and

by Michelle J. Kaplan

  not necessarily what you desire.

  Fiercely loyal and compassionate,

  She is confidante, mother, and teacher,

  the one we keep searching for,

  though she’s always there,

  patiently waiting for us to come home.

  Home is with you wherever you go.

  Morning Meditation

  I slowly awaken.

  All is still and at peace

  except the movement

  from the ceiling fan

  creating a rush of cool air

  that continuously swirls over me,

  gently caressing my warm, slumbered form.

  My back arches

  into a delicious stretch

  as I burrow deeper

  into the disheveled pile

  of blankets and pillow,

  the aftermath of my dreams in motion.

  I deeply inhale

  the smell of fresh linens

  and the earthy scents of spring

  that blows in

  from the half-opened window

  by my bed.

  My eyes still closed.

  My mind blank, open and available

  to infinity’s life flow.

  The intimacy in the room is palpable,

  indescribable.

  I feel you most at this time each day

  when the energies of others

  aren’t comingled with ours,

  just you and me,

  pure and sacred,

  whole and complete,

  reminding me of who I truly am

  and what is real.

  Though we are together,

  always,

  I love our morning visits best.

  Spiritual Facial

  We go to our place of worship,

  and in the quiet, hushed space,

  we put on our ceremonious robe

  and surrender.

  We close our eyes,

  and in the stillness,

  we are enveloped by

  melodies and chants

  and the fragrances

  of lavender, sandalwood and mint.

  Masks applied

  are washed away,

  drawing out impurities

  as we cleanse, exfoliate and extract

  the useless and resistant

  that’s piled up over time.

  The process can create

  uncomfortable and painful moments,

  as we bare and expose ourselves

  to a bright-lighted magnifying mirror

  that is relentless and unforgiving

  in its primary purpose to uncover

  our internal blemishes.

  But after all the poking and prodding

  we love the results,

  which reveals our clean, pure, and natural self,

  now nourished, balanced, and revitalized,

  leaving us feeling renewed,

  radiant and glowing,

  Illuminating.

  Until Now

  The first time I remember

  feeling joy from writing

  was when I made a birthday card

  for my Grandpa.

  I must have been eight or nine years old.

  I drew a picture of a birthday cake on the front

  with Crayola crayons

  and inside I wrote a simple, singsongy, rhymed poem

  telling him how much I loved him

  and what he meant to me.

  I can recall the pleasure and gratification I felt

  of being able to create something and express myself,

  and my usually gruff Grandpa,

  momentarily softened

  by receiving my handmade and heartfelt gift.

  You have no idea

  how I crave

  at this very moment

  to see that card,

  to get a glimpse

  of my younger self,

  that could possibly reveal

  the budding writer

  I somehow missed or ignored

  as I grew up.

  Why did I stop writing

  and amputate myself

  from the thing I love to do?

  Numerous fears

  and practicalities

  immobilized me…until now.

  Self-Portrait

  By deliberate strokes of his hand,

  pressed hard against the canvas,

  guided by the One,

  midnight blue paint,

  reveals a picture

  of who we really are,

  that many have forgotten,

  now recognizable

  through the felt energy

  his offering provokes.

  He made

  the Intangible

  Tangible

  the Infinite

  Finite.

  A self-portrait of our divine essence,

  the Universal unseen

  that has patiently waited

  since its creation

  for its formal debut,

  for the soul purpose

  of helping us remember

  what is real and true,

  however long that takes.

  There is no rush in eternity.

  Part 3

  The resistance from the Ego…

  as the Soul emerges

  Tribute to Diana

  She died in the depths of winter

  just before an unexpected blizzard arrived.

  Mother Nature’s grace,

  extreme, yet effective,

  creating a way to seek shelter and turn within

  from the harsh realities outside.

  We were barely acquaintances,

  but I knew her well, on another level,

  because she was me in the ways that matter.

