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Posts Tagged ‘communion’

for Amy and Devin

 

 

two rivers

become one water—

sound of ten thousands hands clapping

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It’s hardwired, says the instructor,

explaining that all of us tend to identify

more with people who are more like us.

It’s a survival tool from ancient times,

she says, to put people like us in an in group,

and to label the others other.

I take notes. Raise my hand. Participate.

Do exercises that show that although

I say I have no preferences, my limbic brain

has its own opinion. And so

I dedicate myself to finding

the ways we are all alike, uncovering

the ways we all mirror each other—

vulnerable, strong, curious, cautious,

I pledge myself to our common humanity,

to notice my bias and question it.

It’s a survival tool for the present time,

I tell myself. Every one of us, a sliver

of divinity.

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The moon was hidden and the scent

of rabbit brush was thick, so thick

a woman could be hypnotized by it—

 

it seemed to come from everywhere,

the garbled light, the sage-sharp scent,

the sound of every step she took, and

 

every step she took felt like

a baptism, though into what, she could

not say—herself, perhaps, but more

 

the world, and yes, it was

the kind of tenderness

one only meets when we’re

 

alone and somehow lost

inside the night, amazed that it

can be so warm, so gentle,

 

shocked that we can be so slight

we almost, almost disappear—

but ah, the sound of every step she took

 

reminded her that she was here—

and sage-sharp scent of rabbit brush

caressed her every everywhere,

 

and led her deeper into night,

soft sound of footsteps, garbled light,

the snarl of squirrel nests in the trees

 

made visible through silhouette,

and every every step she took felt

like a baptism, like a rite

 

though rite of what, she could not say,

the moonlight gave itself away

the rabbit brush said here, here, here.

 

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Dear __________,

 

 

 

You are warmly invited to join our conspiracy of joy,

a growing cabal of strangers and friends who collude

to create delight, who initiate random acts of bliss, who

scheme of ways to help all others find authentic jubilance,

who tear down walls that would separate us and them.

If you enjoy such subterfuge, there certainly is room

for you. To be clear, you may be charged with pleasure,

ecstasy, and truth. Next meeting, now. And now. And now

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after The House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm by Wallace Stevens

 

 

 

The field was high and the sun was low

and the woman became the light; and the evening

 

slowed its pace perhaps to let the light remain.

The field was high and the sun was low.

 

She moved as though there were no night

worth fearing, as if the field could hold it all.

 

She leaned into the goldening, the way

the light itself leans softly on the world.

 

The night, a gentle friend, meandered quietly

across the land. There were no words

 

that could be said. The field was high

and the sun was lower. Slowly, hushed,

 

the wind a sigh, the field surrendered

all its lines. The darkness gathered

 

everything, the field, the woman, even

light, and made itself an offering.

 

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in the dark

you lose track

of any lines

that say

you are here

and the night

holds you

like a lover

with hands

somehow

everywhere,

and the stars

keep thousands

of secrets

and sometimes

they spill,

and if you have

a question,

it comes to meet you

whether or not

you’ve dared

to ask it.

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Anywhere at All

 

 

 

I find the silence

between your words

and set a cushion there

and close my eyes

and find stillness in that quiet

place in you

that speaks to that quiet

place in me.

Within a single conversation

we’ve shared communion

a thousand times—

is it any wonder we cry

when we say goodbye?

 

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One for Your Glass

 

 

in me a wine

I want to pour for you—

each sip made

from a thousand tiny bells

still waiting to ring

 

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on the shores of you,

finding a place through the overgrowth

where I can let fall everything

and slip in and

stay

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One Whirled

 

 

 

travelling it together

this brush with forever—

galaxies in every step

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