Childhood is a fleeting state
where joy, and permission to
pretend, and be anyone we choose
becomes our whole world
The real takes a back seat to the imaginary
And this is a gift bestowed to the human race
The world is our oyster and our playground
We try on new personas like a new hat
and we can imagine grandiose lives
and change course on a whim
We suspend reality and just become
the superhero, the villain,
the dancer, the performer
Magic is real and all around us
Pure love and joy can reside there;
sadness and angry outbursts
feel just as powerful.
We are consumed and carefree
To be a child in this world
is a gift to behold
Tag: magic
Music creates memory
Music can instantly transport me back
to when I first heard it
what was I doing;
who was I with
Music expresses emotions
beyond what simple words could
imbue with their colorful hue
I long to be a song that
lingers on your tongue
that tickles your ear
to be magically transported
is a strong and powerful act
Music can withstand any distance.
The point from me to you is
suddenly irrelevant
Just the reverence of a melody
Music can transform a stranger to a friend
what was unknown and unheard
now here with us, trance-like
we hear and feel its lull
Some are moved to the dance floor
Others moved to tears
Some a loving embrace
A smile forms on our face
We are forever changed.
Little Bird
Soar little bird
find safety in the many.
Many hungry mouths
they do not know where, what
or when their next meal is.
The struggle for survival is real.
You have to always be on guard
in case of predators.
Even in all the danger and uncertainty,
the little bird sings its melody
so sweet and uniquely its own.
It sings not only as a calling,
as a means of communication,
but because it is its own
unique expression of the good,
the beauty, the gift of this thing
called life.
Many humans may never know
what a gift today brings.
The little bird reminds me
that I am not alone;
that seeing the good is not wasteful
or a trivial thing
but the only true and real reason to live.
Enjoy the brief moments of pleasure and joy.
They are the things made out of stardust.
What a marvelous thing that made me and you.
That spark of life. I take it gently in my hand
and place it over my heart
in a revery and duty
it is mine to carry.
No longer secret knowledge
only for the saints and the sages.
It is not so quiet and humble
but the echoes of the ancients
bellowing out on loudspeaker
and humans have been too busy
living in their head
that many may have missed
the many glimpses of this universal truth.
Each day is a gift.
It does not only belong to the few.
It is a universal truth and right.
Hold out your hand.
Be prepared to not only see but feel
the magic transform into raw energy
to be that songbird in the trees
with not only a tale in its heart
and a whisper of truth on its tongue.
But to rejoice and celebrate this day
upside on the earth
Feel and be that joy, my little bird.
The way in
Do you believe in magic?
fairy wings that sparkle true,
birdsong that calls for my attention,
What turns the tide in the ocean,
and whispers "grow" to the trees'
invisible blossoms?
I refuse to look for evidence
of the contrary or a
second opinion.
Instead, I hold tight to this truth.
There is magic inside of me
Inside of you
The way in starts with the heart
the beat uniquely yours.
a jewel in your chest
sees the sparkle of another.
The way in starts with what inspires you,
where do you find your footing,
what uplifts and grounds you
deep like tree roots.
The answer can seem fleeing
and almost imperceivable
like a slight movement in the
corner of my eye
I saw it! I felt it.
I know it deep in my bones.
And I have the authority
to choose to see the magic
in a blossom, in a leaf,
in a snowflake, in a branch
now brittle but once full of life
coursing through sweet nectar.
A perch, a safe place to land.
We all want safety.
What brings you home
to your heart, to your own sense
of belonging?
There is magic there too
in your strands of hair
down to your toes
life courses through
your veins, your breath.
The magic of atoms and elements
made of stardust to make you.
Now
Do you believe in magic?
The Golden Star
Six planets align in the night sky
Their rotation and route mapped out
by my ancestors
Math never lies
There is predictable safety in their patterns
We try to guess which one is the brightest
Is it Jupiter?
Is that Saturn’s rings – Yes!
The golden star above my house
and the dark silhouette of trees
Can Saturn see the earth?
Is it a blue star in their sky?
The trajectory of me, a mere earthling
looking up and seeing a song of the ancients.
