Life’s Gifts

Mariposa #4

These poems fall into a category that salutes the gift of life and consciousness. If it is true that we are ‘here’ to experience – to expand the Creator’s creations – then tapping into those aspects that we can access via our creating out of all possibilities those manifest things, events, emotions, thoughts – the creations of consciousness – means we are ‘doing our job!”

The Joys of a Moment

The droplets of life
Are held in a crashing,
Tumultuous Sea –
Riding the tides,
Their ebbs
And their flows.Sad it is
That what was once
Washed upon the shore
Is gone –
Except that we know
They were here.
They have existed;
They have made their indelible
And distinguishing marks.Life is richer for the cycle —
The chance.
May we never lose
Awe of what transpires.


All the times;
All the places;
All the people;
All the events.Remember
The specialness of our planet;
The sweetness of air and water;
The magic of a smile;
The lift of sound, of color, of light –
The way a baby ‘knows.’Remember
The thrill of sensual
And sexual attraction:
The letting go of orgasm;
The loving of a partner:
Giving and receiving.Remember
The getting caught up in a game;
The forgetting of time;
The Being
In the Here and Now.Remember
The beginning and the end;
And the beginning – again;
And the trip to the edgeAnd beyond.

The Day The Rainbows Came

Here’s a triptych of Rainbows – catch ‘em! They ‘played’ in and around my trailer home at the Omega Institute.

It was Sunday morning:
Father’s Day –
I ‘slept in:’
6:40 A.M.

The sun hit the crystal
Hanging at the upper window
Of my trailer at Omega –
Rainbows appeared everywhere;
The first time
I had seen them
In the 75 days I’ve been here.

“Hey, y’all,
Yes, this is a place
For you to dwell.”

And how they arranged themselves . . .
Everywhere and all around.
A twist on the crystal’s ribbon
And multi-hued angels
Were flying everywhere.

It was Sunday morning;
I returned later –
The rainbows were waiting.
All the ‘stuff’ out there:
The brushings poor ego
Has to take;
The “I don’t know why’s,”
The “me,” “me,” “me’s.”

Maybe I can climb
Into the crystal
And shoot out
Into Rainbow World.
Hurry, though,
The sun is moving,
My rainbows are almost . . .

It was Sunday morning,
A little later.
The space was empty –
The rainbows gone.

Can I visit Rainbow Space again?
Is it in my heart?
Can I climb into Rainbow World
And spin in and out of the crystal?

Sunday morning:
Rainbows . . .
Life, love, experiences.
If you are patient,
The Rainbows
Will come.


Sharing Rainbows

A rainbow,
Crystal focused,
Moves across my wall.
It is long;
It is warm;
It is magic;
It is a gift.I am transported
To times
We shared rainbows
On your wall.Think of me
And “we”
When you see rainbows.
My love throbs
With the pulse.Oh . . .
To share
With you.

Hello Rainbow

Form on my walls.
They float in air
And light on the ceiling.Sunlight,
Captured by cut glass;
Focused in spots,
Bringing a smile.
Look directly into the prism:
The world explodes!I remember the light
You brought into my life –
The full spectrum of feeling;
Of being alive.
I call the rainbows
Directly into the prism –
What do you see?Each morning,
The rainbows come.
They are part of my life:
The sun, the light broken.
Love.Hello, you.

Letting Go

If I had to pick one piece of advice I would give – one thing that I have learned: 

  • from the good and bad ‘stuff’that I have directly experienced 
  • from the training I received as an Empowerment Facilitator 
  • from all the studies I have done through the years I have been privileged to enjoy on this planet, and
  • from the wisdom that so many of those who have shared their wisdom in so many ways,

What I come up with is the great gift there is to be able to “let go.”

This involves ‘letting go’ of all that holds you from moving on in life; from forgiving yourself and others; from being in the Here and Now; from conquering the fear involved in change – in coming up with what you really want to put into the space that is created when you let go.

