Poetry is happening in my world, my life, these days…
My mind has much to process, but it comes in much too open, much too raw, vulnerable, frightening ways…
I don’t write as I used to, feverishly penning words from in my head.
Now stories come out on my mat, alone, with students, with tears, with breath…
Now they come out in songs, sung in a voice I’ve never known.
They come out in melodies from ancient times, in rhymes, in imagery, in visions, in the building of a home.
Beauty is being channeled, from above and to the now,
and I’m watching from afar, mesmerized, in awe, at how.
Gifts are given for a time, never knowing when they’ll go.
But I am surely one to take each chance, each step, sharing what I know.
It’s scary yes, I’ll stumble and I’ll fall.
But if I don’t listen, act, then I’m ignoring your clear call.
I am just a vessel here on earth, in this time.
And all I ask is to live your truth, and give it, always, every time.
Judge me if you want, ignore me if you must.
But this life is much too short, too frail, to live without trust.
Poetry is happening in my world, my life, these days.
And I am ever grateful, healed and whole,
for my world, my life, these days.