sticky wheels

wheels

within wheels

lies

within truths

truths

within lies

good intentions mixed with fear

create a sticky sneaky web

the power suckers and the fact seekers alike

get stuck on it

beneficial endeavors become corrupted

because human hearts still hold onto forms

and fear the loss of control

but the original pure knowledge is incorruptible

it shines golden for those who search for it instead of the forms that try to carry it

they know there is no boundary that can encompass it

and no power that can control it

Magi Nation

Imagination is at the station
Only a few are getting on
Imagination transportation
Don't get off until you're home

Stories

     It's always stories. Life is always stories. In the end, no one cares about "just the facts, m'am", unless the facts sound like a story, leading you somewhere.

     It's always stories. When someone asks "What's the meaning of my life? or "Who am I?" -- they mean "What is my Story? Where am I in it now? What makes it worth the telling? Is anyone else hearing it? Is anyone listening?"  Maybe our stories have many authors, but only one editor. We must shape and direct and, in the end, answer those questions for ourselves. And yet --

     It's always stories. Yours, mine, intertwine and influence, characters in each others plays, ghosts in each others visions. The characters in all the stories of this world are speaking at once. How can we listen to only one? Impossible.

Invasion of Love

Let Love invade their hearts with sorrow for their deeds of hate;
For the pain they have spitefully or coolly inflicted,
Let them perceive how broken and diseased they have become.
Let the veil be lifted from their eyes.
Let their knees kneel under the weight of this terrible understanding,
beneath the quake that releases the sobs of their remorse;
So that even these beings can be healed,
And see their Beauty as a stranger coming to rescue them from their dungeons.

Pity the haters, the manipulators and defilers of truth and beauty, the destroyers.
Send them pure love that seeps through tiny crevices and cracks of the strongest fortresses,
Or builds to a great wave that no malevolence can face.
Only love can dissolve hate.
Only light can purify the mind.
Only forgiveness can bring peace.

Precious People

Come, let's put on our eyes of love;
I think we have a few pairs,
Somewhere.
There's something to see, trapped between the layers of their lives,
What you do not expect to recognize --

The treasure,

The golden light,

The greatness and the beauty and the sweetness and

Everything we hope to find

In Paradise.

They never seem to see it, no,

They don't really believe in it --

Their innocense,

Living out a life sentence instead of a life.

You must look behind

The bitter facial lines,

Accusing glares,

Smirking mouths,

Attacking stares.

You can see through their walls

And down their halls

Into their secret cellars of light --

Golden treasures locked up tight.

Precious people.

We were made to be the lovers;

Not to waste our time in fear.

Come, let's put on our eyes of love and see--

Precious people.

The Random Joy

at the most random times it occurs to me how transcendently happy i am,
how this life, everything, is like a --
an intriguing mystical funny dangerous tale

i wake up and see it
so much bigger and stimulating than any story we concoct in our heads and put on a screen
it's such a long and winding and insane road
with bridges and spirals
and the treasure that is found and lost
over and over
and over
and i am happy to be here
stuck in this lovely and terrifying loop
always searching, searching
for the way out
just beyond the next disappointment
the joy
always finds a way back in to rescue me
at the last moment
don't understand it
not sure i want to
oh i really do want to find the way out
i do
but i don't always remember why
joy remembers for me
and reminds me
just often enough
to keep me going

Fields of Light

last night I saw the Fields of Light

shimmering through the shivering night

felt the fingertips of grace

touch the teardrop on my face

saw the brush of a wand'ring saint

caress my soul with his shadowey paint

so i could stare into the lights

and see the patterns of their flights

open mouthing to the wind

that filled me up to fly again

Dusty Road

Walking down a dusty road
Beside the everyday people,
You saw their despair and reached out your hand.
They followed you for a while, and you healed their diseases --
Walking down a dusty road,
A dusty road.

When you spoke of a better way,
The way of Truth,
They turned away from you and left, empty-handed.
You stood there holding life in your hand,
And they went walking down a dusty road
With what they could not let go.

Just a phantom of you was all that they could do,
And the phantom went walking down the corridors of Time.
He never looks the same,
But they always claim to know him –
Walking down a dusty road.

