Tag Archives: destiny

This Voyaging, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

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This Voyaging

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Try as you might you never see your back

Without the aid of a mirror.  We go about

Our days not even thinking of our backs

Unless they hurt.  Outside of that,

We move forward, slowly,

Quickly, mediumly, always propelled

Ahead by some unseen wind, or force,

Or energy, or, for some, by destiny—but

For those it’s more of a pulling

Than a pushing.  At times when we notice

The wind at our backs, we feel the slight

Sensation that if we leaned forwards

Just a little we might be lifted

Through the sky, like a piece of silk,

Only to descend at night on the branch of a tree, like

A sleepy shawl.  Go through your day today, sensing

Your back space, give it your attention

As you drift or storm onwards.  Know this:

What your back looks like doesn’t matter.

That it’s there, absorbing the current, like

A sail, is what matters.  There is no use

For trying to look back at your back—

Knowing it’s there is enough,

Knowing it sweeps you forward is enough,

Knowing it steers you in mysterious ways is enough,

Knowing you have the ability to change course is enough,

Knowing the way opens, like the sea,

And sallies you forth through your life

To where a harbor waits, beckoning you

To come ashore, roam the village bizarre,

Lodge in a tavern’s upper room, gather

Provisions, and then rise, setting sail yet again

Knowing, this journey, this voyaging,

This being guided home is enough.

 

 


 


However, It Is, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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However, It Is

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

However it is trees really come about, however it is

The moon inhales and exhales, however it is

Raven feathers hold rainbows in their barbs, however it is

We have school yards full of children inside us,

However it is we grow, pouring cells into the world of form

Rising and falling, however it is, the soul is ever thirsty

With oceans living there, however it is birdsong

Follows us wherever we go, however it is we love,

Rising and falling, however it is we dream, however

It is we remember our dreams, however

It is we are immersed in sky, like fish in water, however

It is flowers are so wonderfully geometric, however

It is the earth spins like a whirling dervish, however

It is we search for ourselves in one another, however

It is we kill in God’s name, however

It is we still pray, however

It is, however, it is; however,

It is.

 

flower

 


 

 

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Rising, Falling, Rising, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

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Rising, Falling, Rising

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Watching the particles of dust

Falling in the lamplight

Of my bedroom reminds me

 

We are all falling,

Largely unseen in a light

So bright we careen into it, like

So many infinitesimally small moths.

 

Have you ever tried

Focusing your eyes

On a specific speck of falling dust–

The tiniest sliver of a snowflake,

As it sailed the currents

Of air in your room?

 

I have. After several attempts,

Which resulted in losing sight

Of the scintilla of dust in the white of the wall,

I was finally able to trace one

Descend, like the smallest slice of string

From some disintegrating, illuminated leaf,

 

It fell, and I saw it rise

When I exhaled, dip suddenly

When I inhaled, bank wanderingly

Towards the wall, tail back

And make my eyes cross

When it landed on my face.

 

Remember this:

After you turn out the light

Grains of dust fall upon you,

Pieces of pieces of falling white feathers

Slowly, methodically, like

The faintest of snow falls,

Covers you and everything

You love, like snow-embers

From some unseen fire,

 

And one day, when you realize

Your life is being traced by a greater

Vision, you will wake up

And see your life brushed

With ash, and you will rise,

Shake it off, remember

You are a pinch of stardust,

A dash of spice, a smidgen

Of fragrance, and it is time

To elaborate on the trajectory

Of your dreams, and turn the unavoidable

Process of falling

Into flying—

Flying into the light

Of your own brilliant desires.

 

 


 


 



You and I Have Beauty to Share, A Poem in Words and Pictures, by Radiance Angelina Petro

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You and I Have Beauty to Share

A Poem in Words and Pictures

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

 

 

poem image 1

 

Come.

Come take me

One little piece of pollen at a time.

Come.  I want you to.

***

poem image 2

 

Once I hid as a star,

Guarded by wisdom.

***

poem image 3

 

When I was ready

I unfolded wisdom’s spiral.

***

poem image 4

 

And allowed life’s dream

To draw me into the world.

***

poem image 5

 

For some, their wisdom will be fancy—

For there is such a thing as fancy wisdom.

***

poem image 6

 

Others bear wisdom that tightly guards–

Wanting to be absolutely sure before giving the word.

***

 

poem image 7

 

Regardless, when you are ready,

No matter where anyone else is in their stages of development

 

***

poem image 8

 

You

Will

Open.

Just like I did.

 

***

poem image 9

 

And you will say, come.

Come take me, one little grain of pollen at a time,

And you will share your gold

With the hive of the heart of another.

***

poem image 10

 

For that is why we have been planted here,

In the dark soil of the earth.

***

 

poem image 11

 

You and me–

We are meant to share the fragrance of the light we bring.

***

 

poem image 12

 

Until wisdom says, enough, go back

To being a star.

 

***

poetic image 13

 

For now, go ahead, shout your trumpets of joy,

Spread your granules of sweetness—

You and I have beauty to share.

 

 

 

 


 

 


Please help support my continued transition.  Thank you.  Radiance

What If?

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What If?
By
Joseph Anthony Petro
Inspired by Father J.P. de Caussade, S.J.