Perhaps the most significant thing I have read comes from Carlos Castanada in describing his walk along the mountains in Northern Mexico with his mentor, don Juan:

“The twilight is the crack between the worlds.” don Juan says. “It is the door to the unknown.” He then points with a sweeping movement of his hand to the mesa where you are standing. “This is the plateau in front of that door.” He then points to the northern edge of the mesa. “There is the door. Beyond, there is an abyss and beyond that abyss is the unknown.” 

You stand transfixed, looking across the mesa at the edge. “You will now be like dust on the road,” don Juan tells you. “Perhaps it will get in your eyes again, someday.” Don Juan then steps back into the darkness that has descended. 

You feel very alone. It is unbelievably quiet. All you hear is the beating of your heart. Suddenly – a strange urge, an irresistible force, seizes you. You run to the northern edge of the mesa. You see darkness ahead. You jump off the edge. You are alone. 

At some time in each of our lives as we travel our path, we come to an edge, a challenge, a decision-point. What do we do? Some decide not to take the challenge and fall back to the road they have been on. Some jump and perhaps crash. Some jump, survive, and resolve never to do that again. Some jump, survive and can’t wait to do it again. 

So: tomorrow’s task is to plunge into the unknown by yourself. Sit there and turn off your internal dialogue. Go to the edge and jump into the abyss. You may gather the power needed to unfold the wings of your perception and fly to that infinitude. Create. 

So, walk to the Edge, spread your wings, fly off to that infinitude


Letting Go #4 Cropped (2)©Mary Lou Quinn


Letting go –
Is a place;
Is a time;
Is a space.

Letting go –
Sometimes a pain;
Sometimes numbness;
Sometimes gain.

Letting go –
Of the memories that are bad;
Of the arguments we had;
Of times that were sad.

I let go of those things;
Of those times;
Of the zings.
Instead, I choose not to ever lose;
And I will retain those things where we gain.

Smiles and laughter;
Creation and elation;
Security and maturity;
With these make a nation.

Letting go isn’t easy;
And, yet, we know
It’s the path to take –

And, yet, we know
It’s the path to take –
From the learning
We grow.
So – let go . . .
Of what fails thee;
Focus on
What enthralls thee.

There is a beginning
To each end;
Letting go
Can be your best friend.

The Untangle Machine

At first glance,
It seems there is no way
The morass
Can be ordered.
Step back.How does an untangle machine work?
Find the beginning
(Or the end) –
Of the tangled thing,
Be it a space station
Or a piece of string.Then . . . be focused;
Be meticulous;
Be ordered.
Wear the Buddha Head,
The Royal Robe;
Assume the mantle
Of the Creator. And, then . . .
Hear those who are restorers;
Hear how it all matters.  So . . .
Step back;

Just a Tag End

Is endless time’s
Beginning ravel? Can I find
Just a little end
To hold a moment
To see what is gone;
What is here;
What is to come? How often
Will I slide
Under and around
To come again
To face the same frustration? Under and around,
Over and through,
To come again
To face the same frustration. Just a tag end
For clinging,
Just a tag end
To begin to right
This imbalance.

We Turn

Curled up, around
Pulling so close
To make outside
How can you know?
And you doTime is split;
Each meeting
Becomes a new dawn . . .
Rising tentatively.
Heat and light
Begin again, and . . .
The sun really doesn’t rise. We turn,
Making the warmth rise,
The smiles flow –
Creating an aurora
Of peace and bountiful silence. Time
Pushes and pulls.
It is forever.
Can we lay with it? Let it flow all around;
Keep it close’
Celebrate together,
As all are joined
By the fleecy edges
Of breeze-blown fluff. Thunder and lightning:
The gathered energy
Of the infernal machines
Carry the bright, speckled eddies
To quiet pools at sky river’s side
To wait forever
Until . . .We turn,
Making the warmth rise,
The smiles flow.
The aurora of peach
And bountiful silence
Flow on fleecy edges
To silence
The infernal machines forever
Until . . .

Lost & Found

One can get lost
On the River of Time,
Navigating the Past,
Questioning things
That don’t rhyme.One can get lost
In the Forest of Time,
Never looking up
To the light
Of the sublime. One can get lost
In the vastness of sky,
Exploring nether reaches,
Always questioning:
Why?One can get lost
In the bowels of the earth,
While the weight of the world
Obfuscates all of our mirth. One finds one’s self
In the Here and Now;
Enjoy it,
You know how.


