Considerations, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

star-soul-flower

Considerations

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

Consider the Spanish word, Sol,

And the English word, soul.

Notice their intimate closeness,

Notice the soul is a little sun giving light

To the entire solar system of the body,

Notice how warmth spreads within you

As you realize you are a part of a universal,

Dancing constellation.

 

Consider the words, soil, and soul.

Notice their intimate closeness,

Notice the soul’s rich darkness, full of roots

And seeds, forgotten bones and hidden rivers,

Notice how coolness, damp with earth, eases

The weight of carrying so much.

 

 

 

 


 

 


My One Year Anniversary of Coming Out, Sunday, September 18, 2016, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

fading-flower

My One Year Anniversary of Coming Out

Sunday, September 18, 2016

by

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

I look at my initial coming out letter and feel so sad.  It was such a naïve letter.  Of course, I didn’t know any better.

Part of the sadness comes, of course, from the incredible fallout my pronouncement caused.  Over this past year I have had things said to me by relatives, friends, parents of my students, and strangers that would make your skin crawl–inhuman, violent, vicious, hateful, self-centered, and humiliating things.  People crawled out of the woodwork to write me mean, toxix letters—people who haven’t spoken with me in literally decades suddenly found it their place to tell me what a fuck-up I was.  Over the course of this year, I lost friends, family, and regardless of how it was framed as my fulfilling a four-year agreement at my school—I lost a job, my home, and a marriage.

One of the reasons I stressed so much in my original letter and in subsequent letters that being transgender isn’t a choice is because so many people think I have brought all of this loss onto myself by making a sick, twisted, selfish, perverted life-style choice—a choice that wrecked everything.  And no matter what I say or how many times I say it, there will still be those who think I am choosing to be this way.  There will be people who will never speak to me again for the “choice” they think I am making.

Part of the sadness also comes from seeing how happy I was.  I have never been so happy before or since when I realized I am transgender.  It was a joy that transcended all other joys.  And, in my naiveté, I thought the world would be happy with me. My innocence was reborn even though I know people who believe that isn’t possible, and with that innocence came a youthful foolishness; for my thought that people would rejoice with me couldn’t have been more wrong.

A year later I am in a darker place than the one I mention at the beginning of my coming out letter.  It is a place of not seeing any future, any possibilities, any hope; and, as a result, there are days when I feel I cannot, nor do I want to, go on.   As of this writing I am not sure of anything, and make no promises about anything to anyone anymore.  That all sounds pretty dire, and that’s because it is.  There is another side to this year though that I also want to share.

When I came out there was also tremendous, unexpected support from people I knew and from people I didn’t know.  Mandy published her own letter that day and as a result I had more people friend me that week than perhaps ever in my Facebook history—and the vast majority of those people were from Bryn Athyn.  So while I have lost dear friends, relatives, and family, I have also gained a whole community of people who love and accept me for me, and for that I will be forever grateful.

I also met the best doctor I have ever had.  He is the kindest, most attentive, loving doctor I have ever had, and likely will ever have.  Four months after coming out, on January 11, 2016 he started me on HRT and I will be forever grateful for that too.  No, the meds doesn’t make me a woman.  I have always been a woman.  The medicine simply helps me live comfortably in my own skin.  It does not affirm who I am, nor will surgery, what it does is treat an incurable condition and, again, help me live with some semblance of peace and comfort while in a body that does not fit the inner truth of who I am.

I credit my continued existence to my present therapist, who I have another Facebook note and blog post about.

I have had moments this past year where the joy and ecstasy returned and, no matter what was going on around me, I felt like singing.  My last year teaching was a great example of joy—no, not with the parents—no, as I have already written about in other places—the majority of them flipped their wigs and said some of the meaning things anyone ever said.  It was the children and I.  We had the best year ever.  I cannot think of another group of people I would ever want to be around as I came out and began transitioning.  Despite some of the limited, transphobic thinking of their parents, these kids were enlightened beings—they ARE enlightened beings.  Sure they had questions (which I wasn’t allowed to answer), and a few concerns—mostly things like: Was I OK? Of course, as this chain of events drew us even closer together the only other thing that mattered most to them was that I stay their teacher.  They wanted me to stay more than ever, and this is completely to their credit.  The time I got to spend with them that last school year together will always be treasured, cherished, and an honor.

