Walk Softly Live Gently

We have been telling the people that this is the Eleventh Hour.

Now you must go back and tell the people that this is The Hour.

And there are things to be considered. Where are you living? What are
you doing? What are your relationships? Are you in the right relation?
Where is your water? Know your garden.

It is time to speak your truth: Create your community. Be good to each other.

And do not look outside yourself for the leader: This could be a good time!

There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that
there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold onto the
shore. They will feel they are being torn apart and they will suffer
greatly.

Know the river has its destination.

The elders say we must let go of the shore, and push off into the
river, keep our eyes open, and our head above the water.

See who is in there and celebrate. At this time in history, we are to
take nothing personally. Least of all ourselves. For the moment that
we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt.

The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word
struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that you do now
must be done in a sacred manner… and in celebration.
We are the ones we’ve been waiting for…

The Great River - The Elders, Hopi Nation, Oraibi, Arizona

The Ancient Masters

didn’t try to educate the people,

but kindly taught them to not-know.

When they think that they know the answers,

people are difficult to guide.

When they know that they don’t know,

people can find their own way.

The Tao Te Ching, 65
Stephen Mitchell

Chapter I

He carried his anger like a trophy
raining words like shooting stars
stinging
then stretching like and old cat
in the mid-afternoon sun.
He could turn buckets of sunshine
into sleepy question marks of regret.
Hate bubbling up from the drama
that hid in the carpet of fear
that bound his chest.

I saw the fear as another star
falling, driven like crystal shards
deep into the earth where they
rattled around like old bones in a coffee can.
Singing taunts like a leaky faucet
the creeping shadows forming grotesque
patterns on the walls of his
severely severed heart.

Chapter II

Oh, the sharp porcelain of winter.
The rinse of tears on cold stone.
Marauding words twitching frantically
as the tangible hissing of light,
rich enough to burn the pallor
off of the embarrassingly fragile
truth, like the scent of yellow silk
flowers.

Candelabra melodies ring
in contrapuntal rhythm to
the expletives that roll so easily
over his washboard tongue
sounding like blackbirds
cackling to the sun.

Chapter III

I was recently in the sunlight
crawling through the fire
when you spoke…. wanderer, forbear.
Were you not often broken?
Were you not afraid?

Fantasy is a sun, a fair valley
Fantasy climbs darkness
It soars in the brightness of summer
Fantasy is the dancing of all suns.

RonRusso

Pouring Light

God
pours light
into every cup,
quenching darkness.

The proudly pious
stuff their cups with parchment
and critique the taste of ink

while God pours light

and the trees lift their limbs
without worry of redemption,
every blossom a chalice.

Hafiz, seduce those withered souls
with words that wet their parched lips

as light
pours like rain
into every empty cup
set adrift on the Infinite Ocean.

~ Hafiz ~