Butterflies are perhaps my favorite flying things. Their colorings and shapes so attract my eye and my imagination – they are such a fabulous example of transformation. In special times in my life, butterflies seemed to ‘show up’ – certifying that at least at that time that what was going on, what I was seeking, was there and was blessed. Mariposa is the Spanish name for butterflies.


Mariposa #4©Mary Lou Quinn



Winged friend: Mariposa;
You flew circles
While I waited for love to arrive.
You incarnated in each place –
While bathing in the vibes
Of love’s unfolding.
Winged friend: Mariposa;
You were there,
Trailing twinkles and love dust
Wherever we looked.
Dear Mariposa,
Winged friend –
Love’s messenger –
Come fly
On the bosom of enchantment.
You have earned
A place in our hearts.

Morning Glow

Early orange glow,
Whose source is hidden
Just beyond the end of the street:
Or is it up,
Or just plain out?
Thinking about finding
The pre-dawn chill,
And by bright caress
Producing (pollution-fee)
Would it be the same
Without: street, buildings,
Trees, lights, cars, dogs . . .
These make a funnel for my eyes,
And inject a spring to step;
A life to mind;
A turn at each corner
Of my mouth . . .  UP
The glow is cool,
The color illusive.
Words here serve
Only as picks
To memory’s eye –
And, as a lid opener
On capped feeling
Of early orange glow.


The mountains rise up on all sides;
The valleys pierce the peaks
To sky’s falling off.
Paths run off everywhere
Through the wood;
While white-streaked streams
Rush off this way and that.What to follow?
Which to conquer?
Why follow?
Why seek to conquer?
Why choose at all …
Just because they are there?
Because it is
Our God-given mission?
Because heritage calls?
Meanwhile psyche pushes —
And that nagging knot
Incessantly pulses.Love
Whispers, beckons,
Flashes its signals;
And that hook –
That handle inside
Which is for reaching for
And pulling upon
Exists.By reaching out
And opening up;
By giving, and giving,
And giving . . .
The choice is made;
The road is covered;
Mountains are bridged;
And valleys flown.I  flow out to all,
Cover each crevasse,
Walk each path
Its full length
Until . . .
It begins again.Remember
It is all an experience.
And so we live.

Beach Thoughts

Strewn weed and pebbles,
Fascinating hordes
Of shell shapes,
Washed upon a shore,
Driven by yesterday’s winds;
Shaded and baked,
Stepped upon and flung up;
Caressed and admired.
Some kept for only a moment –
Others perhaps for a lifetime;
Alone or crowded together –
According to the whims and wiles
Of today’s fashions:
The gathering group
Of babble-tongued hue.
Together and indistinguishable –
Is there a goal?
Survive for now –
For this life  —
The current ‘eternity.’
Shine bright in light;
Move in the still struggle
To the top –
Efforting to be admired
And picked
.So many pebbles;
So many straws;
Too many decisions
About which shells to pick.
Destiny to be broken
Into myriad pieces;
To lie a hundredfold
Beneath the glistening surface
Of the Eternal Sea,
Waiting for the next Eternity.
In the while,
Seek to glisten
Just a bit more;
Strive to be taken up
And cared for.

Floating Souls

In cool, ice-strewn waters,
White-flecked with the floe
Of our humanity,
Float our souls.Iceberg camouflaged
With volcanic hearts;
The tips only show
Of mammoth Being –
Stretching into unfathomed depths
Of unsounded potential.
The sun curtsies
To sister power:
Light and heat shared.
What shoals to traverse;
What temptation to resist –
To lay quiescent
Within the weed-laden tip,
Hidden in backwater,
Stagnating and barnacle baiting.
Far horizons glimmer,
Sing and call honeyed songs of promise;
Of fulfillment, of worth.
How far the voyage?
Which way the course?
How true is the company that points?
From whence the power
And drive to traverse?
Each soul in its casing
Works a wide swath,
As it attracts and grows
Within the Sea.
Veneer-stripped rumblings
Approach critical mass;
Explosion and power
To feed the souls –
Both beneath and above,
To glorify
And fulfill the Mission
To go, open and burst forth.
The life of a soul.

