Hope and Astonishment

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

The Devas in the trees investigate

your movements with feathery thoughts,

deciphering shadows and wind.

They know all things tremble,

and that you cannot flatter the soul.

They know spring has no idea

how to be modest. What they want

–and you can believe they want,

is for you to tremble just enough

to fall into the hands of right now,

and to then rise up with all the audacity

and mischievousness of the morning.

Testify to the power of praise,

and with the bell of your mouth,

ring out songs of hope and astonishment.

The key to it all is that there are no locks,

no lofty heights to attain. There is only joy

and sorrow,  and the spreading of wings into the sky.

Maybe for the Sake of the World

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

Have you ever felt the earth of your life

crumble, and then experience

the depths of love others have for you,

and suddenly become hungry

for shadows, raving, raging, and finding

a way out? If you haven’t,

consider nothing impossible. Someone,

or some community of someones,

loves you so much, and maybe for the sake

of the world, that you finally see being loved

isn’t so bad after all, and then you change forever

into what you always wanted to be.

All Manner of Hope

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

It’s easy to misinterpret shadows–

and to not know whether or not the moon

is the moon or a scythe.

Up to, and beyond the point of imagining

anything, it’s good to remember it’s all

up in the air.

And yet, bees, those librarians of the day,

still hum about their work, and drapery

still follows the form of the body.

Strings yield to tuning, and leaves fall

on the backs of elephants, and ants

caress each other with their antennae.

The day, with all of its movable parts

(and, for whatever reason, takes excursions

into the realms of faraway, while at the same time

concentrating on other things), is always

at hand, but loosely so, and without shame,

for there is no sin in wanting tomorrow.

No matter how we see the moon,

the shadows—darkness can be luminous

and within its folds all manner of hope.

Take comfort in not knowing. Mysteries

are the way into the wonderful, and understanding

even a moment, isn’t the end of the road.

Meditation in C

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

The day slowly closes its doors and shadows begin

taking up residencies around park benches and dishes left in the sink,

evening drapes silver in the willow—not unlike the streaks of silver in my hair,

the growing darkness makes the heaps of buildings and abandoned factories

into asylums of shadow. Thunder sounds a blast, and lightning creates

little skirmishes between what you think you see and what is actually there.

It is important for me to remember

darkness is susceptible to light,

and breaks easily. No matter how dark the night gets

moonlight fringes treetops and gardens,

and no matter how heavy the bundles

of shadows on my back become, light has gone

mountain hunting, and will return tomorrow

to begin its careful workmanship on another day.

I know there is necessary darkness, and morning can be recklessly sudden

and bright, so before the avalanches of rain begin to fall, I let the night

shepherd me to my door, and I forfeit the day for the reverence of fear.

You see, dreams are coming to carry me down shoals of rivers

flying towards the sea. Everything in my head will become disheveled

even before I take off my clothes, and someone will swear me to secrecy,

and I will find myself just outside the garden of Eden, where I will look down

and find the serpent’s tooth, and wonder how I will ever make it across the long

diameter of woods. This happens almost every night, and I end up kneeling among

salamanders and sylphs, only to begin swaying until I slump over,

giving myself up to the old theologies of guilt.

But maybe this time, the silver in my hair

will be ungovernable, and I will hear

the deep melodies of blood flowing

through my veins, and I will snatch up the ember

that has spirited from the day, and perhaps,

with a tinge of the demonic, stand

through the little shiverings, and

embroider the night with fire.

Hymn

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

Through every gate angels spread in descending curves and wild delight–

bringing quickenings and seeds of roses.

Ananda! Ananda! Ananda!

The innermost is now outermost, as the Great Imaginatrix

brings her absurdities of joy and a thousand reassurances,

and elaborations of flowers and bliss.

The intuitive swinging of branches to-and-fro, says it all—

this ecstasy, this immediacy of music is for you. Ananda!

All heartbeats are given, and everything is the source of everything,

and everything is amenable to desire.

And the magic of farming, and the magic of bridges

surprises even all of heaven.

And pre-cum is adorable, and sweat initiatory, and everything

is kin to the lion and the lamb.

And every eagle and pelican, salamander and frog, every manta ray

and cuttlefish—shatters chains of thoughts.

And while the ax is ever-present, so are seeds of roses,

and contingencies of sweetness, and Saraswati strums the vina,

and the outermost is innermost, and mountains are faithful,

and rebirths too, and all things incline towards unison.

Ananda! Ananda! Ananda!

Angels are here! Angels are here! Angels are here dancing among us.

Why Square a Circle?

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

All those thingamabobs in that one

kitchen drawer reveal the genius

of dreams. Who was awake when they

opened the drawer, slipped in another

something or other, and then slid the drawer

closed?

