Awakening:  Quail in a Pine Tree

What is Not

Lost in yesterday's years
    the mind's eye expands into the present
    brings life to what might have been
    and definition to what is not.

Beyond understanding
    the soul's heart reaches into the mind's eye
    brings grace to what might have been
    and being to what is not.

Deep in the now
    the heart's body becomes the grace of being
    flows through yesterday's years
    into the mind's eye.

Deep in the now
    what is not
    becomes what is.

Gathering

Too much reaching out pulls too much in
jangling
the senses and disturbing
    the soul
which cries
    "If you cannot see
    You are looking too hard."

Rest carefully with what you have gathered.

Gather no more until
    your gatherings have been woven
    into the essence of being
until past, present, future
    have become
        now.

Truth

Truth is what we make of it:
    a stirring wind beneath the wings of time
    released from fear and shadowed into wakefulness
In single breath are life and death combined.

Essence of Being

A potato is a humorous thing
    filled with beans
Add sauce and cheese, and it becomes ironic:
    in our creating
    we lose the essence
    of what really
    is

Limits

Geese call
    and I yearn to follow
    certain I could fly if only I could remember how
God calls
    and I duck my head in shame
    knowing my own limits

Way of the Labyrinth

Enter the labyrinth, walk it slowly
    sacred stillness caresses ruffled fears.
Walk the way, come to center
    spirit source and well of unshed tears.
Walk the way, moving gently
    tracing backwards through a gift of leaves,
Return to self, come to wholeness
    bring the world the truth the labyrinth sees.

Distillation

There is so much truth.
I am no alchemist,
    distilling truth down to a single drop.
That's your job.
    You cannot ask me to do it.
    Not that you will - you neither ask nor command
    but it comes out just the same.

In any case, it is too hard
    this distillation of truth
and undistilled, truth is too strong a drink for most.
    Besides, what would you do with it?
A single drop to heal a broken world?

Quail in a Pine Tree

... and just when I thought there could not possibly be another, there was.
And so it continued until the pine tree was empty

Except
a tree is never really empty
just full of something we haven't seen yet

Midwifery

These are not tears I write.
These poems do not tear and break me
    as I birth them
These are surface poems.   
    ripples on a lake
    a fluttering of leaves
Not here the undertow, the mountain of rock
Not here the crushing distortion between what is
    and what isn't
This is only the forging of a key,
not the writing of the willow and its owl's wisdom.
It will require more than a spirit midwife
    to birth that truth
Though the willow      begs     to differ

Place

I moved, and the poem disappeared
This, then, is not the place to write it
so I must either return from whence I came
or wait here for another to take its place

Willow's Gift

Emptied of the spirit I lay down
    in warming sun on willow's hallowed ground
    the spirit shone and warmed me through and through
    and left me with another poem or two

I drowsed in silence deep beneath the tree
    while sparrows chirped to keep me company
    and I wondered, as I listened to their joys
    how chirping could be stillness and not noise

Till the willow roused herself enough to shake
    a leaf free for my spirit's sake
    and laid it gently, nestled on my heart
    a poem half-born, a shining yellow start
  

Blinding Thirst

Sometimes a thirst for knowledge
    blinds us to what we already know
And blind, we cannot see through the earth
    to where tangled roots 
    weave the great trees together
Reminding them
    that they
    are one

Smallness

Lose touch with Love
    - that beauty that moves through all things,
and you become small:
    small of mind
    small of heart
    so very important to yourself.
Time and time again
    in smallness
    you return to the Way
it runs so strong
    draws you back to try
    again
    and again
Knowing the Divine is not the struggle
    and so
    even not understanding
    you return
and are embraced by Love.

Journeying Grief

I cannot begin to fathom your grief
We each walk our own journeys 
    in our own ways
I can be neither signpost, nor guide
    but know
        deeply
    that you will walk this path
        in the way that is right
        for you
    trust deeply
        that you will know
        what to do 
            and when
        what to hold close
            and what
            to set free
I cannot heal you
but I can give you the gift of time.
        your mind
        your heart
        your soul
    they know the way through the darkness
Let them be your guides
And return to me
    when you
        are
            ready

Walking Circles

In the healing garden you can walk
    circles
Until you come back upon yourself and
    realize that you have been walking in a straight line
    all along.

Possibility

On a leaf
drops of water
sparkled drab brown
into crystal
and my mind caught fire
with possibility.

Poetry

Writing poetry isn't being silent
Poetry is loud, obnoxious
Until you fall in the quite stillness of it
and drop
into the space between the words.

Barometer

Even without the poplar's warning
I can feel the rain coming
The heavy cleansingness of it
Pouring down out of the hills
Cooling the scent of the air

Another's Shoes

Walk a mile in another's shoes
    before you pass judgement
Take off your shoes
    and walk barefoot
    on hallowed ground
And the need for judgement disappears
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