Floating On The Sea

(Aboard the SS Nieuw Amsterdam on the way to Europe – 1963)
What you push down
Rises up;
Time and space are the vital dimensions.
Round about, all buzzes:
Burgeoning banalities boom;
Cacophonic calls crack;
Delirium dementia droons . . .
As one seeks a sounding,
Surroundings close in with a surge;
And as we bottom,
We rise.The loftiness becomes exhilarating,
Fluffy white,
Myriad shades of blue,
The air filled with salt spray,
As gulls cry and soar.The mind is restarted,
Kindling the fire
Of the soul’s burner;
Stimulating a panoply
Of raw, half-baked, and full loaves –
Conceptualizations to feed the path
To conscious realizations.
What, then,
Are the vital dimensions?

What Could You Be?

Try this formula:
Humankind in some
Not too distant future
Is to humankind today
As humankind today
Is to caveman and cavewoman.[past future]
Our skills, senses, thoughts, capacities
(so advanced today when looking back)
Are but primitive waking
To the offspring
Of our offspring.
This is why
We negatively hold and categorize
So many tastes, smells, sounds,
Sights and touches.
Our senses get lost
To the media gods
And electronic devices,
And to all the other companions
In no-think-land
Why do we outlaw
Mind-expanding substances
But legalize depressants?
Why is the creative thinking
And experimenting soul ‘crazy,’
While “normal” is
The lowest common denominator?
Do we fear the creative voice we hear?
Shouldn’t we be evolving
To be more of ‘our’selves?
Can we let go of the image
And fill the space created
With the visions
We get to allow?
We incarcerate the true self.
We analyze until we paralyze –
All in the name of law,
Of progress, of normalcy.
Let us remove the barriers;
Let us move the line;
And move the line:
I am more than “me,”
You . . . You
Think of what
YOU can be!
The Eternal Sea
Image by Pixabay

Cosmotic Exploration

Universe Connected Cropped

These poems focus on a variety of ways that the questions that underlie our perceived existence: “Who Are We? Why Are We Here?” – questions that serve as the foundation for examination and for finding paths and some answers that have come to me over decades, where these get explored. I don’t really ‘know’ if there is AN answer that is universal – although I do postulate one for exploration and pondering



Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle
Implies that every particle,
Without exception,
Relies for its existence
On a ground field of energy
That is interacting
With everything
Energy as explicate order
Is enfolded in, and emanates from,
An implicate, transcendent order
Of pure energy
That is infinite and absolute.
Our material selves
What is called manifest form –
May be compared
To a standing cloud
Of no substance
Over a mountain peak
Where a dynamic process
Of condensations and evaporation occurs,
As droplets of water
Form and un-form
In the air
Over the mountain. 

