Explorations in Consciousness  -                 with Marsha Sheldon Sheldon
Bamboo

Bamboo knows the art of being empty
My prayer, to hollow myself out 
so the wind of God may blow through me
To play the song of my soul on It's wooded flute


When Change Whispers Your Name

Slough off those old comfortable
clothes of your becoming
comfortable is too small

Worn like suites of armor that
encase and smother new possibility

When the sweet sound of soul's song
whispers sometimes shouts
Stand naked before yourself

Let no one stand before you
Learn to love skin surrounded by air

Feel the goosebumps that announce
the path that is opening to you
the invitation that beacons

Draw comfort and warmth from
the old fire lit within

There is an art
in tending to a fire
and way too many ways to put it out






































When I was in Hawaii, I could see across a lava field the indentation made by the bare feet of the Hawaiians as they went back and forth to their sacred site. It reminded me how the soul moves back and froth from the inner world to the outer world in meditation and in every day life.

The Soul's Path

The Soul says I’m here, ask me.
I am here, invite me.
Please, let me into your life.

The dark stone path
leads inward and outward.
Wear down these stones
with soft naked feet,
treading softly or forcefully
but consistently
to places known and unfathomable.

The sirens of my outer life
seduce me, hold me hostage,
locked in chains of things to do.
The path is struck - you know the way.
Sink down
 in warm bubbling pools of light
with fragrances of things 
so deep in memory but never forgotten.

Completely asleep and 
completely awake, 
the cauldron opens
where the two worlds reside.

Spirit desires to be in the world,
unbending intent to influence.
It does not want new eyes 
green with unknowing to blindly 
repeat unchecked 
all that has gone on before.

Change and evolution need 
the eye of an eagle 
to help secure the outcome.

The world too parched and efficient
hungers for the food of soul.
In the heartland the Muses imbue our lives.

The nine daughters of Zeus
unwind us and open floodgates
to anchor us with mobile grace.

Thread reaches out into the web
to connect or to repair the tear.

The resolve is not in the hands of God
but in the fists of those who hear
the voice that beckons.

Hearts open and the Soul
soars with opportunity.
The Soul delighted as beast of burden.
Let me take life on.
 All on, preferred to dark, 
empty, endless sleep.