What if we were being written as we speak,
As we live, as we move? What if our lives were one
Interconnected, interwoven revelation? One story,
One plot, one theme? What if our every step and breath
Were known, seen, loved, and allowed to unfold
In ways that always and ever ended with breath-taking
New beginnings, and that every new beginning
Was somehow more beautiful, unexpected, and startling
Than the last? What if every revelation, every new chapter,
Every page was part of one book of life in which the author intended,
Willed and wanted the very best for each and every character
And that every word, punctuation mark, indentation,
And sentence was composed through you with foresight and wisdom,
And that somehow, matter what it seemed like fit together perfectly,
And that when we went back and read what was written
It all made sense and we said, “Of course, that was meant to be?”
What if, despite not liking some of the twists and turns
And cliffhangers, or the sudden, unexpected
Exits of our favorite characters, or the annoying returns
Of ones we just can’t stand, that no matter how
Convoluted, distressing, painful, or tragic it all seems,
That the arc of the story is eternal and the ultimate
Storyline is a road to everlasting joy and a deeper understanding
Of who we really are? What if the more that drops away
As we go on reading, and the more the story
Simplifies, that we become lighter and lighter until one day,
On what we thought was the last word, the letters suddenly lift, like
So many birds scattering heavenwards,
And the story continues, unfettered, untangled,
Unencumbered by the confines of the language
Of time and space and expectation, and we soar, completely free
In a radiant book of thanks?

 


 

 

 



Runner

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Runner
By
Joseph Anthony Petro
I am a runner. I have spent my whole life
Up to this point running from things.
Pain, for example. I run from pain,
And the past, the future, and the truth
Of myself. Sometimes I run long distances
Before even realizing I’m running; but there I am
Running—things flying by in my wake and there’s no time
To lose. Sometimes the road gives way
And a ledge or a wall suddenly appear
And I find myself collapsing out of nowhere
Into a ball of exhaustion and shame.
Sometimes I run headlong into the very things
I am trying to avoid since they feel
So strangely familiar. And sometimes
Time does the running for me, like
On the days I lose myself staring at the ceiling
As the summer afternoon runs by my window, like
A ribbon of light filled with the sounds
Of children playing and lawn mowers
And passing airplanes.
Lately, another more tragic truth has revealed itself:
I also run from things no one should ever
Feel compelled to run from. Things like
Joy—pure, unadulterated joy. Joy that encompasses
Pleasure both earthly and heavenly—joy
That doesn’t know the difference between the two;
Joy that includes perfection and imperfection,
Fullness and emptiness and once again,
Could care less which is which. Joy that’s comprised
Of puddles, whimsy, praise, and just the right amount
Of mischief. And most of all a joy constituted
With divinity—the steady, ringing divinity
That shimmers just below the surface of all things.
Sometimes I run from that very joy.
Today I see and accept that I am a runner,
And in this moment—this one, this one right here
I choose to pause, collect myself, breathe and focus
And hone in on joy. I see it up ahead,
It looks like a field of darkness illuminated by a carnival of fireflies,
It looks like a horizon blooming with light and song.
I see it. I breathe it. I taste it. It’s there.
So here I go, I’m running again,
Only this time I am going to run straight towards joy,
And I am going to keep on running
No matter what anyone says or does not say,
No matter what anyone does or does not do,
No matter what happens or does not happen,
No matter what appears to be or actually is—
I am going to keep on running until the running
Becomes dancing and then I’m going to run some more
Towards what I was and what I am created for.
I am a runner and I am going to run towards joy.

 

 


 


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It All Starts With a Question

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It All Starts With a Question
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

It all starts with a question.

Somehow, someway it gets spoken

Or simply lifts into your life, like

Morning.  Either way

It appears and your life changes.

Perhaps it sings into your life, like

Morning birds that say:

“Flock! Tree!  Let’s Go!

Stay! Sun! Fly! Wings!”

Maybe it gets puzzled up in chatter.

Perhaps it crashes into your life, like

A tree branch through your roof.

Perhaps it stands unspoken for years

In a corner of the room, like

A lamp without a lightbulb.

Perhaps it drifts into your awareness, like

The fragrance of morning coffee,

Old books, or the air just before rain,

No matter how or when it arrives,

The thing to do is to remember:

There is a quest in every question.

And sometimes questions

Need to be followed casually, like

A child on a walk in the woods,

And sometimes questions need to be pursued, like

A lost child in a carnival.

And sometimes questions simply need

To be acknowledged, and the answers

Pale in comparison to the fact

That you were finally able to ask whatever it was

You so desperately needed to ask.

And sometimes the answer is so utterly everyday

You miss it, like a stop sign or a dandelion—

And sometimes the question and the answer

Arise together, like

The butterfly in the cocoon,

Or the bird in the egg,

Or acceptance in the sorrow,

And sometimes…sometimes,

It all ends with a question,

And when it does,

The thing to do is to remember:

There is a quest in every question,

And no quest is ever deemed unworthy

Simply because the end winds up being

Another beginning, or the “X marks the spot”

Ends up being the very place

Where your knees touch the ground

Or your eyes search the sky,

And no quest, no matter what

Any staunch individualist says

Is ever meant to be traveled alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 


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