How did it all start?
Where will it all end?
Through science and religion
Mankind has pondered
And wondered.
These are questions so immense
That the answers may come
Only through the eternal
So, day by day,
We take thin slices
To occupy ourselves –
To apply OUR science
And OUR religion.
In the day by day world,
We seek rest, change, learning.
Peace comes in the babble
Of a flickering screen,
On a playing field,
At a resort,
For the weary mind.
It comes in the silence
Of a meditative mode.
You know what? Whatever Is –
Is all that there Is.
Is the physical world,
The imperfection
In the otherwise Perfect Universe? -Or-
Is it that
In our perfect Universe Contains
What we have Otherwise thought
As imperfections?
If we are moving
Away from Creation (The creative force)
At just over
The limit of our ability
To perceive –
Then we will never
Be able to perceive Creation -Or-
Is it rather that Creation (and the Creative Force)
Is infinite.So,
It continues,
It continues
Throughout the Eternal Sea
It continues
On Course
In this I call my life
Nothing ever goes wrong;
Each heart lives to love,
Each voice to give song.
We are here, spread out,
Smooth, not knurled,
Spirit’s manifestation
Experiencing the material world.
A part of the Creator,
A chip off the sublime
We are energy existing
In space and in time.In this
I call my life
Nothing ever goes wrong;
Each soul lives to give,
Each voice to make song.
Each time we awaken
From the eternal soup,
We go off a-questing
And return to regroup.
Unconscious creates our reality;
Consciousness bears her fruit;
It is for us only
To conceive as we would suit.
In this I call my life
Nothing ever goes wrong,
Each spirit lives to unite,
Each voice sings that song.
You and Me
All is ONE, and
One is ALL, and
There was God, and
There was a beginning,
That was, is, and will be
Evolving (or ending?), and
This Path,
You and me – 
(We are one you know)-
We are traversing from
Beginning end
End beginning.Then,
How to figure out
What is the job
We have to do
In this SPACE?
If it is so
That all there is
Then presence –
n this NOW
Is what is required.
Of the glue
Holding the atom,
And holding
The three hundred billion galaxies
Each containing three hundred billion suns –
So vast, and
Space even vaster.Space,
Absolute zero (we thought)
Around Black Holes
Absolutely hot
(‘We” haven’t been there yet).
ME and YOU,
YOU and ME,
Devine energy.
The saying goes:
“You can’t see
The forest for the trees.
”How to be ONE –
Lost in
You AND me?
Listen to the whispers
Of the Universe:
The eternal vibrations
That underlie all sounds.
Listen to the sensations reflecting
Each soul’s story
In this time
And in this place
We call our life.Listen
Listen to the thundering silence —
The silence that inspires;
The silence that supports;
The silence that determines and defines
The vessel that contains the bounds and boundaries
Of existence – of possibilities;
Of all that ever was;
Of all that is;
Of all that will ever be.
The notes we play
Have a deeper melody –
A baseline and rhythm
Underscoring the top notes.
Listen to a melody that knows the sounds –
The sounds of what was
Before the Beginning;
The sounds of what will be
After the End.
No crashing symbols;
No Ode to Joy;
No Angel’s choir;
No thundering God.
. . . A Silence . . .
That is much,
Much more.
Listen to the ebb and flow,
The ebb and flow of
The Eternal Seas of Creativity.
It laps upon each shore,
It soothes the weary,
It inspires and uplifts.
It is from where we came,
And to where we shall return.Love
Love is created from the silence;
From the space between the notes.
Listen to the music of silence!
Listen to the music of love
The Restless Sea
The restless sea
Once again returns
To its seduction of the shore:
To tempt, to caress,
To tenderly wet and smooth,
And, at times,
To frothingly pound and ravage,
All according to the mysteries
Of the pulling and pushing forces.
We, as the ultimate shore,
Pounded or caressed,
Smoothed or roughened,
Await the next surge –
Not quite sure in our expectation.
We await,
Knowing surely that it,
IT will come,
Then withdraw,
Gone once more
Returning to the Eternal Sea,
Leaving us with the memory
Of a wave from the Ocean of Time.
May we appreciate then,
The majesty of the shore,
Proud in its existence,
As the waves hit and withdraw –
Some as smooth and impeccable
As the infinite grains of sand
Washed between the ebb and flow,
Some grow or incarnate as
Jetties of rocks.
In the jetty of humanity,
Extending into the Eternal Sea,
We are worn and changed
By the restless sea –
Finally dissolving
Into the Sea’s mass –
Becoming once again
Part of the whole.
These infinitesimal parts
Combine to form the shore,
The substance of what we call
Life –
Clean and white,
The Foundation for the future,
Building on the past
For a purpose, undefined –
Yet divine.
Give thanks.