My own children too continue to love and support me.  They call me “Other Mom,” or “Mom Number Two,” or simply, “Mom.”  They faced our first Father’s Day with grace and made me cards for our first Mother’s Day together.  They are amazing people, growing so fast, and not really ever blinking once at my transition and all of the odd things it entails. And even though Mandy and I have divorced, we are still on the best of terms, and she continues to be one of my biggest allies.

As you know too, I am not shy about talking about surgeries and my body like I thought I was going to be.  I am going tomorrow for my first consult with a surgeon and this makes me so happy I could cry happy tears of gratitude (in fact I do cry tears of gratitude—often about this).  I want surgery more than anything else in the world.  And isn’t that funny?  I have no frame of reference for desiring such an operation, but there it is—the deepest want—longing—desire, and I dearly hope it is possible physically and financially.  And yes, this makes many people uncomfortable—especially some men who cannot fathom anyone giving up male privilege to do such a drastic (in their twisted minds) thing.  But I am all in, and I cannot wait for the next phase of my transition to begin (I will be receiving more letters from friends, family, and strangers about this paragraph, and while yes, I just made it your business by sharing this personal information it does not give you the right to be mean, send sexually insecure, shadow-based hate mail, letters, phone calls, messages—you may keep your bizarre and lust fueled—bigoted-“religious” ideas to yourself.  What I am doing to my body should be of no concern of yours.  So, to all of you already writing me hateful letters, I send a big, hearty-fuck-you in advance).

Many of you have been such dear supports and friends this past year.  I am constantly making calls for prayers, and you always answer them.  No matter how depressing and dark my posts become you love and support and encourage me.  Many of you have even donated money to my cause, and it is with all my heart I thank you.

So, here I am.  One year in.  One year CONSCIOUSLY in.   I have been transgender my whole life just not consciously. If I make it out of this next year then I believe I will be kicking some serious ass in terms of my poetry, music, and activism. I want the fight back—the joy, the bliss, the sweet sense of completeness and wholeness that was here a year ago—the sense of purpose and rightness. I want to love myself and my body, my voice, my age, and my life.  I want to believe the poems that come to me.  I want to help change the world.  I want to get remarried. I want to get all of my poems and songs out there published.

If I can step back and look at my life objectively, I see how much I have survived—many forms of abuse, hatred, and loss, and yet, here I am, alive and well, not kicking—more sort of rolling up into a ball and weeping with terror—but I am here.  I survived my life not knowing who I was.  I survived experiences meant to “make a man out of me.”  I survived traumas of many kinds, and I am still here, for that I can be proud.

So, Happy Anniversary to me.  Here’s to a smoother year.

All my love and gratitude,

Jennifer

 bright-flower

 

You are always welcome to donate what you can and want.  I am still unemployed and soon, as mentioned above, I will be starting a crowd-funding campaign for my surgeries.  Get in on the ground floor now for that and ear-mark your donations and I will not use them to buy food.  :)  Thank you.  All my love, Jennifer

 


 


The Center of Your Soul, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

The Center of Your Soul

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

You needn’t worry summer is stepping back;

You needn’t do the same; inside

Spirit has been gathering

Embers of the sun and the harvest moon

And placed them in the hearth of your soul;

As winter’s shift trundles over

The hillside and drapes itself

Over eaves and shutters, the space

Around the chimneys remains

Warm and where winter birds roost

To shake the frost from their wings;

Summer will always be there surrounded

By springtime in the center

Of who you are—there will always be warmth—

Now work—pretend you didn’t hear what I just said—

Go–collect the kindling of your desires,

Rake the dry leaves of your disappointments

And heap them together with whatever

Things you didn’t do this summer

And set them on fire; there is wood

A plenty in the forest of your worries—

It is there for a reason—you are

Not harming anyone or anything

When you illume the soul—winter silences

Autumn’s dazzling carnival, autumn

Diminishes summer’s return, and spring—

That fragrant season of dew-dappled light

Lives forever by the force of your own will

Coupled with mercy from heaven

In the center of your soul.

