Awakening: Nothing Can Separate
"Nothing can separate us from the Love that is God"
words so gently spoken
a dagger in my heart
where I thought there was none.
I do not understand.
I do not want to.
Pray with Your Eyes Open
Pray with your eyes open.
Speak the gentle bend of a willow branch
as it reaches to caress your cheek
Give words to the flight of the flicker
Utter the soft brown flutterings of the quail
in their scurried quickness
Praise the bejeweled leaves touched by last night's rain
Whisper the greenness, the orangeness, the redness
of the world around you.
Pray with your eyes open
And when they close,
You can keep your pills and your platitudes
stop trying to make my brain work
the way you think it should.
We are different, that's all
and if I don't fit
with your way of viewing the world
Pretend you don't see me
It's easier for everyone that way.
has painted a landscape on my patio -
such depth, such tone,
such beautiful use of light.
Even the way the brick has been laid is perfect:
carefully placed glass
so I can still see through to the beauty beneath.
within this dried capsule
See the darkness?
that black seed?
Look again - look further
it blossoms in a flash of yellow
lifting its face to the sun
If you can't see it yet,
Tend the seed gently
Trust ... that it will appear
If you hold your spoon
You can turn yourself upside-down
and become soup.
an interesting duality,
but not one I favour.
Beyond the Veil
It was in the passage of your birth that it began,
this slipping of veils and intermingling of tides.
It was as you moved,
from death into birth
that I saw the curtains lift
and saw beyond
to where existence
was all there was to being
and life and death had no part of it.
For a moment I thought I had gone with you
was there, beyond the world, looking back
through a haze of unreality,
then I realized that it was you
who was looking back at me
and with your second death
I began to weep.
Some poems can just be written
appearing like deer - fully formed and ready to run
others can be laughed out, or cried
giggling tearfully onto the page
But some poems
from the womb
with great heaving sobs
Leaving jagged tears,
and becoming their own births.
In the Hands of God
How I wept when they said your name:
When they labeled you
Still you were, and still was the only way they knew you
I knew your life
all your tiny movements
I knew you
before you were named
before we called you In the Hands of God
There was nothing I could have done
nothing I did
But still i wonder why you chose to go
Perhaps you would have stayed
if i had loved you more?
Does it really matter how we get a teaching?
whether someone gives it to us
or we find it tucked into some leaves
or hidden in a jaybird's wing.
If our hearts are open
full of spirit
the teaching will be good
no matter where it finds us.
"There is nothing that can separate us
from the Love that is God"
so it is said
is the only thing that does separate us from God
God never separates from us.
It is only in nothingness,
in absence of becoming
that we grow so big in our own eyes
and turn God
all around us
And the great Light becomes darkness
"Your last child died."
The blunt force of your words shocked me
from that nowhere world between labour
What gives you the right
to tell me something I already know so deeply
How dare you
suggest so cruelly that I should follow your advice
The force of your words shocked me
But the words themselves have since been lost
deep in a newborn's cry.
They are dark, those days
those days when we separate ourselves from God
And I can see
would become hell
If God ever chose to separate himself
Many of these words were born or conceived on silent retreat at a place called Naramata Centre. If any of this has touched you or called you to a sacred moment, please consider giving a small gift so that Naramata Centre can maintain this ancient sacred space, and the programs offered there.
copyright 2012 ailsa flynne