Heart Strumming Haiku 2

 

heart-strumming-haiku-2_angelslove

He exposes me
between the seams, undresses
me down to the bone

Inspiring the
packing of baggage to send
pride off on its own

Alone is just a
fantasy where thought presumes
its desires hide

But heart’s beat drums the
tell-tale rhythm, alerting
soul – he has arrived

Time slows to still just
long enough to let all come
piece by piece apart

Then, regathers each
to reshape the whole to now
hold each other’s parts

Not here, not there, but
everywhere we connect
on every plane

Not now, not then, but
every when, our paths have
led our souls this way

Image credit: photobucket

Reflecting

 

Maybe it’s because I feel some kinda way –
yesterday sits on the edge of my mind,
like a clingy child on grandma’s full hip…
Her supple cheeks were soft to the touch.
Much of the time, I was lost in their silkiness.
I remember she smoothed on Olay with an
away and up motion. That was the key,
she told me… the key to maintaining. And,
though I hated being sick, I do often miss
the awakening sensation of her go-to Vicks.
No one else did, but she cared enough to
provide the right rub for whatever ailed me.
The vibrato in her song lends chills to my
memories, and her depth of soul must’ve
evolved throughout the centuries. There’s
no other explanation for her effect on life.
Life then… was sustaining, but never enough
to satisfy my imagination… so I dreamed often.
Dreams were my existence, and reality… just a
resistance to the world as it should be. All the
bitter circumstances never defined me: broken wills,
hustled bills, shattered hearts and scattered parts…
heavy chains, spiritual drains, twisted knives and
sold-out lives… scantly father, love imposters,
damaged siblings and no forgiving… evil games,
lacking shame, pimped-out children calling
mommy’s name and… tomorrow we’ll begin again.
Yeah, whatever.
God’s got me and He made me clever. Wherever
my flesh existed, my mind was above it. All I
ever did covet was acceptance… you know,
to be enough of the stuff that makes parents
want to hold you close, say you’re pretty, look
into your eyes and –for once– not lie, protect
your innocence, rein in the recklessness, perhaps
even pray for their children’s successes.
Yeah, well.
God’s got me and He made me from His heart.
At the start, I didn’t realize that wherever I am,
Love is too. In this truth, there’s nothing more,
below nor above which carries more weight.
I don’t hesitate to embrace the arms that
left me cold… to find beauty in the eyes that
couldn’t behold me with affection and verity.
Incredibly, I have room to accept those who’ve
never accepted me… then, now or ever,
because I’m clever and I know… it’s most
difficult to accept what one cannot understand.
I am not a man, but I can still be the bigger one.
I can rise much higher than a baby girl’s corruption,
stretch a lot further than a spirit’s deconstruction,
reach far deeper than a soul in isolation. Creation’s
center floods my veins, and I am infinitely more than
any context. Though seen in a reality quite vexed,
I am a dream – a damn good one… the kind that
trembles bones when it speaks to souls and
softens hearts with eternity’s love; that eases
wounds and lingers on the senses; and without
pretenses, dissipates the bitter circumstances
which should never define. Much of the time,
away and up is how I maintain divine. I am a
dream which sits on the edge of the mind, like a
love child clinging to mama’s full hip, making
all life carries just worthwhile enough to
dream a little longer.
Perhaps, I am a reflection of her…
or maybe, I’m just feeling some kinda way.

 

Revolution

revolution

 

Listen…
as the whispers take their rise
Boiling depths bide no more time
Hushed
has encountered its due demise
Leveled
now tilted towards rebellion’s side
Sensitivities melted
into a rigid mold –
wounds fortified by its defensive hold
Exhausted
by the pilgrimage of the soul; love
takes refuge ‘neath the armory’s fold
Arid
is the breadth behind swollen eyes, for
fiery veins have replaced their tides
Passions
extended across enemy lines –
no longer compromised by collateral lies
Depleted spirit
granted sabbatical leave, while
arm’s reach slips on a radical sleeve
Invaders flaunt their spoils, presuming reprieve,
but
turnabout’s the fate they’ll come to believe
Survival
transforms the roots of all fear, waking
dormant defenses as outcomes become clear
Dissent’s
marching orders ring the bell for all ears
Revolution
is not coming, it’s already here.

 

Image credit: uk.pinterest.com

Dying to Live

Lights of the Soul

I die every day.

Every day, I die… just a little, letting go of pieces of me which no longer serve a purpose. I must die daily if I am to make room for more. I suppose the “finale” is somewhat the same. This life, this plane of existence, concludes with a shedding of that which is no longer necessary for the evolution of self. What is the point of being, if not to evolve?

