The Beat of One’s Own Drums

to march to the beat of
One’s Own Drums,
to imitate no one,
to innovate 
from a place of deep faith
and confidence-
such a mandate
is not for
the faint
in Heart.

it takes courage 
to be free,
to be the You
that often only You can see,
to be unique, a bit of a mystique
in a world of followers and shamers.

we were made in God’s image,
reflections of The Divine, The Most High
one and onlys are we –
wonderfully crafted 
for a specific purpose and time.

the sake of humanity pleads:
spread your considerable wings!
march to the beat of your very own drums!
no need to compete,
there is more than enough room
for everyone.

Artwork: Walking the Line, Edwin Lester @artistedlester

LIFE (scene two)

LIFE

can seem insane.
So many of us are unable
to withstand its pain.
We do our best to live,
to contribute
to a world
constantly changing
and maddening.

Still, through it all
some of us manage not to fall.
Like a seedling
making its way up through concrete,
we spread our wings,
we plant our feet.
We’ve found our place;
we are lauded and celebrated.

But then-
in the blink of an eye,
an “apparent suicide“.

What happened?!
What went wrong?!
Does not success
bring with it sustained happiness?
What of us
for whom no one makes a fuss,
who daily squeeze into an overcrowded bus
to a job that leaves us empty and numb?
If the “extra-ordinary” so regularly succumb,
how then does the “ordinary” overcome?

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation…” Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Change to Save

I will need to change my life
in order to save it.

This I am feeling to my very core.
Don’t know  how much more
I can swallow.
I’m walkin’ on thin ice,
on troubled waters that are shallow.

Born an introvert, Quiet is the air I must breathe,
what sustains and maintains me.
Without adequate doses of silence,
I lose pieces,
become untethered,
cannot see a hopeful reality,
begin to question my existence
and that of all humanity.

Why all the noise –
the incessant chatter and mindless banter?

Y’all gonna make me lose my mind
up in here, up in here.
Y’all gonna make me lose control
up in here, up in here.”

I will need to change my life
in order to save it.

Deprived of silence,
I feel my blood boiling,
heart racing,
hands tremblin’,
mind slipping.
I can taste that bitter, flimsy line
between love and hate;
that soft, raw space
where even the gentlest among us
can suddenly snap
and do things we can never take back.
The Devil isn’t over there-
No, it plays in us all
bidding we follow
and fall-
fall so hard and low,
we can barely stand up.

I will need to change my life,
re-claim it
in order to save it.

Exactly how to do so
overwhelms and scares –
the tide is seemingly so high.
Got to go deep inside,
to The Core
lean only on that which is Truth and pure.

Speak Life

Speak Life.

Never ever

give up the fight.

Release

the tendency

toward lethargy,

and the belief

that death is the relief.

Speak Life.

Call out to it,

summon it,

live it –

fully

boldly

intentionally!

Taste its sweetness-

so potent

it cuts through the perceived bitterness.

Speak Life,

for it is what one makes of it-

no more, no less.

Speak Life.

It begins in the Mind

what The Moment will find.

Speak Life.

Share your story

from a place of humility

and generosity.

Speak Life.

We are One-

all connected,

all reliant.

 

 

 

 

The Commute

I had plans
today.
Plans for adventure
and duty-
all
entailed
The Commute
to The City
on the weekend
when all Hell is loosed
and The Commute
becomes an Intolerable Beast,
affecting me
everywhere –
from head
down to feet!

The relentless rush,
the multitudes of people,
trains disabled.

The smell of urine
and rotten cheese
emanating from homeless humans
with limbs grotesquely diseased-
scratching, sleeping
begging, hustling.

And then
there’s The Noise
my God –
crashing
repeatedly
angrily
forcefully
into me,
engulfing me
like a seismic sea wave,
driving me crazy,
utterly insane!

I must go deep
inside
retreat,
hide-
do whatever it takes
to survive
The Commute’s 
overwhelming
and exhausting
stimuli
I so desperately hate.