Universe Connected Cropped© Mary Lou Quinn

The Droplets of Life
The droplets of life
Are held in a crashing
Tumultuous sea,
Riding the tides,
Their ebbs and their flows,
What was once
Washed up upon the shore Is gone . . .
Except that we know
The traces of their presence,
The legacy of what was.
They existed,
They have made their indelible marks.
They have returned
To enrich and make
More perfect
The Eternal Sea.
Life is richer
For the cycle –
For the legacy,
Their contributions.
May we never lose
Awe of what transpires.
Who Sayz?
Two hundred billion times
Two hundred billion,
Someone sayz –
That’s how many Stars they say there are –
The calculation is
10^24 stars.
That’s a 1 followed by twenty-four zeros.
Where did they come from?
Where will they go?
Someone said:
“They come from the Creator –
From a Big Bang.”
Imagine that noise!
Someone else sayz
There’s lots more ‘stuff’
We don’t know about –
Real dark stuff:
Stuff that really holds things in.
What’s on the other side of that?
And, by the way,
What was before the Beginning?
What will be after
The End?
Someone else sayz
There’s another way
To look at things:
Move our concept of
Beginning and End,
Move our concept
Of left to right,
Of yesterday and tomorrow
To only NOW –
And NOW,
And NOW is infinite –
Not only is IT “possible,”
But everything just “IS.”
The two hundred billion times
Two hundred billion
May be just a drop in the bucket.
Think about all the life
Teaming here
Just on this ONE planet.
Think about all
Your thoughts, and
All your dreams, and
All the possibilities
You KNOW are possible . . .It is like
A long row of eateries –
And just as we stop at McDonald’s –
Not because it is good,
But because we KNOW it –
We aren’t threatened;
We are comfortable with the familiar.
So huddle the masses;
Who wants to walk to the edge
And jump?
Of course it is scary,
And FEAR is so controlling –
So determinative.
Two hundred billion times
Two hundred billion –
That is a lot of sunshine.
Walk to the edge . . .
Why not jump?
Who sayz
You can’t?
The Many Are One
The many teachers are ONE,
The voices become a chant,
Sung together.
It is variations
On a theme:
The beat of our ONENESS
Is solid, pervasive,
Resonating and filling all space.
The melody is simple,
Clean and compelling –
Like the notes of
Master Beethoven’s Fifth.
And, AH!
The variations:
Billions of us
Playing with these notes
On instruments we have modified
And individualized.
The many composers are ONE,
Their names,
Their silences –
The space between the notes.
Such communication:
Playing the spheres
Of Eternal Spirit’s Orchestra,
Communicating more than we know
How to hear.
Listen, listen,
The music is eternity.
The many players are ONE.
At first, the discordance
Of the orchestra tuning –
Each on her own instrument,
Working to create the pitch,
Striving for harmony.
Then, attention to the conductor,
The baton falls,
Enlightenment enters;
Cacophony becomes waters
Falling over the cliff,
Plunging into a deep pool . . .
We move along
A green-white sliver,
Bending back upon ourselves.
The brain machine functions
For the unnamed mechanism.
It seems man’s quest
Has been to find that label.
And all science’s endeavors;
And all philosophy’s semantics;
And all of discovery’s yields
Have been a left-brained tour-de-force
To come to another layer
In the onion-layered Universe.
Sure, some of us inhabit,
Maybe even understand;
Some, maybe, can even commute
Among the dimensions.
Onion-layered Universe.
We peel back the green-white slivers,
Looking for the truth about ourselves.
Then what?
The quest gets Major League status.
Our onion plays with untold numbers
Of other onions –
New dimension:
Onion/layer/onion –
A universe of onions.
Beyond that?
Onion Universe plays
In a league
Of all kinds of vegetables.
Each, put together,
In different ways.
Beyond that?
Leagues of all kinds
Of growing things.
And beyond that?
An infinity of beyond,
Of Universes,
Of Gods.Onion-layered Universes,
Peeling back the green-white slivers,
Opens the mind and being
To answers
And more questions
The Quest is infinite,
Going to two points
The Center-In, and
The Center-Out.
And the line that connects them
Is everything, is creativity,
Is the eternal Now.
And you and I – “we”
Can even start from that line
That is everything
And explode it,
And stand on it,
And be with the infinite other lines.
And explode
And Explode
Wow . . . wow . . . wow!


