Tuesday, June 9, 2009

A Wishful Poem

So you say you bury

magical stones
in the moonlight
and chant incantations to the spirit realm
so your wishes
will come true

or maybe

You make the sign of
the cross
over your upper body
before you eat little wafers of Jesus
and mutter
words of contrition

or maybe

You kneel five times a day
on a woven mat
with your forehead to the earth
and make signs facing Mecca
in praise of Allah

or maybe

You stretch your arms to the sky
then your palms together
in prayer position over your heart,
and bend and touch your toes and
oh so deeply

or maybe

You hold hands with the natives
and chant and dance
and sway to the sounds of drumbeats and flutes
and call to the sky gods
to bring rain
for your crops

or maybe –

What’s that?

You say you bring your hot tea to the ocean
each morning as the sun comes up and
your heart fills with gratitude and peace
and hopes and wishes and warm memories
of loved ones
in your life.

And your heart is then full of – what did you call it?
Devotion, yes,
to the spirit that moved you
or that you moved,
either way,
to be here by the ocean, or
maybe it was devotion
to the sea,
with its music that is such
balm to your soul,
so necessary to your deepest contentment.

I say:

None of that matters to me.

What matters to me,
in the end, is
when you’ve finished


what you do then.

What matters to me is that
you rise and face the world
with your arms open
your heart free
your fear vanquished
or at least recognized, named,
brought out of the darkness for a while and
invited to stand in the middle of the room
so you can chat with it sincerely.
And that as you rise from
your kneeling, chanting, and drinking,
that the tears of joy you sometimes shed
at being alive on
this planet
in this world
with these people
and in these circumstances
are palpable on the skin of your face.
That you know that each decision you made
over the course of your life has
brought you here, here by the sea to a place
of potential abundance,
of overflowing audacity and joy and love.

What matters to me is that

Your body and spirit,
every once in a while,
fill with so much joy
and love,
yes, love
that you have to share it,
shout it, shamelessly claim it
as your own.

What matters to me is that

You stand with your back
the crooked path you’ve walked
to arrive here
now behind you,
its twists and turns so necessary
to bring you,
if I may be so bold,
to me.
What matters is that you are ardently ready for the rest of the
crooked path that will be
your life.

What matters to me is that:

You, as I do,
fervently wish,
oh how I wish,
that humanity
will one day
its highest good
its deepest power
the fulfillment of its evolution
-- whatever that is.
What matters to me is that you embody your highest self
in this moment,
in every moment,
or that at least
you try.

October 2007