 

 

 

 





 


Transcendencies, A Transgender Manifesto, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Transcendencies

A Transgender Manifesto

by

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

We are all transcendentalists

Seeking to live above duality and paradox,

We are all transcendent,

Shining across space and time in clouds

Of oxygen and carbon, hydrogen and nitrogen;

Each and every one of us transcends

Something, or someone, or somehow

Or someday—just to be able to stand here catching our breath—

We transcend and we become—

It is as simple as that.

 

Our blood streams are transcontinental,

Our lives holy translations of spirit and soul,

And if we are lucky, we sense ourselves being

Transcribed onto the pages of the world

And can take comfort in knowing

Our lives are written, revised, edited, and published

By storylines far greater than ours—

 

We are all transfigured, like Jesus on the transmountain

And then resurrected to life everlasting

Every time we transcend ourselves to become ourselves–

Life is nothing but a series of ongoing

Transplantations and transferals of fluids and spirit–

We transmogrify our way through life–

And time is transinfinite—shifting over and ever through

Many transhistorical points of references

That are increasingly transcultural and transhuman, and

Full of blood and wishes—

Everything we do, say, or think

Is transformative, setting events into motion

That change us and our world—

 

We are all transients and haven’t a clue—

Even beyond our so-called beliefs, where or when, how, or why

We will be transformed and/or transported

To otherness, to other transpossibilities—

 

Our spirits translocate and love transelevates us—

We are transpirited and our souls translucent,

Transmissible, and transoceanic—-

Why not rejoice and dance with one another

And love the best of who we are?

 

Yes, I am transpierced with pain,

Yes, I have been transplanted inside

And the ground softens with every step;

Yes, I am transpolar and songs and poems

Come aching to be transubstantiated into form through me,

And yet, even as I move through a series

Of neverending transversals only to find myself

Transported into more hatred, ignorance,

And shadow-driven insecurities of the white men—

I am still here—I have not given up yet—

 

I transilluminate boundaries

That no longer have solid meaning—they never did,

But now monsters are waking up to the truth that gender

Is not fixed—it is transfixed—and no longer the transaxle

Of a tired binary sustained by them—the white men—

Whose own genitals they never truly know,

Or love, or transform into possibilities without shame—

Even though everything about people like me is transubstantiated

By living, breathing experience—for here I am, and yet I am told

I do not exist—I am told I do not deserve to exist—

Even though everything exists based on continuous

Transformations of spirit and body,

And long, transcendent series of moments

Spilling into other moments into which we are all

Given choices to hurt or to heal, love or to hate,

Explore or destroy—and the occurrences of transpeople

Hurting anyone are rare—for true transpeople

Understand pain as few others do————-

 

What makes you think you can transpose

An already faulty belief system to justify or rationalize

Your unjustifiable and irrational actions and laws?

 

Do you really think humanity will not eventually wise up

To your genocidal ways?

 

Be ye transported into a land where transcendencies

Are accepted as commonplace—because, in actuality,

They already are—

 

We all transmute oxygen and water

And food into our transubstantiating metabolisms—

Everything we do is a transaction of time and space

Body, mind, spirit, soul—no matter how far we move

From one another, we are all transactors,

And our breath transoceanic, and our lives

Transferrable with one another’s—

 

It will happen despite your barbaric ideas—

I will not be transfixed by your gaze—You

Who cannot think past your own shadow—

I am a living transmission of messages

Who illuminates your small mindedness.