There are no edges to the mind, no corners,

no boxes to think out of, and it is more

than knowing there are no boxes in the first place.

There’s only a circle as wide as the world,

and why square a circle?

There are Time Beings and Idea Beings

that live in the mind. The Idea Being plays

in the darklight, and wants to know everything,

and ventures out whether we realize it or not,

and goes on little quests that sometimes

turn into epic ones, and vice-a-versa.

The point is there is no point, no linear

one track mind. Idea Beings are into surprises.

The Time Being stands in silence

in the center of the circle and counts noon

to noon—not waiting, not wanting, not

expecting anything. It only fashions

preludes, and sometimes ventures out

so we can venture in. Sometimes

they reveal themselves when we open

the drawer and wonder—smiling–

how it all came to be, and why, knowing

whatever it was we are searching for

will not be found (it’s in another drawer).

And so, for the Time Being, this is one

of those moments when it offers its hand

to the Idea Being, so they can dance themselves

into flight, flying far outside the circle.

Remind Me

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

Remind me again that my baggage

is collapsible, and that I can stop kicking,

that everything eclipses something,

and that everything is more than itself,

and that when roots shift, they carry bones,

and how I must put up with risks,

and that light is supported by darkness,

and that it takes time to possess space,

remind me again that you will enter my life unseen

and start singing, that you will guide your breath

through consonants and vowels, and spin words

into tones, and that, if needed,

you will hold a note that curtails time,

remind me again that your voice

can feel like thunder in the air,

and that it can also shine like a firefly

describing the evening,

please, let your voice leave your lips

gliding, unharmed, light-combined, star-

distilled, nectarous, giving rise to waves

inside me, touch my sleeping wings–

help me remember sky, and the bliss

of being myself.

After the Ritual

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

After the ritual

ritual continues.

Consider new and old

passageways–walk them,

or not, change directions,

or not. Life explores

you, nudges you

inwards and outwards

with such wild

anticipation and faith

it can barely hold in

its joy and surprise.

Reason and observe

how ways open

and close, expand,

contract. Count blessings–

not as things to accumulate,

but as provisions to use

in lean times, and by use,

I mean, share. Every step

and pause is reverence

for ground and sky,

backspace, and front–

each exhale and inhale,

and holding of breath–

ceremonies for that

precious, holy, mischievous

moment of the remembrance

of the sacred shadow

who moves with us everywhere

we go and don’t go,

until that time when we merge

with it, grow wings,

lift and soar, bank, and rise

into the darkness of another

sleep and awakening

in the universal womb

where sperm and egg

reassemble us cell by cell,

bone by bone, blood

with blood, dream

by dream, ritual

by ritual.

Yes and Because

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

“Because,” say the lavender colored peonies.

“Why shouldn’t we?” say the red tulips and yellow daffodils.

Bees hover and bob their diligent-honeyed answer: “because, why not?”

Cherry blossom petals by the thousands whisper

as they sail into the wind: “It cannot be otherwise.”

The magnolia trees nod in agreement,

and the evening sun-glinted-murmurating sparrows

sporting with the sky sing as one: “It’s true.”

From tadpoles wiggling in green-bordered ponds,

lifting themselves from muck and silt to sun and moon,

to the humpback whale arcing an impossible turn into the air–

they all say: “Yes! It is always yes and because!”

And I keep walking, remembering once again

with every step—the ever shining answer to the lie-

constructed question—no matter the doubts,

no matter the feelings or lack thereof—

I am loved, and why doesn’t matter.

I am worthy because.

And these answers will forever

and ever be the same

to each and every question.

Invisible, yet Ready

By Radiance Angelina Petro

March 29^th, 2023

When you come to the end

of the road, and the path behind

is no longer viable, and the way ahead

seems unlikely—since it is in fact, gone,

take that one more step, even if

it drops into nothing, which, in all

probability, it will.

That’s where grace lives.

That’s where dragons await

with wings ready to part.

So then, fall—

it’s not as if you have a choice

in the matter anyway now.  Gravity still works

in the unknowable.  But so does unreasonable

love.  The kind that comes out of nowhere,

the kind that catches you when you fall,

the kind that suddenly lifts you

and sets you down onto an emerging road—

the kind of love where the remarkable

breathes fire and roars you back into your life,

the kind that walks beside you—invisible yet ready,

at a moment’s notice, to step in front and clear the way—

the way that curves toward a previously unseen horizon—

where a destination calls you forward, one that stays

one step ahead, while at the same time

embracing you as the sea embraces the shore–

one that is, ever was, ever shall be yours

and yours never once to walk alone.