Stars and flashes;
Spining wheels –
Streaking meteorites;
Foaming rapids.
Throbbing temples;
Pounding heart;
Panting breath;
Funny stomach;
Swollen brain.
Turn on . . .
Turn on . . .
Turn on . . .Whew!!
And I Sit On The Deck
The Sea calls.
The human race
In its petty pace
Is evolving
On the shore.
The masses of cells,
That within us dwell
Stretch back
To a spark from the Sea –
Nothing more.
And I sit on the deck,
Wondering what to expect:
What has this life
Got in store?
Out past the horizon I gaze,
Filling out all the
Parts of my days
With creative energies
Coming to the fore.
What is the Force
That charts the course
And, in the end,
Tallies the score?
Who pilots these senses?
Who creates all pretenses?
What is it
Behind life’s door?
And I sit on the deck,
Wondering who gets the check –
What has this life
Got in store?
Each of these cells
Is connected
One tells;
We are linked together
Forever more.
And the Sea calls
To each part of the Race
To pick up its pace
To move in,
Away from the shore.
Connected we are:
Each cell,
Each star –
Listen . . . here it is:
Big Bang’s Primal Roar!
And I sit on the deck
Oh, what the heck,
We are Now and Here,
We are all ONE,
Forever more.
Minutes, hours, days –
Steady flow of events,
Upon events,
Upon events.
Things, places, people –
Remembering lives and loves;
Lines in space;
Creating past . . .
Anticipating future.
Blessing or curse?
Remembering no time,
No place –
Blissful all nothing.
Remembering at ONENESS
With things and no things;
Going past creation;
The eternal void.
Meeting pure love,
An ‘interesting’ creation
For embodiment to relate;
For being on a plain
Where material selves
Can dance.
Hear the music –
That is the eternal language
Of the Universe.
Engage in the practice
Of Being –
The place and space
That time underlies
And surrounds.Time:
Hold it in your palm;
Turn it around
And inside out:
Play with it.
Time flies;
Time drags;
Time stands still;
Timeless –
Whose time?
Got the time?
Tick . . .
Blessed silence.
No time.
Forever more.
Tops a comely landscape
Of gently weathered
Hills and vales.
I walk proud and strong
On the high road to selfdom.
Has that brilliant flame
Always burned to drive
Down the path to tomorrow?
Did spent sands
From The Eternal Sea
Cover molten creativity,
Stuffing the eruption?
Domesticated sun,
Spinning in monotonous orbit
Within the Universe
Of endless circles,
Flies off in a tangent
Of creative confusion.
The magnetic attraction
Becomes irresistible.
We Can Be One
More –
Than the obligatory
Saying in words
And knee-jerk reactions.
More –
Than external acts
For others to see and applaud;
More –
Than recounting what was;
Or anticipating
What could be.
I reach into the ONE
That is The ONE
That moves you,
Thinks you,
Spirits you,
Is you.
I experience a soul
That is wise and whole;
A spirit that dances
In the space between the stars;
Lighting not only galaxies,
But also, other souls.
I bathe in that light –
Holding a mirror
Of clearest cut diamonds
For you to see
Your many facets
And how your soul glows.
I feel and I “know”
That we are ONE in many ways.
I sense that attraction
Will pull us into a world –
A world of answers;
A world of contributions;
A world of meaning;
A world of knowing –
Knowing Who We Are
Why We Are Here.
It is the trip we came to take;
It is the path to be followed.
As you so wisely said:
“It never gets boring!”
With love . . .
That is, in the end
What is the best and only thing
ONE can offer.
We can be . . .
We are
Liminal Moments
Liminal moments
Imbue our lives
With mystery and meaning.
These are the inexplicable experiences
In which the visible
And the invisible worlds overlap.
This is the intersection
Of timelessness with time,
Expressed through metaphor and poetry.
These are the soul-level perceptions –
Subjectively significant –
Understood in the heart.
These moments,
These experiences,
Provide intimations
Of a divinity in ourselves
And in the Universe.
These moments are the basis
Of the perception of an underlying ONENESS,
And of after-death communication.
They are called sychronistic,
Psychic or mystical experiences.
They are.
The Eternal Sea
Image by Pixabay