 

I am not here to inspire some kind

Of transcultural revolution—

I AM a revolution—I am

Transfiguration transanimated by my every movement,

And I live as a thorn in the side

Of the white man who has lost any ability—

Indeed—if they ever had any—to transmute limited thinking

Into growth, evolution, wisdom, common sense—

Love and true, “Christian” charity—

The Jesus transfigured on the mount does not know

Hatred—no matter what Paul tried to tattoo

Onto him—Jesus was transgender—transforming

God-seed into woman-flesh—

And back again to seed and flower for all eternity—You can know this

With all certainty, if you will only look past your own

Untouched, unloved, unabused genitals—

Jesus came to transfigure you and to set your limited beliefs on fire,

Jesus came to give you a transfusion to flush out

Your hatred both of yourself and of those

Who truly live as he suggested—steeped in the beatitudes

So deeply as to be transcribed into living testaments

Of love’s transcendent power—

 

Come, shed your mantles of tissue and weariness,

Come shed your tired ideological transparencies,

And transmigrate with me to a way of living where Jesus reigns

Alongside the mother tree and the angels

Of transmogrification, and beings of transdimensional

Singing and dancing—

 

For we all transpire–and will–sooner than we want,

Life is transonic, yes, but it is death that comes at the speed of sound—

And when it does we shall all be transposed against a backdrop of light

And seen for how we really lived and breathed—

So live now with me, with us—we are your brothers and sisters

And siblings of light transilluminated with holy,

And unending folly and grace, and joy transacted

Into countless transferals—let us all be

Translocated into here and now—transgiven

Transcendencies in love, sweet love,

Everlasting.

 

 

 

 


 

 

 





My Poems Speak to the Living and the Dead, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

My Poems Speak to the Living and the Dead

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

My poems speak

To the living

And the dead.

Spirits lingering nearby

Hear my words

And start dancing;

Ghosts feel them blow thru

Like calming winds

Or billowing storms

Depending on how tethered

To place they are.

Spirits send out resonances

To meet these resonances

Even if they’re read in your head—

After all, skulls and skin

Are no barrier to spirits

Longing to be influenced and

To influence.  My poems

 

Speak to streams of time,

Carrying ships bearing autumn trees,

My poems speak to the clouds

Who carry them across the sea,

My poems speak to roots and wings

And burrow like cicada nymphs

Only to rise up fully mature-winged-voice-throwers,

My poems speak to the rivers,

Polishing rocks and stones, and smoothing over

Fallen trees, my poems

Caress the legs of frogs and kiss the lips of deer,

My poems speak to the souls

Of infants and elders, my poems

Speak to the living and the dead.

 

Take

A moment,

Hold it loosely, much like

A hummingbird holds its hovering

Over the trumpet flower,

And speak these words,

Speak your words,

And set your whole being

And everything around you

Thrumming, like

A chord

Of joy.

 

 

 


 

 

 




 


Touching Souls, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Touching Souls

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Wherever you are

Stop reading these words in your head for a moment

And speak them out loud.

 

Say, “wind,” and, “breath,” and, “spirit.”

 

Know this:

 

Breath carries sounds of words,

Wind carries them even further,

And all of it all borne on wings of spirit.

 

Put another way:

 

Words travel, like wind

Becoming us, like breath

Enlivening us, like spirit

Sharing us because.

 

Try these:

 

“Listen,”

Try, “lemonade,”

Try, “wish.”

 

Resonances come whether or not anyone

Repeats them out loud after you;

Faces lift and brighten,

Steps slow and lighten,

Some look up frightened.

 

Know this:

 

You touched souls

With the kind of inner refreshment

That only living wind and spirit feathers can bring,

You brought ideas, held in sound, held in life,

And the world will never be the same,

And neither

Will you.

 

 

 


 

 

 





9/11, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

9/11

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

I remember being told school was letting out early—

Parents were coming to pick up their children—

A plane had flown into the World Trade Center

And another was circling somewhere—

We all looked up as we handed the students to their families—

We all felt the shock of a national emergency out of nowhere–

We all moved to our cars with uncertain, fragile steps,

Still looking towards the sky—

And then, by the time we had arrived home, another plane crashed into the Pentagon,

And another in a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, not too far from Pittsburgh—

For the rest of the day we huddled around televisions

And radios—and we asked confused questions—stunned questions—

Allah would never—questions—

 

Two days later when we were permitted to return to school

We pondered deeply what to tell our students—

How could we even come close to eulogizing so many?

How could we explain, with any sense at all, what had happened,

Not to mention why?

 

My fourth graders and I had a frank, tearful, and frightened discussion—

“Why?” they asked.