I was not built for this
no, not me
the sensitive introvert
who thrives
only
in relative silence;
who loves
longs for
peace and quiet.

The older I get
the more intense
is the stress
that The Commute
elicits.

As my threshold
for tolerance
rapidly drops,
the more urgent
the need
for a fresh start-
a new, different Life,
one devoid of The Commute’s 
inherent strife.

Pearls from Tears

I remember well my fascination with oysters – rather unattractive on the outside, very rough around the edges. Yet, inside, lay a much sought-after jewel, the pearl. When later I learned that the pearl is the by-product of an irritant entering its sensitive insides, I understood why the oyster so resonated with me. This was me, my life: nothing particularly compelling on the outside – by typical standards – but inside, my heart and my mind, utterly extra-ordinary, beautiful, invaluable and unforgettable. 

To this day, I draw my sense of self-worth and place from what lies beneath my skin, that which cannot be seen or felt by most. Alas, residing in a world where the outward appearance is a major determinant of one’s currency and where the attention span continues to rapidly decrease, what place is there for the pearls that lie within? Will anyone pay attention? Does anyone care?

For us, the human oysters, the world’s daily dismissal serves as the irritant; our tears, fodder for the formation of precious pearls. They pile up, the pearls, on our delicate insides, yearning to be seen, worn, to adorn. They were not meant to be stowed away, these iridescent fruits of vulnerability, discomfort and despair. No, they are gifts to be brought to the Light and shared.

And so, with lips quivering, hands trembling and hearts pounding, we take a tentative step, and then another; we open our mouths to speak, softly at first; we pick up our pens and write, allow the pearls to flow out, and then quickly hit send.

Some of what we offer will fall on fertile hearts and minds and be valued; most will be discarded or just plain ignored. No matter. The response is not our responsibility; we are tasked only to release.

Loaded Head

where is my Heart in the Moment?
what does It wish to express?
what needs to come up
to come out,
to be said,
seen,
and lovingly released?

i feel no thing,
which can mean
numbness or peace,
cold apathy
or searing heat.

“just leave Me be!”
The Heart begs,
“focus on this Moment instead.
live outside your loaded head.”

The Companion

it is only the second day of the new year,
and i wonder why am i here?
why didn’t i just disappear?
feel so ….
invisible and disposable,
useless and directionless.

alas, been in this place many times before,
so i know well the score:
and this, too, shall pass.
the question is
how long will it last?

Another Year

Twelve months,
fifty-two weeks
three hundred sixty-five days,
eight thousand seven hundred sixty hours,
f
ive hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes

gone
over
done.

A door is closing,
another is opening.
A time for reflection,
a clean slate.
Lessons learned,
goals to re-make.

We know what was
and wonder as to what will be.
What will spill over
from last year to this?
What and who will give way,
create space
for something
new
unexpected
completely transformative?

A mystery, the New Year;
seems to come sooner and sooner
with each passing year-
little time to catch one’s breath
before it’s on to the next!
Perhaps, a good thing,
this perceived speed
with which the years roll by-
less thinking
and worrying,
more being
and accepting.

What will be, will be.
We cannot control
what is destiny.

On the cusp
of a New Year,
we set intentions
and then
humbly
release them,
surrendering all;
taking it
breath by deep breath
minute by precious minute.
Living
fully
in every moment as
hours grow into days,
days become weeks,
weeks give way to months.

And
suddenly
we begin again
and anew.

 

Silence is A Song

Sometimes
silence
speaks louder 
than words.

So much
can be heard
listening
from the space
that binds
the human race.

Energy feels more
poignant
in deep silence;
vocabulary is more expanded.

Silence is not the
absence of sound,
no, more the concentration
of the profound.

An unmasking of sorts,
in silence,
we stand in the nude-
fully exposed-
nowhere to hide
nowhere to go-
a straight line
in lieu of
a circuitous route