They say a star’s light took billions of light years
just to twinkle in my eye
What an impossible journey
but here it is Painting and lighting up the dark sky
so many stars
at least 12 – 15 by my counting.
It is cold, the dead of winter
– not in the cosmos –
the sleep of winter is just my experience
what seemed a billion lifetimes ago
is not so far from what I can see
counting and marveling at the light
in the quiet of the night.
There is magical possibility
in the incredulous impossibility
What was once expressed as a ball of
gas and light has not been long forgotten
It shines above me now
It has a story to share
to those who look upon it
My ear is open to hear your tale
My heart is open to believe
I see you now
A hand holding mine
We keep each other warm through this night.
That Rhythmic Dance
I have shared my love of the skies With my children Just as my mother has to me. It is a connection to the cycles, To the phases. A generation of past and future All tracked by astronomers. The regular rhythms and rotations. The future can be predicted With precision. It goes unnoticed. That beauty. That light. If not for my calendar And my lunar yoga practices, I may lose that connection. Unaware of that rhythmic dance Of the cosmos always happening Hidden behind those clouds. Beyond my human sight. There is magic and certainty, Mystery and always beauty.
Inspiration and the Sacred
Where does inspiration come from? It can be a fleeting idea, A word or phrase that lights me up And I want to become the explorer of my own inner terrain. [The Sacred] It happens in solitude And when I’m out in nature. I feel most connected to The wisdom of my heart. Beauty always surrounds me, Even in the mundane and hard times. I just have to be willing And open to see it. When I connect to my heart and breath, I feel I am taking an active role in my life. I’m not getting carried away by the rushing tide of emotions and circumstance. In that moment, the magic happens. I no longer have to struggle. I can literally go with the flow. Again, I return to the explorer within, Who recognizes the difficulty in truly letting go With surrender and vulnerability. There is peace and ultimate freedom To find creative solutions, To take a beat before I react, And to connect to my inner wisdom. How does inspiration and the sacred come to you?
Christmas Day
We emerge from our winter slumber. It is still dark outside. The sun has yet to greet the horizon. The house is aglow Lit with joy and glee For Christmas is here. And the big Jolly Elf Emptied his sack The giving and generous spirit he is. The children can’t hardly wait! They’ve counted down the days. It’s taken so long, it seems, For this day to appear. The presents are lovingly wrapped In festive colored paper of snowmen, Santa himself, Reindeer and penguins. They shimmer in the Sparkling Christmas lights Under the tree. It's the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Let’s tear into the mysteries That lie beneath The paper and tape that sheathes its true contents. Paper is tossed into a huge pile. Opened packages are placed in neat rows. A surprise accompanies a feigned smile, Sometimes confusion Or a true delight. I savor the magic in the air Music softly plays A fireplace flame flickers on the screen. The kids sneak a bite of candy or two. There on the floor, Under the tree now bare Its goods all opened All before breakfast.
The lives that dream beyond the window pane
The lives that dream beyond the window pane a glimpse into the soul but I can never surmise what is really there. I see a middle-aged woman bending over is she too old and unable to stand upright? Does she use a cane or a walker? Is she always carrying a heavy load along with a heavy heart? She is bending over to what I can’t see. I am curious about her life. Does she suffer? Did she ever feel pride and proud of her accomplishments? I can wonder and assume. I find that I transpose my feelings as if we share one heart, one life, one soul. But the story is not mine. She is bent way down and I can just see the top of her grayish hair pulled into a high bun on her head. What mysteries lay out of my sight. Now she moves. She is standing once more. Her arms are full with the warm embrace of a child that she lifts up so they can talk and see each other eye to eye. The child and the woman are smiling and the woman starts swaying a gentle dance. Is there music? Is there song? Her eyes and face are bright. She no longer seems bent over, weak and worn. She is full of life with the sweet babe who lights her soul and mine as I continue to pass on my way. A smile on my face that she is not suffering nor am I. The world is lovely and has tender moments and I’m grateful to be the silent witness of this loving magic that fills the air.
Healing Insights 