“They were sick people,” I said.

“They are evil people,” they said.

“Maybe,” I said, “they were sick, that is what I believe.  No well person does things like that.”

“Why did they do it?  What could they gain from doing that?”

“I do not know,” I said, “I do not know.”

“Can we get sick like them?”

“No,” I said, “Never.”

 

We held a long, trembling moment of silence.

We prayed openly for the victims and their families,

We prayed long and hard for the first responders and rescue workers,

We prayed for the dogs still sniffing for survivors,

We prayed it never happens again.

One student asked: “Should we pray for those who did this?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “Do whatever feels right for you.  There is no wrong prayer.

Your question is beautiful.”

And then one student, the smallest kid in the class,

With a voice that quivered like the branch of an autumn tree,

Said with holy conviction:

 

“If I were on those planes, I would have stopped those people—

I would have found a way.”

 

Later, we went out to the big field for recess,

Still looking towards the sky.

 

 

 

 

 

 


There Are No Wrong Turns, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

No Wrong Turns

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

There are no wrong turns.

Each and every time you have been lost

You have eventually found your way out;

It is the same with journeying inside.

Walls appear when moments before

There were none,

Dead ends rise up like tombstones when you

Least expect them to,

Passageways narrow suddenly, and fall off

Into deep ravines,

But here you are, reading this—and this

Is hope on a string of words;

Take them or leave them, the fact remains

You are reading them, hearing them

Now

Here

Now

Safe

Now

Without guardrails

And you are still not falling.

I get it, don’t worry.  I am lost

Much of the time myself, I hardly ever know

Where the road is going—if it indeed goes anywhere.

Somedays I look down the road

And only mist, or mist-infused darkness loom;

Somedays the road ahead looks more like a movie screen

Of the past than a road, and somedays,

I even begin walking or exploring the edges

Only to pull myself upright at the slightest sound

And go back to where I was, and sometimes,

Even that place—the back where I was place—

Is gone; and sometimes, and, oh, I feel terrible

For saying this—but sometimes the road

Is so utterly lonely, even though it is inhabited

By many fine souls—living, dead, in between—

And there are fireflies, and stars, rivers, and buttercups,

And there is singing and crickets, and always, the moon;

Let’s face it though—the road can be hard,

And gravel gets in your shoes,

And the desire arises more often than you would like to admit

To simply roll up into a ball and dissolve into even more nothing

Than you sometimes already feel—

And yet, it is the only road you need,

And no matter where you let it take you, or how far you go,

Or how slowly you go, there are still no wrong turns.

 

 

 

 


 





Nursing the Dark, Eating the Light, a Fable, by Radiance Angelina Petro

Nursing the Dark, Eating the Light

A Fable

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

 

 

One day, an acorn and a cicada nymph were talking underground, when a beam of light suddenly appeared shining down on the acorn.

“What is that?” asked the acorn.

“It’s light,” said the cicada.

“Why is it tugging at me?”

“That’s what light does.”

“What if I don’t want to move?”

“Dunno,” said the cicada, “I’ve been under here for 17 years. I like the dark.”

“I haven’t been under here for nearly as long,” said the acorn, “but it sure is comfortable.”

“And cool,” said the cicada, “and snug, and yeah, so cool—wonderfully cool.”

“What do I do?” asked the acorn.

“About what?”

“The pull.  I mean, my heart feels like it’s breaking, and something inside wants out.”

“Go with it,” said the cicada. “So part of you moves into the light? Your roots will always be in darkness.”

“And what about you?”

“Me?” Said the cicada, “Well, when the light draws me out, and I climb a tree and wait for my wings to spill out, then my roots will be in the sky.”

“Should I try to fight the light?” asked the acorn.

“Good luck,” said the cicada. “Funny thing is, once during late summer, you fell to the ground and the darkness pulled you under and you loved it. You didn’t resist. You couldn’t resist. I heard you sinking down. You were weeping and laughing all at the same time because it was so nourishing and safe-feeling to be under here. Now you want to fight the light. Try this, just try breathing in the light, and see what happens.”

