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Monday, July 29, 2013


You are Divine Inspiration
You are not separate from me
You are everything which Is.

You are beauty incarnate.
You are a body, but you are
not only a BodyBeing
you are a Light Being.

You are divinity,
You are the Grandmother’s singing voices
creating the Sacred Song.

You are a dancer
a Shiva
a goddess
a Festival celebrated by thousands
of devotees twirling in colorful robes.

You are the Light
which you see in yourself when
you close your eyes and
listen to the Wisdom
That is come down
through the ages
Through the Grandmother’s tongues.

You are Consciousness
and you are stars
you are the space Within
the Stars
You are the light that
bounces from the sun to the
earth and back again.

You are the kindness in a stranger’s eyes
You are the gentle rain falling on a summer’s day
You are the thunder and the lightning.
You are the destruction
and the Creation.

You are all of Us.
We are all You.
You are the dancer/gymnast/artist/poet.
You are the elderly woman who no longer leaves her house
You are the baby
with eyes open to the newness of
You are the mother holding her child for the first time,
You are the love that shines between her eyes and her infants’.
You are the vastness of the ocean.
You are the trickling mountain stream.

You are the glacier
You are the grain of sand in the Sahara.
You are the entire Sahara.

You are the perfection
of a ripe plum
hanging off of a tree, its leaves shaking in the warm breeze
of an orchard.
You are the bee that fertilized that flower
that became the fruit.
You are the seed that became the tree.
You are the roots.
You are the bird that flies above.

Dear Ten Years Ago

Dear Ten Years Ago,

You didn't know you were a Queer.
(or, you did but you were still trying to hide from it.)
You were 26, pregnant with Baby number Two and still married for the first time.
You were perpetually unhappy.
You lived in a little house on Lemon Street,
the one with the awful brown 70s carpet and the five citrus trees in the yard.
Two of the lemon trees had cross-bred with grapefruits to create some kind of
Abomination Fruit.
Under the shade of these trees in the mornings,
you would go and sit in the grass
to meditate.
Dreaming of the ways you would make your life better,

You still dream of that someday,
But now you know that life can be better,
And it is in so many ways already.
You know who you are now. You know that the little fling
you had with your best friend when you were both 25,
the one that didn’t mean anything,
wasn't a fluke. You know that your depression didn't happen
just because your mom had it, or your grandma did.
You know that life is better out of the closet.

You also know that every day is not going to be easy.
You know that life outside of the self-imposed closet is
still just life,
and that some days will be hard.

You know that Grief
with her dark veil
will still sneak up on you
at inappropriate times
and you will excuse yourself from a meeting to
cry in the ladies’ room.
You will close the stall door just as the tears begin to flow.
You will sit down on the toilet seat,
sinking into that grief
and let it flow out of you.
Because you will know that
“the only way out is through.”

And you will wake up one day
and finally feel that the
weight of it is no longer sitting on your shoulders.
No longer with you at every turn,
no longer a burden you must carry with you
until the next time
you find it lurking around a dark corner
of your mind.

You will see that grief will always be with you,
in some small way
but that it needn’t consume you.

You will see that a piece of toast with butter
and a cup of tea
can be beautiful things.

And you will keep doing your practice.
You will write yourself this poem.
You will realize that you are still so young.

And, in another ten years you will write yourself another
and be amazed at how far you have come.

(inspired by 
Stay Here With Us:
poet Andrea Gibson’s project to combat suicidality)