We are  inevitably responsible for our measure of joy,
It is available for the taking...
Irresistibly awaiting our participation,
But we must be open to receive;
becoming fertile and receptive;
willing to germinate and bloom

to fade and to pass and be created and transformed
over and over again.

Circles

Don't let anyone fool you,

Everything really is connected.

I have walked the circle too many times

to the deepest, most inner grooves

of life's longing for itself...a

labyrinth of faith,

tired, weary and still filled with hope;

Only to see the face of the beginning

In every threat of the end.

Don't let anyone fool you....

Now is always the only time there Is

and the willow stands to show us how to weep,

to sway,

and to bend.

resurrection rose

It wasn't one moment, or was it?

And there were so many that wrestled me to the ground

and so many that reinvented me

Years revealing the specks of stars

that smiled on the ragged and the mending

edges of me.

It feels cumulative, tho...

cobwebs in an oft times, neglected corner of our days

where the spider crawled up unnoticed, and observed;

a surreptitious winter activity;

spinning, producing, living.....

all the while, overlooked miracles

And I am more real because of their creeping

Because of their watchful eye.

But something broke the chains didn't it?

something outlined the defining hour

between yesterday and tomorrow...

setting in motion all the hidden future.

It wasn't one moment, or was it?

If it was it was the light,

the blinding, burning cleansing Light,

that threw It's arms around me

and a resurrection

Rose....

resurrection rose

resurrection rose

An Act of Praise

A Poem by mysticgmekeepr

This isn't a poem, but it also isn't a story, a chapter or any of my other choices:-) Its just a late night thought in prose.

An Act of Praise


You know...I was just sitting here thinking about how difficult it often is to help someone see what is so obviously truth. But I forget that we simply are not viewing life from the same perspective. Our levels of observation are not the same. Some ascend to heights that others simply cannot glimpse or imagine. Some descend to depths where others would simply choose not to go, and most would fear drowning or the bends . We see the world around us differently and it is futile to try and change another’s reality. It is as ingrained as our own is on us. But there is a universal connector that surpasses all perceptions, erases all differences, rises above all circumstances, and connects us to our inherent similarities. It often effects the very change we are powerless to force. We all have the same needs and desires beneath the personas we have erected to present to the world, we all are pilgrims walking with feet of clay. I think that connector is kindness, the empathy we extend to another that springs from the well of our humanity and our recognition of a brother....that place of knowing where love covers a multitude of sins and celebrating ones authenticity is an act of Praise.

© 2010 mysticgmekeepr

If I Had Gotten My Way...

If I had gotten my way
I wouldn’t have seen
the light fall softly
on a particular leaf in a particular way.
I would not have witnessed the
branches held by light,
or the fading sun turning
emerald into a pale chartreuse
Before the darkness fell.
I wouldn’t have seen
how the breath of the universe
gently moved the leaves
that offered no resistence, only
shimmering with pleasure & peace.
If I had gotten my way
I would have missed this twilights gifts.
I would not have been embraced by
the harmony and the magic of the woods.....
The plethora of birds that followed my movements.
The fish that jumped 2 ft out of water with my passing.
I wouldn’t have felt the movement of air
as the blackbird flew swiftly over my shoulder.
I would have missed the displaying gobblers
with their blazing red heads and fanned out tails
trying so desperately to make an impression
on their unperturbed hens.
I wouldn’t have seen the ducks fly in
to gobble up our offering....
I wouldn’t have experienced the serenity
In the twilight of this day
If I had gotten my way.

The Where & The When

Do you know
the stairs that I have been willing to descend
for the sake of love’s fulfillment?
Only to find in the hidden folds of my willingness
that I had actually ascended to heights foreign even
to my imagination,
and I discovered myself in the clouds.
The places the world calls depths
were really mountain tops
and I who thought I was falling was breathless in the climbing;
weighted down with the roles I was playing
that at the top transformed to winged things.
I have kissed unholy places you know, and pierced the forbidden
with the spear of my folly
with a tongue of fire I have licked clean the tears of indecision,
and simply lept.
I have pried open the shunned and the damned
and found they contained the bones of the Holy Grail of love;
entering the profane and exiting through the sacred.
I experienced the weightless wonder
of flight without the shackles of fear.
Do you have any idea the things I have done
or the gowns I have worn?
The roles I have played, the costumes I have donned
to prance across life's stage in time to the beat,
from a drum that I alone was listening to,
all the while peeling back the layers like petals on a rose,
revealing the beauty of each one individually in the scent.
Rejecting nothing, I followed with a child’s abandon .
Fiercely I clung to the fingers of faith, and found
There is no door we enter through in which God is not.
I was not afraid to go where most would fear to venture
Because I know He hides in the mystery at the center of His calling.
He disguises Himself in what the world judges
He dresses up as paupers and kings, hides in the secrets of
angels and dervishes, and always goes to places man misunderstands
like the Pied Piper He sings inviting us to follow in the dance.
He gives to the daring a special touch of grace,
a twinkle in His eye, a smile upon His face, a snap of His great fingers,
a skipping through the race.
Do you have any idea the places I have been?
The journey, or the where and the when?

Collapse of a Spineless Happiness

This is the saddest hour
isn’t it?
Long drawn out minutes marked
by bleeding hands moving on the face
of a round reality...
Ashes are rising from the playground of
yesterday’s laughter; from the
stilled swings that sit in backyard sorrow,
under trees that house no song.

Flames and circles consume seconds of lost trust.
Murdered by the scorching of their lives lies
Where the strings of too much joy and promise
stretched to breaking,
And preoccupied parents like puppeteers let go
allowing the collapse of a spineless happiness
no more real than a puppets smile...
The broken face
The smashed hands
The shattered hours
and their left over ashes
from the life they burned; the
remains of a child’s innocense.