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Holds a rose
like a wine glass
a single cup
of autumn
bloom
in her fingers
She sips,
the same way the lonely
tree outside
holds its fire
a fistful of purple
melancholy ablaze
with a love too vivid
for the leaves to keep
burning. She sips
again lifting
a final moment
of fire to her lips.
(by Chelan Weiler)
shovel the world into my eyes
i am preparing myself
for the worms
with lipstick and a red dress
the dust is my suitor
and i am making of myself
his perfect bride
he knocks on the holes to which i've given my eyes--
the sockets sunk 6 feet under light
he wants to come in, and shovel them
full of the world
the stubble that grows
on the lazy chin of his shadow
are the unkempt weeds
that invade the purer plots of my heart
i flirt
with this unruly torment
twirling my hair into its tangle
and in the search for a soft, loving bed
the dirt will pull me down
into its chest
with thick permanent fingers
and kiss me
and decompose me
and tell me i'm beautiful
and eat my face
as we grow roots in each others darkness
layers underneath
the pulsing call of life.
(by Chelan Weiler)
_______________
The Word, by Sayre Herrick
the word is not dead
it is sleeping in the pauper
and
in the tongue’s pirouette,
dancing over a plane of newspapers—
in the drunken fashion of a nearsighted sleeper
the word is not dead
it is not grand,
—it does not have to be,
to be worthwhile speech of kings…
if a king would wish to speak
and to step down from the grandiosity of silence.
time demands the word.
it is a shadow of what we know
a currency of communication
exchanged and absorbed
but we have lost the gold
and so there is an empty promise in words
and so what we speak is a shadow of what is true
and so the audience listens in suspended disbelief
the word, in essence
is the truth of our own minds
and what is truth if we have not named it?
what is truth but a word that we have created?
and so it is no different from what is false
yet the word is a reflection
and without it, the boundless Unformed overwhelms meaning
the untrue becomes true
and the shadows of words cease
the point of view, from where our light consciousness radiates,
is not the sun—
its light does not come from a singular source
when there is no Where from which the Light came,
and when there is no object from which a shadow can be formed,
and so no direction for a shadow to fall,
so there, is the Beyond of our minds
and the realm of Truth.
Wayward Traveler, by Sayre
The wayward traveler follows the harmless hobo
Hoping to find a soft bed, comfort and sleep
Together they share the traveling soul’s delights
With grain bread, fruit, and poor man’s wine
They spend the night under the open sky
No words spoken between the two
But by eyes and soul do they commune
In the morning when their ways they part,
On foot to friendships elsewhere sought,
The ways of an ancient life and art
Remembered by these two travelers.
One dawn, in silence each looks east
Whispers secrets of a wordless truth in the ear of the beast
Sacred Sound, Michael Mercker
Bathe yourself in the cleansing vi-
brational energies of sonic Love.
What is the sound of Love? Let's
find out. What is the healing
potential of sound?
Experiment explore express sing move
dance massage heal grow and change
integrate disintegrate commune rest listen
meditate.....
We're swimming in a sea of energy that we
are co-creating. What do you wish
your Sacred Sound to be?
Let us hold this sacred space for one other
to be authentic.
Rain
(This scene is from a novel about Jesus in India by Amanda Weatherford, class of '08, Common Bread student co-leader.)
Storm clouds emerged and thickened in the obsidian sky. Moon’s magnetic pull and the humid wind coaxed ocean waves into a frenzy. Yeshua continued to pray- receiving and giving energy into the abyss of night. The warm electricity he received made his heart flutter. Wind began to blow fierce and lightning like the bolts from Indra’s bow surged into the sky with a trembling crack and rumble to follow. Clouds darkened by the minute with drops of rain to follow- first big and slow, and then faster until the entire visibility of Jugganatha’s skyline was written with endless strings of rain.
Yeshua arose, a deep elation bubbling within. He looked into the firmament, felt the cool water from Heaven beating on his body and began to chuckle. His chuckle turned into laughter, and his laughter turned into deep bellowing joy. He raised his hands to the sky and closed his eyes, allowing every element to feel this jubilation. He spun around and around, arms outstretched and laughing all the while. His bare feet smooshed deep into the sand and water.
Soon Yeshua heard a horde of people in excited tones approaching him. Half the town of Jugganatha had come to witness this miracle. Avani spotted Yeshua and ran to him. Her arms rose in celebration as well, joining Yeshua in deep laughter. Her hands moved to touch his- flat palm to flat palm. Immediately, she felt the intensity of energy surging from his palms. Her head bowed to prop against his as she looked into his countenance.
“Oh Yesh, do you do this?”
“No, my dear. I became entranced and felt the presence of the Great Spirit. I asked for rain and my intent and prayer was so loud that I almost thought I could hear them audibly though I wasn’t speaking. I felt myself become part of the moisture, the clouds, all the elements of the sky. Then I felt myself cry for the sadness this draught has caused your people, and when I began to weep, so did the sky. The way I felt everything, and then once I wept…it was like Nature and I as one found the best way to express our sadness, through rain! - Amanda Weatherford, '08
Don't Believe, Just Gaze
If you have a face, God has a face:
This is how the mirror works.
Don't try to be clear and empty:
mirrors are always empty
even containing the world.
Just remember the eyes you opened
when you were a baby, and the smile
that never had to be made.
The curve of the folded fern, the wheated hill,
the dolphin's nose, the moon, and the ripple
of the moon on water.
All earth's curves are sacred reflections
of that infant's smile.
Whoever gazes at a baby becomes
instantly holy: that is why God
keeps taking birth here.
You don't have to believe: just gaze
and be gazed on.
With this mirror, you could make
the world so beautiful again!
But if you deny that God has a face,
you deny your own mirror, and your own
Radiance!
- Fred LaMotte
