, I waited.
The green light filled my sight
the sun had appeared to me
deep in the night
YES! Bring me the light!
please

Illuminate the way
so that I might
no longer
stumble

- I waited -

Gold gave way
to green and
back to gold again
like a child taking first steps
determined and hesitant
halting
and falling down
a lot.

Unable to walk tonight,
I laid down to sleep
perchance to dream
of green and gold
of bones and skulls and dirt

And I awoke
No clearer than the night before…

I guess I should just
go talk with her.

© 2013 by Daniel B. Singer

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We Are The Temple

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We arrive
knowing and not knowing
… whether we are the seeker or the oracle
… the priest or the parishioner
because the answer
is “yes”
And we are also the Temple.

Our Service
a sacred and spontaneous
temporary confluence
- of fire and breath and water and pulse and motion;
- as fleeting as it is eternal
- burning bright in the night
- and gone in the dawn;
Fluid as our blood
Solid as our bones
Transient as our breath
And eternal as our spirit.

Our heartsong is our liturgy
And in this Temple,
We are each other’s priests and priestesses
Irrevocably ordained at birth
By the simple virtue
Of being alive.

Our Service runs
until it’s done,
when darkness
gives way
to Light
… be that at dawn
… or in the night
We just know
when the time is right

Then we depart
and return to our other Homes
Knowing and not knowing
… whether we were the priest or the parishioner
… the seeker or the oracle
Because the answer
is “yes”
And we were also the Temple.

© 2012 by Daniel B. Singer

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Fuckin’ Poetry

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by Amanda Giles

 

Fuckin’ Poetry

 

I’ve been wanting to write me some

I’ve seen those cool cats on the TV

and thought – why can’t that be me?

I can walk and chew gum

I can pat my head and rub my tum

I ain’t dumb, but usually

the words won’t come.

 

Fuckin’ Poetry

 

Sometimes I make the time

I sit with my pencil in hand and I…

stare blankly at the wall.

I feel rushed so I try to force it out

Try to get some movement,

but my thoughts are just constipated

 

My mind has a vision of how

the poetry will look and sound.

It will be big

It will be profound

It will be both inspiring and self-effacing

It will be comedic and pure

and sometimes…unsure

 

Fuckin’ Poetry

 

In my mind, I will deliver it like the sassy urbanite

who was born knowing more than you

and who has more attitude than Doctor Who.

I will get every intonation just right

so that when I am done -

you will see the light.

 

You see last year here I rocked a piece,

but the words were another’s I couldn’t keep.

I promised myself then,

I was going to write some words to throw down

a poem or two I could truly call my own

And through the past year

I did scribble and scratch,

but I wasn’t pulling no rabbit from my hat

 

Fuckin’ Poetry

 

Now the night before Spiritfire

I lay in my bed

running over my lists,

crossing things off in my head.

I felt sure I had drifted -

I know that I had.

Then unbidden the thoughts came racing through

not what to pack or things to do.

I tried to tell myself – this really won’t do

Don’t you know that it’s quarter of two?!

 

But the muse can be fickle

and my promise was still unmet

So I climbed out of bed -

grabbed my robe and a pad

and I scribbled this poem that you have now had

And I said to myself – That wasn’t half bad

 

But I can’t end this poem

without throwing you a bone

Something to gnaw on

and take home for your own

So here it is…

This message is true.

 

Fuckin’ Poetry

if I can write it, so can you!

 

© 2011 Amanda Giles

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HipGnosis

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HipGnosis I

Allow your eyes to close
I will guide you.

B r e a t h e.

Walk with me
Through the forest
Over the water
Into the sky

Follow the sound of my voice
As it travels from my lips
To your heart.

L i s t e n.

Do you know where you are?
Have you been here…before?

What does it smell like?

Allow your spirit to play
And sing
And dance

Touch your face
Do you recognize the shapes of joy?

You should.

I am not going to hypnotize you
You are not getting sleepy

You are completely
A w a r e

You are ready
to begin.

***


HipGnosis II

Have you ever felt
Larger than your body?

Y o u a r e.

You are everything you can see
You are everything you can touch

Your skin
is just
a
f o r m a l i t y

You are much bigger.

Have you ever noticed
That you can see things
With your eyes
C l o s e d ?

Have you ever wondered
Why this is so?

Have you ever tried
To go from here
All the way
To there

Without moving?

You can.

You don’t need me
to guide you.

J u s t g o.

****

HipGnosis III

It’s alright
If you don’t know
Where you are

As long as you
are not
L o s t.

You are… here…
now.

If you were
To open your eyes

It would look
The same
As before –

But you might
See it
D i f f e r e n t l y.

