Independence is a Lie

Independence is a lie
In an ever-connected
Uni-Verse and Universes
There’s no such thing
As a self-made man 
or self-made woman
Love has no opposite
other than illusions
Just as a seed
Never stops needing
The Earth
We never stop needing
The Creator, Earth, Love,
our hearts and each other

We are completely dependent
Upon the Creator, Earth,
Love, our hearts,
and each other
Independence is a lie
Separation is a hell
Where we cast ourselves
In the illusion of division
Forgetting that
Just
As
A
Seed
Never
Stops
Needing
The
Earth
We
Never
Stop
Needing
The
Creator,
Earth,
Love,
Our
Hearts
And
Each
Other

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Moments of No Words

As a writer, I love words, yet I also love it when words stop – those moments in this life when there are no words. For it is in those moments where we see if the words we’ve written, spoken or quoted ever meant anything.

They talked and talked
Until they couldn’t talk anymore
The last words they wrote
were a question:
If we couldn’t speak
for the rest of our life,
what would the rest
of our life speak about us?

Treatment

If the treatment within treatment
Is the same as the treatment
we experienced before treatment
Then treatment becomes the same treatment
as all the trauma before we arrived in treatment

Can you see beyond the eyes of you
for just a second, please?
I need to be treated with love.
Nothing else will do.
Leave me alone if you must,
but don’t hurt me.
Walk away if you will,
but don’t re-traumatize me.
Can you treat me, doctor?
Will you treat me, therapist?
How?
How will you treat me?
Will I be treated with love?

If the treatment within treatment
Is the same as the treatment
we experienced before treatment
Then treatment becomes the same treatment
as all the trauma before we arrived in treatment

Poets – Ha!

Is a poet a poet
after they write
their first poem?
Or does a poet become a poet
in the moment God strikes them
with a concept so illuminating
that is has to be written?
Or is it in the moments long before
when there’s no inspiration,
only desperation?

Is it when academia decides?
No. None of these decide!

A poet becomes a poet
each and every time they swim
where love abides
Walking through minds and hearts
with words 
drenched – dripping
in the Great Love beyond pronunciation
as we smile, laugh or cry
Being refreshed by the Oasis of love
a poet brings
from so many things

the poets will never describe

 

Looking Back Upon Forevers

Looking back
upon forever
He really thought
It would be forever
every time

Looking forward
upon forever
He still thinks
It will be forever
every time

Being here, right now
He’s enjoying
the part of forever
he’s in
In this time
this moment
this breath 

We’re all time travelers
caught in the forevers
when it hurt the most
and felt the best
Carrying our forevers
Together