  The same age,

  with the same disease,

  around the same time.

  Yet, after the initial discovery years ago

  of our body’s betrayal,

  our paths diverged,

  her cells, stubborn and territorial.

  Surprisingly, her vitality was no match

  for her slashed and poisoned body.

  She was too alive in spirit

  to breathe her last breath in form so young.

  I let out a deep exhale and unconsciously bow my head

  in profound reverence for her valor that never wavered,

  clawing and fighting her way for another day,

  by seizing opportunities in the Land of the Living,

  with that sparkling smile I never saw her without.

  I instinctually walk upstairs into my daughter’s room

  and gaze down at her while she sleeps so completely,

  feeling the warmth of her space

  from the forced heat and her sweet breath.

  My biggest fear spontaneously grips me,

  lodges in my chest and takes hold,

  a direct hit to my heart,

  that produces greedy sobs,

  not the pretty kind.

  Life can be ugly at times.

  I’m suddenly…so…tired.

  I wilt onto my daughter’s bed

  stung by the audacity of loving someone

  with such raw and untamed boldness,

  feeling its strength and fragility simultaneously.

  There are no answers to Why,

  no meaning on the unfairness of life.

  All worldly things are fleeting.

  As I turn to leave the room,

 
I notice the snow has finally stopped falling.

  I sense that Mother Nature

  will work her magic again tomorrow,

  forcing me out of hibernation

  by creating a silver-jeweled landscape

  that will be hard to resist.

  I’ll go outside and make tracks in the snow,

  knowing that under the blanket of white

  there is life laying dormant

  waiting for rebirth.

  Truth

  Cracked wide open,

  huge waves of truth,

  knock me down,

  sprawling me out into unchartered,

  yet vaguely familiar waters,

  disbelief at what I’m sensing.

  Unleashed from the constraints of time,

  messages from beyond,

  disguised in the ordinary,

  coded in people, packages,

  paintings, numbers and songs,

  and synchronistic coincidences,

  that puts me at odds

  with all that I have known to be real.

  False self!

  Why do you taunt me,

  isolate and separate me

  from the mainstream?

  The world is cruel

  in its judgment of different.

  They don’t remember.

  Resistance softens into reluctance,

  clinging by my fingertips

  on to useless, yet accustomed ways.

  I never asked for this.

  Or did I…

  unknowingly?

  Lovely Divinity,

  wrapped in a coat

  protected from the biting winds

  of uncertainty.

  This is the way,

  in form,

  since doubt is born from the mind

  as it projects out into the future.

  and Spirit recognizes

  there is only now.

  Running on the fumes of faith

  is my salvation

  to my nonconforming and abiding self.

  I greet and enter the flow,

  emptying into pure surrender.

  Nothing is at it appears.

  Grace is everywhere.

  Mysteries become certainties.

  Feelings become facts.

  Omega…

  there is no end.

  Time,

  eternal,

  overlapping, melding, blending

  past, present, and future.

  The currents of time

  stream through and out of me.

  My present self

  as the future self

  to my past self.

  First, awareness,

  then, communication.

  Is that even possible?

  Cyclical and dynamic,

  infinity’s pulsating energy and vibrations

  causing ripple effects

  through alternate potentials

  in all dimensions

  with purpose and order,

  linked and aligned

  to the minute detail

  to become interchangeable realities.

  We are One.

  Eternity’s cavernous presence

  blankets me with

  awe,

  humility,

  strangeness.

  To know oneself

  doesn’t instantaneously transform

  into being oneself.

  The inescapable transparency

  of living my truth

  leaves me feeling

  exposed and unprotected.

  Now,

  quiet strength feeds

  my rebellious soul,

  a willing participant

  poised for giving

  in the present,

  a timeless present.

  Truth wins inevitably.

  Unwritten

  I was born into a story.

  I authored more as a child.

  As an adult,

  I controlled my story,

  rewriting it many times,

  yet, I was still unsatisfied.