Take the time
You need
T o u n d e r s t a n d.

Somewhere,
Between wakefulness
And sleep
You have
A c h o i c e.

When you are ready,
Decide
What is true.

© 2005 by Daniel B. Singer

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Chop Wood, Carry Water

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Place – tap – swing – split – stack
This is my moving mantra

Bump – bump – pop – crack – clatter
This is my guided meditation

Find – fill – carry – offer – accept
This is my daily practice

Share – quench – sate – drench – serve
This is my sacred journey –

“Before enlightenment, chop wood and carry water;
After enlightenment, chop wood and carry water”

What the Master did not tell me
Was that enlightenment comes
from doing exactly that.

© 2009 by Daniel B. Singer

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Ascension

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Thunder rolls by like a freight train that’s been startled.
It is heavy and loud
Like an avalanche;
But nimble and quick
Like Jack.

The air puts on a cool, damp glove
And touches my face, knowingly.
The rain whispers to me
Something I can’t quite understand.

I know you’re there.
When my eyes close
And I teeter on the edge of consciousness
I can almost see you looking back at me,
Just beyond the lantern’s light.

You are revealed to me in stages:
In the space between the raindrops
And in the silence after the thunder-train has passed
When I think I can still hear it rumble.

No matter which way I walk,
I become closer to you with each step.
I am completely surrounded
By you, that I can not quite see.

I will come to the fire
Bright flames in the night
And dance ‘round like the sparks
As they take to flight

My own wings unlocked
I will as winged-things do,
Fly sky high enough to see
The everywhere of you.

© 2005 by Daniel B. Singer

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All That Is

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Mystery sits before me
Her face cast in shadow
By the halo of fire she wears

Pulsations from the forest heart
From the root
From The Source
From inside me and beyond me
Tear across my body
Like heat lightning
In the summer sky

I explode with light
And darkness
Surrounds us

We are Creation and Destruction
Sickness and healing
We are the divine dichotomy
We are Here. Now.
And in this moment,
We are All That Is.

© 2012 by Daniel B. Singer

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The Hawk

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by fireUrchin

 

the hawk flew past
just as we sat to form a sister sharing of Intention for the journey

we do this periodic meeting, sharing, parting
it is our herstory – our sistory
delving deeper in small spaces than possible
talks about india, elephants, butterflies and dancing
about Yolngu, comets across a Southern Cross sky
sitting on the edge of the earth to cry the world awake
to mourn the young Yolngu men who have taken their lives that year

and we always wander in and out of the weave of our Spirit and our love
and the push and pull of the love of men
and the call to create
the calls to nest
the cries to fly in all our powers

and the hawk flies past right in front of us
where he never passes

we know it is a sign
I have pulled the hawk card twice in the past week

no map
no crystal ball
no magic answer

but yes – magic messenger
Opening me for my next piece of journey ahead
reminder to deeply connect and trust in this animal world
which is always sending me her emissaries
to release from gravity’s pull
borrow Hawk’s perspective

Sister friend and I part once more

I drive to the mountain
of the Abode of the Message

© 2012 by Bonnie Lambourn

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Knowing

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by Dawn DeZan

 

I may not know your name or where you live,
But I know your soul.
I have seen it dancing around the fire in the dark.

The parts of you that you dare not show anyone,
You show me.
Your joy; your pain; your confidence; your fears; your anguish and your ecstasy…
I have seen it all around the fire.

And I want you to know that I love what I see;
Your lights, your darks,
your grace, your power – all that is you – I see.

So it may be true that I don’t know your name or where you live, but you are my beloved
For I have seen your soul.

© 2012 by Dawn DeZan

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Missing the Night of the Fire

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by Amy Josuweit

I wanted to see my reflection in the mesh
of the tent’s doorway.
Instead, I zipped it open and crawled inside, to eat.
Eat and blanket my blisters.
When I sleep, I awaken stone -
loss of time so palpable, unforgiving.
I’ve missed the fire.

The creatures that surround me cause only pain,
remorse at the loss
while instilling a new, red blaze beneath my skin.
These bugs bite.
I wish I could cry.

Mark my eyes red like my skin and the fire…
carve a way to the blaze
I so longingly crave.

This island of air, pillows, and smudges binds my limbs,
keeps hold with sleep and wrapping folds:
a lover’s embrace that greedily pulls my heart
from the tribe.
My soul, a withered mess,
dried brambles that roll on,
purpose only to dance in the flames…
caught by small, pointless rocks.
Tarried by fearful nothings.
One night – loss in an ocean of days,
but mourned forever in the tent’s mesh reflection.
The reflection I can’t quite find.
Even from the tall of this mountain.

© 2012 by Amy Josuweit

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