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Love’s Native Tongue

by Kathleen MacGregor What would Love say? You ask With open jaw Open throat Heart tenderly opening Belly All the way down Rippling Open O O Love would say, Hello Beyond hello Words subtract When Love would speak Search not for words Words are not Love’s native tongue So listen deeply Move inside Would Love wiggle? Slide? Dance? Weep? Fall to the ground? Feel Love Let Love move you And listen To the wordless answer Feel Love’s pleasure When you feel Yes Cry tears For the times Love said Hello And was turned away Shunned like an untouchable Unrecognized Feared and taunted And now Hello Feel Love’s reception Inside of you. Now you are speaking Love’s native...

Potluck

Oh! There I go again… Thinking that there’s no place, in the world, Where I fit in. Where is my true home? Where should I live? How far must I travel before I find my people, my town? There I go again… Down the road of tears and fears About being alone and what is wrong with me That I don’t fit in anywhere? So I ask myself, “Well, what do you bring to the table? What do you have to offer?” I look at the tray I am holding Across my arms, Which lay softly upon my lap. I am bringing radishes and cucumbers To the table. Without any dressing-just plain. Not even any salt or pepper. Who will want these? I want to be the bringer of the best salad On the table. Dressed with a dressing That everyone wants the recipe for. I want to be surrounded by admirers Looking hungrily between me and my salad And I want to say, “I’m sorry. Only I have this most Special recipe and it is so secret and so special That no one else can ever make it again. Except me. I am the one. I want to be The most popular. That is the road I have travelled when I’ve wanted to fit in. Cucumbers and radishes, though, Are what I want- And so I bring them. Without dressing, Many people will pass them by unless They are denying themselves something else— What they really want. Many won’t even see me In the whirling , glitter of fancier dishes. Someone, like me, though, May pick up a crisp, cool cucumber stick, Beaded with tiny drops of it’s own water. And that someone may notice how simple, Clean and authentic –how True, the cucumber tastes. How refreshing! How, like a cucumber! How snappy-spicy the radishes. How They wake up an old memory of late spring in Your grandmother’s garden… So what about fitting in? What about finding home? I am home, the only place for me, The moment I awaken to my own private pleasure, In radishes or anything, And become the most popular person To me. And what I bring is simple Clean and authentic....

We Circle Sending Emerging

We Circling around the moment Sending out energy streams like tentacles to touch The moment emerging. To touch each other and ourselves in that Emerging moment. Energy streaming from all the hearts We all witness the pulling out of that thread. We all pull Out through the throat of one of us From way deep down- And every one here Is drawing the thread. Wanting the pictures that are painting themselves To be seen from that place Like wisps of smoke from the mouth forming into Form! Colorful, truthful With a lot of deep blue. Blue so blue We cry for the blueness. Also golden yellow. Sure of itself in the space of welcome. Truth comes through our desire From our desire to have truth with us In manifestation. We are all the fathers and mothers Of the truth being born and growing. Truth is born from We. Joyous to be the body...

Opening the Door

I fall asleep and find a door. I open that door and John is there Telling me about Heart and appearing slightly ragged. I feel afraid. Once, I opened the door and there was the man with the beard Who had been a snarling, stinking wolverine Just moments before- stalking me. Me and my sister terrified through the jungle Only to say “You have  a lot to learn from fear.” And once, I opened the door And planets floated within my reach like jewels. And I, speechless, felt myself in their presence. And once, I opened the door to shallow, blue pools of crystalline water Beckoning me to swim. Once, I opened the door and found myself standing on the sea Drifting northward, looking into the blue glacier holding blue light, time. And never once did it occur to me to leave the door closed. I want to open the door. And each opening of the door is the first Opening, clean unattached to other openings, new. In dreams, fear is not something to stop me. In dreams, I have no history with fear. There is only the innocence of now. That and the desire to reach out with hands, eyes and heart And open the...

Talk About Love, She Said

Love, now, is Hearing myself compare myself to her Noticing myself put myself down and Stopping that. Standing up for myself. Love, now, is Deliberately choosing to do something different Than I have ever done before. Something other than Trying harder to do better. Something other than pushing. Pushing… Something other than Hiding my face in shame or Embarrassment. Something other than Disappearing or competing or running in a new direction. No, this time I am choosing love. Love is staying With myself. Myself who is not so different From a young child In her bold desire To be loved just as she is. Unconditionally. I won’t push on myself or hint that I’m not good enough. I will whisper I love you. You are the only one for me. With tender gaze I will meet my own eyes In the new country And I will say Thank you. Thank you for all you’ve done For me. Love, now,...

Spaces

I feel so deliciously Curious… About The space between Our mouths Before we kiss and After we part. Parting. Our shoulders Our shouts. The electric space between Lips and ear-the whisper. In the closet, The space between his and hers, The space between leaves on the tree, Between tree and sky What happens in these spaces? These spaces we made To learn… what? To heal… what? To evolve… what? What of the spaces within myself? Between feelings and beliefs. Between feminine and masculine. Dark chasms, maybe, Between Will and Spirit? These are untraveled paths Paths of mystery and suffering. But what delineates the paths Between the wood and the ocean? How do we “know” They are separate? We have stopped at the edge of comfort Stayed there contemplating A way out. We’ve thought, Maybe aliens will come and finally take me home. Or I’m waiting for the Final Battle when God will bring me to his home. What if this is our home. This uncomfortable, squirmy, asking place. In stopping we have become the markers of the gap. What if we cross over? What if we begin to fall And continue to fall What if this is the way The only way To...
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