  It was never enough

  somehow.

  I’m sensing now

  that I’m not my story.

  Though that feels true

  it makes me uncomfortable

  because without a story,

  who really am I?

  What is Real?

  Is my mind concocting stories

  of what could be

  or is my soul

  tapping into other dimensions of time?

  And are these visions

  just various potentials

  that can slip out of reach

  without my knowing,

  or my fate,

  inevitable and preordained?

  Threads of possibilities…

  imagination or intuition?

  fantasy or truth?

  contrived or divine?

  wishful thinking or destiny?

  My questions take hold,

  surround me,

  and assault my peace of mind.

  Is this the right path?

  Is there a correct way to manifest what I’m sensing?

  Am I unintentionally going to screw this up somehow?

  Do I charge forward and make it happen?

  Or wait for a sign to be shown to me?

  Do I even want what’s coming?

  I don’t know.

  I admit defeat.

  And in my surrender

  one simple truth emerges

  from the exploration

  of these things

  that offers me some relief

  from this relentless probing.

  Faith cannot exist

  without trust

  in what is

  and what will be.

  Have faith.

  Just trust.

  And in some deep place in me,

  I do.

  Pure

  Deep immersion

  into the pool

  of pure awareness,

  subtle, elusive and real,

  where potentials are actualized,

  possibility becomes certainty

  thoughts become reality.

  Going beyond the boundaries of time and space

  where travel is possible

  to a place with no edges and corners

  at the center of infinity,

  the point of creation.

  An identity crisis of the best kind,

  the vastness of pure consciousness

  silences the False One,

  with its nonsensical chatter,

  who alerts us to all

  that is unsafe in the world

  that it created

  and opens us to actions

  that cause more suffering.

  Form cannot penetrate the limitless dimensions.

  Pure consciousness expands

  the Eternal One within

  who perceives the past,

  surrenders to the present,

  and is ever watchful of the future.

  The root cause of spontaneous belly laughs

  that come for no other reason

  than sensing the joy of it all.

  Who is this one

  who is forever watching and remembering?

  And how do I get her to stay?

  Authenticity

  The crazy thing is that

  the more honest I get

  the more deceitful I feel.

  I’m su
ffocating

  under the weight of incongruity

  between who I am

  and how I’m existing,

  and the clever distractions

  that keep me in hiding

  from pockets of my life

  aren’t working anymore.

  I want out and I don’t know how.

  Wait… that’s not true.

  I do know.

  I just haven’t wanted to deal

  with the demands truthfulness requires

  with no guarantee of what will come.

  More Questions than Answers

  What is

  my life purpose?

  How can free will and destiny

  coexist?

  How do I know

  if I’m running away

  or letting go?

  How can I plan

  for my future

  and be present in the moment?

  When do I persevere

  in making something happen

  versus surrendering to what is?

  How can I work

  toward my goals

  and yet remain detached

  from the outcome?

  When do I ask others

  for help

  and when do I turn within?

  If Truth is nothingness,

  how can anything

  have meaning?

  Can I be okay

  not knowing the answers?

  What the Hell Am I Doing?

  I’m smothered under

  the blanket of responsibility

  of making my dreams come true.

  In the light,

  alone with my thoughts,

  I feel invincible.

  In the darkness,

  alone with my thoughts,

  I feel defeated.

  Is it worth it,

  working so hard,

  being totally out of my comfort zone,

  without even a glimpse

  of the Promised Land?

  Does that even exist?

  I am so scared,

  after all is said and done,

  that I’ll never…

  taste the sweetness of freedom,

  feel the gentle embrace of love.

  hear the laughter of joy.

  sense the stillness of peace.

  And yet…

  Wide Open

  Mind is open,

  but Heart is closed,

  because it remembers

  how it felt

  when Mind was closed

  and Heart was open.

  If there are infinite possibilities,

  then our imaginations