While parts are fragile, not all of them can be easily discarded. Some fight to survive, no matter what the costs. Such is the bane of humanity. We are what we are… because of what we don’t let go of. We can become so much more… because of our freedom to choose to let go.

Therein lies the concept of “life comes from death” … not burial, though, but cremation. When we bury what we no longer need, it eventually rises again to haunt us, to chase us down and overcome us when we least expect. Burial is a covering up. But to give the spirit power to set flames to the proverbial flesh and singe out the lesser self… well, that is how life transcends, when ashes begin to transform into fruit..

Let me clean this up a bit. “Death” and “cremation” sound like a finite ending to existing, but that is not my meaning. I am only speaking of an ending in perspective, in self-realization, in world truth as it pertains to the elevation of thought, emotion, and nature. Outside of that prescript, nothing truly dies. Energy transfers from one form to another. We are energy. And when we release that which drains us…that which takes up significant space with insignificant matters… and that which muddies the waters of our fluid, ever-evolving design; we provide room for growth, expansion… transcendence.

Living is this process. It is the active engagement of all of our senses striving to realize the divinity of our higher selves. My son views life as planes of existence which compose the whole of the universal God (whatever you may call Divinity). Depending on where you started, where you’ve been, and how quickly you evolve (and we all have differing capacities at various stages of the spectrum); you occupy part of the universal body of Divinity, either closer to the feet (flesh-based) or closer to the head (spirit-based), for simplicity’s sake. He has an engineering mind, so I find his conceptual outlook rather intriguing. He views physical death as neither a fixed occurrence nor a rebirth experience, but rather a transferring of energy from one form to another, and whether you transfer higher, lower, or make a lateral move simply depends on your level of conscious development at the time your current reality ceases and becomes your next reality. As such, death is not an end, but a means for moving on.

Taking Inventory

I am infinitely more than flesh and bones.
I am infinitely more…

Deeply valuing the energies which compose me; I hold myself to a high standard. But mainly, I just hold myself. For, as much as I am infinitely more than flesh and bones; I am still flesh and bones… and they are a heavy load.

Flesh and bones tempt me to live as “I am,” to carry the weight of merely existing until this life passes. Living as “I am” fosters a – putting up with – perspective which prods the soul to get by via any feasible means until the end is realized. But to live as “more than I am” is to utilize this life as a means to elevate myself and others. It charges the soul with facilitating growth toward transitioning to a higher existence. Walking the jagged path between living as “I am” and living as “more than I am” makes for a rigorous journey. Choosing to be more is a formidable choice. In as much as I strive to keep it all together, I must occasionally fall apart. I must be reminded that I am still in progress. I must stay connected to my mortality, but be careful not to lose myself to it. Taking inventory is necessary.

I check in regularly to ask myself, “Am I living to die or dying to live?” Which is in control at any given moment, the flesh or the spirit? Am I maintaining the desired balance? The answer is never straightforward. How can it be? … as I am flawed from breath to breath, and to achieve progress in this process requires labor on every level. Still, I try. I try intently to see beyond the chaos. I try intensely to feel past the reaction. I try diligently to transfer negative energy into positive energy. I try wholeheartedly to nurture this very basis of ascension. I try quite earnestly to show up as a constant in the ebb and flow – a constant in dying to truly realize living: dying to self to uplift others; dying to fear to embrace freedom; dying to temptation to reinforce integrity; dying to lust to exalt love… In short, I endeavor to die to my lower self in order to empower my higher self.

To empower the higher self is to reflect a depth of truth, light, freedom, genuineness, love, and power which expands without end and permeates everyone and everything around us. The universe as a whole is elevated when we empower our higher selves.

The Deeper Dichotomy

Be divinely human.

Dying to live is not hard. The soul is impassioned by our desire to be more, by our need to manifest purpose, by our hope to live altruistically, by our longing to be love and experience love in its highest form. When we are spiritually motivated, every struggle is worthwhile and contributes to achieving ultimate fulfillment. Dying to live nurtures our divinity and is deeply fulfilling.

Dying to live is not easy. The soul is challenged by our aptitude to settle for less, by our willingness to submit to circumstance, by our craving for immediate gratification, by our tendency to live in fear and attribute love to everything it is not. When we constantly gravitate toward our carnal natures, temptations appear more satisfying than any eternal growth. Dying to live ostracizes our humanity and is quite lonely.

The journey is not the same for any two of us; and yet, we are all affected by these threads in some form or fashion, directly or indirectly, for better or for worse – we are all connected in our divinity, in our humanity, and in our unique paths of development. How we manage the dichotomy of our existence is paramount in defining our lives, as well as the progression of collective mankind.

