a ritual to start the work week
Metaphor Warning:
What You Are About to Consume
Is Pure Fabrication.
No Words Were Harmed
In the Making of This Fiction.
Do Not Be Alarmed.
whether “love is blind,”
or “a red, red rose,” or
“life is a cabaret,” or
“just a bowl of cherries,”
I can’t be sure. But
what I do know —
the rock and the root
of my heart and my every move —
is this: love is
life is love is life
is love.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Transformation is an act of love,
for self-loathing can not change us,
only harden our hearts apart from us.
Yet we need not feed our actualization alone.
Love, like breath, goes both ways — flows in
and builds reservoirs to be tapped by all —
while shame must be thrust upon us.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
stars open and shine up at us
from their beds, tiny alarms
telling us it’s time to say
goodbye to a winter that never
quite took hold, an old man,
maybe, but one whose eyes
glinted with perpetual spring
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
let beats given be breaths taken
blows dealt be unknowns known
even brief pauses can open
us to growth ungotten
how using the yellow to slow
not speed lets fear recede
how yielding can be shielding and
waiting can be gaining
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Unearth the shards of millennia-old
jugs to hold space for creations to come.
Remember: what barley gives the water,
the water gives to us. Imagine wounds
sewn into our skin and soaring. Reborn.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
we’re never not we
can’t stop weing our ways
with each other and often
when we forget we fail
or fumble over weness
we hadn’t yet perceived
we is the water within us
the ground we stand upon
and the air we breathe
yet we need more than we
can offer each other
and while we can’t be weless
we can be meful as well
indeed our wefulness grows
when I ignite me and you
in your inextinguishability
light you
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
What if —
and I know
I’ve been telling you
often
of the virtues
of openness
of the joys
of yes anding
of the love
of flow
but lately
and maybe only sometimes
facing all this
noise and nonsense
— no?
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
smoking wicks and steamy mirrors
show little more than remnants
blurry outlines of what
we thought we knew
overcast’s edge creeps closer
revealing moment by moment
millimeters and miles of sky
that far away seas turn blue
foggy memories jockey
for focus tumbling over
each other to fill the distance
between me and you
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
like far flung tumbleweed,
uprooted, hunched and haunted
from wandering, from peering
through its tangled limbs at
a world that won’t stop spinning,
unable to see the splendor,
so caught up in the framing
of its own broken branches
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Head east toward sunrise,
toward rootedness, toward home.
Turn left onto your own path
away from the throngs.
Follow signs of your joy
and in deference to your feet
arrive and arrive —
achieve, reach and be.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Love does, doesn’t it?
Writes the song and plays it
Sows the field and reaps it
Builds the nest and empties it
Raises the gun as well as the white flag
Takes as well as it gives
Hides as well as it shines
— better, in fact —
Nuzzles deep into the marrow
To be copied and indelible
Ever asking the question
And waiting
As long as it must
For an answer
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