The acorn did as the cicada suggested and she suddenly felt the light breathing her and she found herself unfurling into the bright, blue sky, and the light–she was eating the light.

“There ya go,” said the cicada.

“Aren’t you coming?” asked the acorn as she turned away.

“When I have suckled the roots of the mother tree long enough,” said the cicada, “then I will come. For now I am still nursing the dark.”

 

 

 


 

 

 


As of the posting of this story, I am still unemployed and without an income.  Please help if you can.  All my love, Radiance

Do Yourself a Favor, by Radiance Angelina Petro

Do Yourself a Favor

By

Radiance Angelina Petro


Do yourself a favor:

Wake up

Someday,

And lie by the window

From about 4 AM

Thru full sunrise.

 

Notice, watch, experience

How light comes.

How it washes over you so almost

Imperceptibly

Slowly,

And washes away the darkness

Absorbing it into itself, or simply

Taking its place.

 

Go ahead.  Be there here.

Do yourself

A favor

And watch the light

Become you

And you

Becoming the light.

 

As you do

You begin

Taking form, shape,

And shadows are revealed,

And edges, and open spaces,

And your favorite things,

And an indescribable delicacy

And sweetness comes,

Sits with you, lies with you, crawls

Right up next to you, and purrs.

 

Little by little

It touches everything,

Blesses everything,

And your eyes will adjust to seeing,

And you will be so grateful for the windows

In your life—

The clear ones

Letting in the light.

 

It will not force itself in

And yet it cannot be stopped.

It just needs

(and really, doesn’t even need—it wants)

To be

Received,

Or, at very least,

Surrendered to

Eventually,

And it likes to be received

In praise, or, at very least,

In wonder.

 

Not because it needs praise

But because it knows

You need to be praising,

For that is

What it’s doing here now

With you.

It

Is praising

You.

 

And

If you are not careful, and

Carefree,

Once the light

Establishes itself fully,

And the dawn, the morning

Comes fully,

You might be tempted

To cover your head

With the pillow

And regret doing this silly exercise,

Because now

You have to go to work soon,

And now

You will need extra coffee.

 

Just remember—

Through (out) the day–

You were just revealed

In light,

Bathed in light,

Kissed, blessed, washed,

Manifested, assembled, formed,

And loved

In with by light.

You were shown

Who and what you are

And how things will happen

On the last day,

And what it means

To be baptized

In spirit and truth.

 

And if you close your eyes while this is happening,

And just for a second drift back to sleep,

And then catch yourself awake again,

And open up your eyes again,

You will see

(Again and again)

That those few precious few seconds

Of your own self-induced darkness

Disappear

And you notice then even more now then

That more light is with you,

And smiling

New horizons

 Into you,

Into your room,

Into your mind,

And of course, it is OK, and necessary

To blink, and to rub

Your eyes, and to sleep

Just remember to do yourself a favor

Someday

Someday soon now

Why not today now?

Wake up

And lie there

As light comes to get to know you,

And

After being with

The light—

Rise, if you can,

Stretch, if you can,

Reach, if you can—-be, if you can

A trembling flower steady trembling flower fresh

In the morning glory joy dancing trembling,

And then, if you can, smile back

At the light trembling in dance to see

You.

 

Then pause.

 

Inhale the light

Right

Into you.

 

No, it will not burn—

It isn’t that kind of light—

This is light you can breathe

And is as soft as the air itself,

And that has a name—it is called

Here I Am Here We Are Here and Now We Are There Here,

And it will whisper through you, singing ever

So softly until it becomes you

Becoming

The sea

Becoming yourself

Out loud

 

Saying:

Explore—step off into your life—

Make waves, dismiss limits

Of shore and time–

You are being received,

Ushered in,

Guided by,

Encouraged by,

Enjoyed by

Light—

Light that is now

Here fully

With you, naked, exposed,

Beyond being vulnerable—

It is ready, willing, and

Able

To give itself

To you

And to take you

If you want you,

And to lift you

Lift your feet,

Kiss open your eyes fully

To see

And to kiss your mouth

To speak only clarity,

And to sing your heart mind awake,

And so then you will speak words and conversations

Of light,

And your songs

Will be light and of giving thanks light,

And you will become so onewith-in being

The light—

You yourself the I Am—

That everywhere you go

You will become a living morning,

A walking sea,

A dancing, singing sun,

A bringer of possibilities,

That you will not cannot need to own—just bestow

At the feet of the world only

To then keep going,

Touching

Everything,

Spilling gifts

Everywhere,

Being a gift yourself

Everywhere spilling,

Kissing everything around you

Awake

And into

Now here and

I Am here we are here

In and of and why here,

And yes, and see, and know, and you and

I and all of us

Moveable

Roots

Growing

Up and down

In love soil

Sky soil

Earth of heaven and heaven of earth soil,

And we will take one another’s hands like

Promenading trees,

And lift one another from the table,

Closing laptops,

Putting away phones,

And we will dance

And we will spin

Into more dancing,

More shores,

More earth

More heaven earth

More earth heaven

More sea

More dancing in the sea dancing

Roots singing too with branches swaying,

And we will wave,

And we will dance

Some more,

Leaping into one another’s arms like lovers, like

Sea shore sky lovers–

So grateful

To see one another again,

And we will never maybe ever

Touch again on this earth

And yet once

We part

More light forms

Between us and we laugh and we weep

And we sing and we know and we sing and we dance some more—

We see we laugh we grow we know some more,

And cannot help

But rejoice some more

And go around

Embracing everything

And everyone some more

With the presence of here and now

And more

I Am we are here now there here now there—

Here—

See?

Isn’t it wonderful?

You know it is,

And it’s OK to say so

While you sit back down,

Sipping your coffee, getting back to work,

Checking emails, texting emoji’s, putting on

Sunglasses and going off into your world—

It’s alright—

There is light

In your briefcase, your pockets, your cup

Of coffee, your thrumming touched and blessed holy infant

Head and heart and toes and it is so glad

You came and took a moment

As it was given

And shared it with your day, your plan,

And any weariness you may have

In your arms and legs or heart—

You were you are willing

To carry exchange light—

The light you are here now I Am with you light.

 

The light, we are here now

The light I Am we are

And so

And so

We sew

Light

With invisible visible threads

And golden needles

Soft as baby-hair,

Never

Ever

For a second

Trapping—

Only

Freeing

Opening

Wanting

 Letting

You

Step out

And into

Yourself,

Your day, your world,

And back

Into the self

Of another

Where you see

Light becoming light

And being light yourself

You smile,

Sip your coffee,

Sip each other, sip the light,

And be now here I Am

 We are now there here now.

 

And then skip a little, lift off the ground a little

In ever so slightly

Little lifts and skips

And leap a little, skip

A beat

And make

New dancing a little more

With every oceanic step and little river

Step and little drop of water step

And sweat upon your breast step, and dew upon the dew step,

And feel light

Lifting your feet

Without effort

Without force—

Just lifting—

And you

Will be born

Into your own life—

 

Therewith everyone else

Being born into theirs

As morning

 

You become sun

You become who

You become what

You become ever-

Here

There

We

Are

Were

Here

Now and

I Am you are I Am you are we are

Here we are there here we are

Here

Now

Here

Then

Here

We are

Us

Individually

Indivisibly

Us

Singing

Being sea being sky being light

Skipping

A way

And a new revelation

Begins with and

Is with

Is of with

Is of now with

In of in gratitude with

Us

For the way’s revelation of the way

The road

 The path

The horizon

That is simply

More light

That can’t wait, but tries to wait, yet cannot wait,

To be with you here now forever we are

I Am there here and now

We are together always

 

Forever

Blessed and cresting

Ebbing pausing moving touching everything

And being touched by shore

By sky by sea

By shell by stone by swirls

By castles by whole bodies

Being born again

Here now I Am we are herewith

Each other blooming again here now

There now

Ever now

In each other

Together ever

Now and

With the dawn.


flower wow



 

 

And please, if you would, I am still without an income and soon to be without a place to live.  Any donations you give will help enormously at this time.  Thank you.  All my love, Radiance <3