Finding Balance

I am flawed from breath to breath.
Breathing is significant.

Managing this existence is about finding the right balance internally. It requires breathing in what is needed and breathing out what is not. Maintaining the proper flow of energy is crucial to being centered and focused. However, the balance between inhaling and exhaling can be tricky… if I remember to breathe at all.

Often, when circumstances get intense, I forget to exhale. I draw in deeply and hold. One would think so… but breathing doesn’t always come naturally. Our complex biological design gets tripped up by the esoteric, and the “in and out” reflex becomes stifled. The floodgates open to receive all the stuff… the endless waves of stuff… and failing to employ tributary exits can cause a drowning out of healthy responses and spiritual connections. The spirit must breathe to survive; not physically breathe, but constantly manage the transfer of energy.

We take in so much. The volume is so massive that our hearts and minds become entwined in continuously assessing, judging, feeling, comparing, defending, and ultimately fostering unilateral perspectives; which, in turn, cause us to lose objectivity, understanding, tolerance, forgiveness, and the ability to consider that all perspectives reflect personal realities that differ from our own. Only through such consideration can we even begin to relate to one another.

But, we take in so much. We become consumed in the processing, paranoid in the vetting. We measure morality with our hearts; what feels good and what feels bad shape our compass for navigating life on our own terms. Our minds analyze and break down everything based on these persuasions. When something wondrous or tragic overcomes our circumstance, the common response is an accelerated pulse of emotions; a flood of thoughts and reactions; and an overwhelming sense of anxiousness. When we inhale too much, whether quickly and all at once or slowly over time, and do not allow ourselves to properly manage the intake and release; our ability to thrive freezes up. And, our capacity for destruction multiplies. We start living to survive each moment. In other words, we start living to die.

All of it matters.
Therefore, none of it matters.

How, then, can we manage to experience life as more than a sentence to survive when life hurls so many conditions our way? How can we live without seizing up in so many moments that our journey reads like a lifetime practice of suffocating? The soul must be groomed in altruistic indifference.

Indifference is not a dirty word if it is applied to the relativity of all things. There are a universal place and purpose for everything which exists, regardless of what we think, feel, or believe. If something were not meant to be, it wouldn’t be. Whether we comprehend the reason for any person or condition taking up any portion of time or space, is irrelevant. It all matters. It all generates cause and effect toward an unknown end, but – ideally – a greater one. Therefore, the truest form of understanding is indifference.

I am not referring to the stereotype of indifference, which is marked by stoicism, and often cynicism. What I am referring to is the recognition of life as ebb and flow… a rise and fall of extremes, and everything in between… a consciousness of all that is subjectively fleshed out by the influences of humanity’s singular self-vision. The soul must be trained to see outward and inward simultaneously, embracing the relevance of all and accepting that the only “control” one has is over the energy one personally projects throughout existence. This energy defines one’s quality of life and how one’s life will impact others. Accordingly, we are compelled to think, feel, and believe to play our parts; but we can do so far more effectively once we recognize the relevance of all parts in the grander scheme and free ourselves from suffocating under the misnomer that we have power over anything other than ourselves.

When we know and understand what we can and cannot control, we develop the potential to become a positive force of life.

Sustaining Peace

Be the eye of the storm.

We are surrounded by chaos – worldwide, nationally, regionally, locally, personally, and spiritually. Each of our lives is affected by the storms of existence in one way or another, by a few or many. How we live and how we leave this life depends on how we relate to these storms.

My life, for one, has the advantage of having been infused with all aspects of the storm throughout my journey. I was born into the storm: lost in it; judged by it; controlled by it; abused and abandoned by its many twists and turns, faces and places, truths and lies; and so, I know its suffering well. I have been the storm: unleashing my powerful spin; outpouring my drops of fury; devouring that which has blocked my path; and so, I know its temper, as well.

Having experienced both the aftermath of suffering through storms and the discontent of affecting them; I’ve learned to attain peace by keeping the highs high and the lows low while navigating my spirit through the center. It isn’t a matter of numbing myself to the fluctuations, but rather completely encompassing them all, so that I can become the balance… so that I can be the eye of the storm – the quiet, watchful place which embodies security, strength, and stability, regardless of the surrounding circumstances.

A Complex Choice

Interestingly, the seldom occupied eye of the storm tends to be the most envied; the least understood; the space both desired and rejected at once; and the very center of attraction for everything it is not. It is a complex position to hold.

To be the eye of the storm in life, exhaling is imperative. Chaos and destruction must be released into the periphery. Calming, embracing, loving energy must be retained at the core. Living this life with universal purpose requires constant breathing in and breathing out to facilitate a deeper awareness of self and others.

