The Benediction of Blessings

“”Matters of great concern should be treated lightly.” Master lttei commented, “Matters of small concern should be treated seriously.”‘ – Hagakure

A hangnail is more important than the next president of these United States. The aspects of life we can affect weigh more than those we cannot.

How we treat our partners, our friends, acquaintances; the interaction between you and I, carries more weight than Obama and Putin’s next summit. Perfecting the Now, being present, is key.

We can cut the hangnail and achieve healing. We can vote, but cannot directly choose the President. I can kiss you goodnight and hold you while you cry, but I cannot affect the decisions of world leaders.

Each action is important. Contributes to the chaos of it all, like a butterfly in the rainforest and the birth of a hurricane.  This makes living in the moment a sacred act, our attention, a benediction upon the blessing of our lives.

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Surcease

Carry on a conversation with your mind,
attempt to divine the truth of your situation,
the proof of the station in life
you’ve chosen to occupy.

Remove the sties from your eyes,
bear witness to your own weakness,
minimize your strengths to find balance,
become the prince or princess of the realm,
partaking of the sacred chalice.

Find balance in denial,
the power of self-control
announcing your arrival
at the alter of spirit’s revival
as body colludes with mind
and space conspires with time.

Destiny calls us all
and we grovel before the fall
yet and still we rise
despite the challenges
despite our cries
despite our insistence upon
believe the lies
we tell ourselves.

Continuing that conversation
we are overcome by revelation.

The voices in your mind, slowly cease.

Instead, you are filled with peace.

Surcease.

You

Your silence sounds like
waves on the ocean of creation

Your distance breaths like
lovers lost in each others eyes

Your pain aches
like mountains crushed beneath oceans of air

Your laughter shimmers like
bubbles frothing upon pearly waves

Your voice penetrates like
sunlight diving through oceans of thought

Your love lives in me
like stars lost in galactic fields

searching for a way home.

Karmic Tender

Waste not the day,
the Way pays it forward,
karmic tender proffered
demoralized prophets buffered
by angelic hordes,
deplorable desecrations of nations
the evolution of civilization.

The Tao initiates bows
by the uninitated to those they deem
supreme,
genuflecting subjecting the Enlightened
to the worship of the unredeemed.

Seize moments in time,
life can never rewind,
reminding us of past moments sublime
sepia-toned remembrances
of street lights and picket fences,
innocent youth spent in unconscious exploration,
the commemoration of moments
the payoff of karmic debt foments.

Living in the Now frees
tortured souls to be despite the limitations
of their stations,
the documentation of genetic relations
the endless recycling of
instantaneous creation.

Time continues its remorseless dance
the days whirl, twirl, dip then prance
across the stage of spatial manifestation,
our honored relations observing
from beyond
as the Angels chime in with
heavenly song.

Angel Tears

Is this love, this low-level warfare of souls,
the higher dimensional fanfare of Oneness
the forgotten goal,
lost amidst the trials and tribulations of
daily life,
forgotten within the traumas and painful
episodes of daily strife.

When do we find the truth of things,
written in the stars as etheric bells do ring,
the angels watching over us
tears softly falling
their heavenly songs to sing,
as days pass by and time’s
pendulum continues to swing?

Trouble, trouble casts our days
as thunderous storms roll through
and we refuse to change our ways,
denying the quirks that others see
so clear,
while proclaiming righteousness
in words and actions
unaware that judgement is near.

Who loves so truly
that they know who they are,
intimately aware of their foibles and
issues, self-knowledge as close to
lived reality as the most distant
of stars?

As the brightness intensifies
and the world itself transforms
some choose ever to densify
to double-down on the norm
refuse to see the defamation
of their own spirits,
the sublimation of higher merit
hoisting dysfunction like a trophy
while soul’s urge continues to
flow free denied expression
day to day,
as love’s full vision continues
to play.

Somewhere distant,
beyond our ken.

Those angelic tears are falling,
once again.

The Vault

There is a vault within that most
hold dear,
the gestalt of sin, bound by a
chain of fear,
hidden, locked away from the sight
of brightest day,
unbidden, birds flock and spirits pray,
the power of gnosis found,
occasioning falling tears.

Without we seem to live
with no doubt,
while within we quail in terror,
the furor of internal conflict
the edict of self-condemnation,
remonstrations of failed creation,
stifled by trifles enlargened
and unbounded,
inside we flee screaming silent wails,
afraid of the tales of violent sound.

But this is the way of the earth,
the necessary culling in light of rebirth,
as the waters of the worlds wash sibilant
upon the shores of material innocence,
intransigent spirits spinning,
blending into the foliage, camouflaged
against the trumpet call of Divine Awakening,
slaking their thirst in the blood-filled wells
of the damned.

Man against man, woman against woman,
brother against sister against mother against
friend, and round it goes again,
a seemingly never-ending spiral, each iteration
a gyroscoping motion of devotion,
dedicated to pain, to repeating the same thing,
over and over again.

Is there a winning scenario?

Impresarios of pleasure wax eloquent, dependent
upon transcendent whims, denouncing friends,
family and strangers alike, gossiping,
dripping lies like sties from eyes awash with death,
steadily imbibing negativity until they take
their last breath.

This is the sinning scenario, the winning
being comprised of exactness and oppositional
proactivity, higher vibrational nativity born
within the crucible of spiritual knowledge,
the anvil of experiential college, the acceptance
of human frailty, of the failure of the will
to Be.

The vault within crumbles under the light
of awakened awareness,
the bareness of the opened soul the passage
through which spiritual light flows,
the space within which gnosis and transcendence
grows.

Take it slow, but steady, make sure to leap,
not step when ready, when that synchronicitous
event occurs, to do what is necessary
to fly, like the birds.

Storms Gathering

Question the mores of the day,
Set dreams of glory within your sights,
Intentions set as supplicants pray

Where is the laughter of children at play
The angered screams of bullies in fights,
Crowds gathered round to end the day.

Hearts interlinked vines twine round the quay,
Waves lap against the dock at night
Storms gathering as sailors pray.

Which is the way?
Who sees the light?
Who lives openly in the day?

There is no recompense for those who slay,
innocent spirits who know nothing but right,
Storms gathering as sailors pray.

Who sees the eyes of the Angels so fey?
Flying and soaring transcendent in flight
Question the mores of the day,
Storms gathering as sailors pray.

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A Villanelle is a nineteen-line poem consisting of a very specific rhyming scheme: aba aba aba aba aba abaa.

The first and the third lines in the first stanza are repeated in alternating order throughout the poem, and appear together in the last couplet (last two lines).