Simple Things

I want excitement
to be born from
simple things.

Like being presented
with another day
to live and breathe
and sing.

Or knowing how very fortunate
I am
to have all the
luxuries of life:
running water
ready access to food
electricity
shelter
and countless modern conveniences.

I want excitement
to not be hinged on
having to go someplace
or do something
or be someone
in particular.

I want excitement
to bubble up
from the deep cauldron
of my heart,
for the wondrous miracle to
be
here
now.

This is my aspiration;
my practice;
my winding path
through the thicket of collective hardships
and planetary throng of woes.

– penned today, July 10th, 2019, around 6am

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Tell Me How It Is

Speak to me of what makes your eyes spark to life. Speak to me about the heart of your experience. Speak not in fragrant poetic verse, unless there is authenticity in so doing.

Don’t put a spin on things to help soften the blow of your inner strife. I want you to tell me like it is; what it means to be you in your own skin. I am not interested in meeting a version of you – one you gussy up for company: muted, fake, and dull. I don’t want to meet you in passing, sharing only pleasantries and hollow sentiments.

This may sound strange. It may even scare you off, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I want to absorb you fully and consume you. I want to dissolve the separation we think exists between us and become one being – all of us, in this together.

The Invitation

The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it is not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside,
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

 

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More Than Enough

MoreThanEnough_md

Inspired by a poem my friend Llora recently wrote on her new adventure: A Poem A Day http://lhkontheroad.blogspot.com/ I decided to write this:

More Than Enough

Just what is happiness?
Today, I think that it is:
eating a warm blueberry muffin that I just baked
and making a pot of chili for 15 friends,
that we’ll be eating during our sangha campout
on the Flathead Lake this coming weekend.

The orange glow of the mountain ash berries,
glistening on the tree in my front yard.

Taking a nap,
drinking cold water,
listening to the soft chattering of my backyard chickens,
great music,
and the practice of sitting meditation.

Wet grass on my bare feet
and waiting for the sprinkler to rotate
before heading to empty the compost bucket.

Feeling the sun on my skin.

And there’s more.
So much more.
But this is plenty.
It’s more than enough.

Here’s Llora’s poem:

All I Want 

Just what is happiness?
Today, I think that it is:
really good pizza
comfortable shoes and finally
finding a bra I actually like.

Red bricks after the rain.

Seeing a friend in a unexpected place
and it not being 90 degrees.

The guy in the book store
letting me sit for an hour
lost in a book
and the girl at the counter
whose smile and chit chat
made me feel normal again.

Sand between my toes
and everything being made
whole again
by the sea.

Today, it’s all these things
and that will have to do
because that is plenty
for any life.

– Llora Kressmann