Dying daily to the unnecessary is crucial to spiritual peace, relevancy, and growth. I choose to live and die and live this way… in hopes that my soul and all that it touches rises in the body of Divinity.

Image credit – http://www.serraphim.com

Turbulence

Broken wings –
these silly things
letting air flow through
where substance should fill the gaps.
Perhaps, as with weaker souls,
my brilliantly crested breast can indulge
in lesser pleasures, still survive the dawn,
and redeem my righteous standing…
just maybe… if I lay down my armor gently.
Yet, fragility is no less feeble when coated
with a tentative nature.
Whether savagely devoured or
carefully pierced by the edges of
pristine, pearly teeth
– a bite is still a bite.
And, despite Light,
humanity is still falling.
This spiral with breathtaking views
leaves us confused in descent.
Why can’t these wings keep me afloat?
Ambitious feet refuse to be soiled,
but toes stretch long for the dipping,
knowing – they will rue the day
of defiance. Why, then,
must they test forbearance?
Knowing is a double-edged sword,
reflecting simultaneous truths.
I am beloved and bewildered
in this crippling existence. I am
held firm and alarmingly adrift
in this spiritual persistence. I
see forever, but taste now with
quivering heart and trembling lip.
Thus, loss and triumph
caress my fingertips, while I
walk with mortality and dream
outside of it.
I need these two worlds to collide,
so I flap, and I flap, and I flap –
ever reaching for more.
Life uplifted.
Breath suspended.
Love transcended.
I flap, and I flap, and I flap –
ever sinking in less.
Life encrypted.
Breath resisted.
Love acquitted.
I flap, and I flap, and I flap –
ever soaring in stillness,
while turbulence surrounds me.
Then, I remember…
I am but a flutter of faith,
nesting in eternity’s heartbeat.
These silly things –
these broken wings
with gaps that let air through
were never meant to carry, but
whisper in their flurry,
“I need You…”

Born in a barn…

Guess I should’ve been.
Doors sealed shut,
but my mind was always listening.
Constantly sharpened by the
blades flyin’ through the air.
Cloaked in silence, so the
spirit wouldn’t be too bare.
Nestled in the weeds for the
comforts of earth.
Soul unstable ‘til the
fruits were unearthed.
Stretched across folds…
different wools in my hat, but
none of them know
where the loyalty’s at.
Trapped by the holds of
varying planes, where
a bud of existence
was only known for its name.
Complexities of thought and heart
got saddled with silting.
Riders simply spat their parts
‘til blooms were left wilting.
Runaways were mental notes that
pressed against ceilings;
memories – these baggage totes
which weigh against healings.
And now…
the sheep has bore the lion,
warmed in her fleecing;
nursed the vital organs that will
keep freedoms breathing.
Secrets set to soundboards,
hushes hollered loud,
regulations unraveled…
empowering the endowed.
No more hidden colors in the
shadows of the clouds;
humble power roars against
the charges of the proud.
Every moment brighter
with the light breaking in.
Vision spreading wider
from the depths of within.
Disregarded nature can
no longer be muzzled.
Formidable birthright will
no longer get hustled.
Every truth in struggle learned,
liberated from unspoken,
readied for release because
the doors are now wide open.

Impressions

impressions-image

… that carve far deeper than the surface,
drowning all traces of purpose…
Breaths bleed blue ‘til
inflamed passions spill red hues.
Every right to choose, but
the beaten path becomes familiar.
Tragic howls resolve to whimpers
(and we’re all taught – it’s rude
to listen to whispers).
Bitten tongue composes lies.
Broken soul breaches eyes.
Heart struggles to chant its beat,
the sole echo of delayed defeat,
as will still trembles without its pride.
“Alive” comes in many forms:
dormant pulses, social norms,
raging fleshes, and spirit storms,
but, oh, the stench of dead
cuts to the core. The
Dark One’s whores delirious,
stomp their heels of hopelessness;
choke with grips of hatefulness; and
drop their prey into the mist… with
impressions chiseled beneath the breast.
But, the wash flows down deep
with the come up, and the
rise lets new life steep
in love’s cup.
Outlines of “was” take on
shades of rediscovery.
Sketchiness develops into
layers of vibrancy, ‘til
colors of depth reflect the light which
no impression can overcome…
sadly, a realization for only some.
The fisted spoils of the spirit undone
loom in the balance
far too often for far too long, waiting
for an utterance to be heard, praying
for transforming terms to free
the broken story… to see
the allegory… to be
the love that helps the etchings fade.