Windows to the Soul

February 27, 2005

Eyes are a passage into the soul..
Yet also the window from inside the same.

They are the glass through which
an ever-present child-self
anxiously peers,
seeking solace from the goings-on
of time long forgotten, or rather,
quite deliberately evicted
from conscious memory.

But the body remembers,
as does the child.
Long she peers, hoping some passerby
will mark her existence;

better yet, that the grown woman,
whose eyes ever close to reality,
will finally admit she never died..

..and comprehending,
will grasp this truth:
Survival is not the ultimate ideal..

..and upon waking,
will strive
for the first time
fully, abundantly...

to live.

Fissures

February 21, 2005

6:38 AM

Status Quo.
There is no status quo.
Aleatory promises;
uncertain hooks
upon which she
hung her life;
they make it so.

Misgivings abound
as she turns her head
to look back down
the way she came.

Known for integrity;
her reputation
for loyalty and
steadfast faithfulness.

These absolutes
dissolve into mist,
and she grasps a branch
as her head
begins to spin,
and thoughts spiral
into cracks and crevices-
great fissures mended
not long ago
with the cheap concrete
of necessity.

Might-have-beens
threaten to undo
a heart turned cold
and stone-like.

"What you want
is irrelevant,
what you've chosen
is at hand."

She turns back
toward the summit,
and climbs.

Vicissitudes

February 21, 2005

5:11 AM

Awake
this early in the morning...

it’s just not natural.

Pondering
vicissitudes
of room temperature,
status quo,
my mood.

So simple:
shower,
brush,
read,
sleep;
awake in the morning
refreshed.

Why can’t I?
Why can’t I?

Why...

Beyond the Lighted Path

February 19, 2005

More is owed to manner of
living, grieving,
groping, reaching
than to formal tutelage;
favoring questions
beyond the lighted path;
listening when wisdom
speaks,
whispers,
breathes...

in the classroom, yes,
but also in a bar
or on the street;
in a church where
addicts meet
and gather strength
to face another day;
where self-asserted
martyrs shame the ones
for whom they die
begrudgingly;

while those who sweetly groom
the addicts and martyrs
push denial, live in lies,
attempt to keep the light
from family and friends,
colleagues and priests.

More is owed to manner of
thinking, teaching,
loving, seeing
than to formal tutelage;
whether wide awake
or walking within sleep,
the truth so often
walks along before,
not two steps ahead
of the lamp
which guides the feet,

beckoning toward
wisdom found
beyond the lamplight's reach.

Vertigo

Photographer unknown.


February 14, 2005

A. Hitchcock & J. Stewart

Stairway, stairwell,
neverending,
ever flowing,
ever bending.

Walking upward,
walking downward,
sidelong glances,
hopeless chance of

swift retreat and
little more for
one's escape from
hellish lances

peering upward
toward the climber
or descender
daring him or her or them
to take the risk...

deceivedly

to fall

toward

disaster.

Enamored

~~~

"Every long lost dream
led me to where you are.
Others who broke my heart,
they were like Northern Stars,
pointing me on my way,
into your loving arms.
This much I know is true:
That God blessed the broken road
that led me straight to you."

~Rascal Flatts

~~~

February 13, 2005

For Ada, Father D. and the Orthodox Church.

Enamored..
of humanity and its
inexhaustible capacity

to hurt, to heal,
to love once more,
to make the leap
again...

To hurt, to heal,
to love, and then
to step again,
to take a breath
despite that which
would beckon her
to bid her heart
be silent..

To hurt, to heal,
to love... to hope.
To give himself,
despite his fear;
to sate her wont
to lavish love
upon the wind;
to share again
the holy hymn
of mysteries which
hide within
the sanctum of
his human heart.

Enamored...
it is fair to say..

enamored of humanity.

Perspective

Photographer Unknown

2/10/05

First glance reveals a bulb bereft of filament.
Night approaches, dark encroaches,
even as the noonish sky casts its light upon the town...

Or else, the night was passed in blindness and in longing
for this day's first light to end the evening's fear,
the would-be-sleeper's bane...

Yet again, perhaps one sits and seeks
the world beyond the filament:
gentle warmth upon the breeze of sunset flame,
or cool reflections of the sky at sunrise once again...

Upon reflection, sways perception:

Perhaps the night was sleepless;
perhaps her thoughts were filled with troubled grief.

Notwithstanding, just as likely,
may she not have drifted off to sleep
in dreamless, peaceful slumber;
awakened to the bliss of morning azure firmament,
without a conscious care for broken filament
beside her bed, upon the sill?