You stood there
At the intersection with a street of gold,
But they went walking down a dusty road,
A dusty road.

from "Jesus Songs" collection

Universal Hug

You all fit comfortably into the circle of my arms.
When I really see your heart, you fit lovingly into mine.
I take a step back to where your truth can be seen, not just my reactions to your exterior and surface vibes.

Benevolent indulgence, appreciation and non-judgement enable true clear sight and positive vision.

First Sight

To know that we are the ones moving toward you

Not you toward us --

Does it really matter?

In the end it is the same.

We see you appear,

Your topmost arc emerging from the misty horizon.

Our heart beats jump to the power of your first rays.

Alive.

Persephone

All the treasures I touched have turned to dust.
Weights drag me back toward the drowning pool with every step.
A heavy mystery works against me.

This place has no meaning, no feeling of home or belonging.
A stranger looks back at me from a mirror before glancing to the side.

Did I stop somewhere along the way as my life went on without me?
I feel the weights.
I feel the weights.

Circles of hell I've always walked.
I see this now.
When I thought I was stepping out of one, I stepped into a smaller, tighter one.
One day I will reach that Center where no movement can be made, and there is no smaller thing for me to become.
Where my life and my death meet, there can be nothing left to find--
except my salvation.

I go to this center, to this lowest region of Hades.
I accept this as the quest set to me:
To journey through the deserts of corruption and emptiness while dreams of Paradise plague me until I reach some final Hell of Enlightenment.

Once I resisted this darkness as a shroud of annihilation.
Now I will wear this shroud as the robe of my calling.
I will look into this blankness as my mirror,
walk into this Cold Embrace, rest my weary forehead on her shoulder
as her smooth cool hand takes mine.
She leads me.
Now I will see
What she will show me.

Lighthouse (Look to Me)

Oh ship searching for harbor
in a dark and stormy sea--
Look to me,
Look to me.
My foundation firm in rock and soil,
connecting each new stone secure,
along the spiral to the stars i rise--
all to shine the light,
all to shine the light.

The beam slices through the darkness.
The harbor waits.
Your heart is reaching out
to the lighthouse.

Hear the crashing waves
from the safety of the shore
as the gulls swoop and gather.
There is a path here to walk
and homes along the way,
new lives to be birthed into the world.
You journey through the desert, over mountains,
wilderness and perilous, shining cities
until you stand beside me once again.

Your heart rises to your eyes.
Salty water spills onto
the beautiful broken empty shells.
Deep colors above us brighten into gold
and the molten giant rises from a vast liquid horizon.

A ship waits.
Gulls cry.

I stand here between the land and sea,
rising to the living sky,
all songs singing through me,
reaching out to the longing in you.

You know me as refuge, as friend,
always leaving me to find me anew.
Your heart goes wherever you go,
abiding in your eyes,
gazing now at sea, now land, now sky.

Not Quite Yet

I went down to the shop of horrors.
Crazy mirrors showed me everything.
Spent all my tickets on reflections -
Nothing scarier than what I saw that day.

Gathering all these poor Mis-Shapens,
I stuffed them into a grocery bag.
Tangled whispers pleading, muttering -
I take them so they cannot follow.

Along the way more mirrors leered.
I wonder how much more can fit.
I cannot leave this lot behind,
Nor can I bring myself to look.

Clouds are gathering in my chest,
Whirlpools circle round my gut.
So heavy, so hard to keep this ol bag closed.
I'm almost ready for the Storm -

- But not quite yet . . .

A Brightness Ahead

There's a brightness ahead, and we don't see exactly what it is;

But we know there's a Transformation.
Structures behind us are falling,
Falling as we run.

We sleep under the moon
Stars are calling to us

Trudging Thoughts

Her lids and limbs were heavy as she trudged the slope on tired feet.

If only she could reach the Tree.

In It's shade, she would lie down at last, and cool blossoms would rest lightly on her closed eylids.

And sleep, sleep would come and take her to that other place.

From THOUGHTS DURING CHURCH SERVICE, written on the program note sheet, 9/14/1987.

So Real

I know I could find a way out of here

If I could turn,

If I could move

In the direction of the sky.

how you fear me

how you can never hear me

how you try

to turn away from the sky

I was

Walking down the

City streets. I

did not know what

I would meet,

But I

Was so

Real.

I was so real.

I walk with the stars.

I walk with the sun.

I feel

So

Real.

How do I sustain this

Real?

oh, turn around.

turn around.

I know I could find a way out of here

If I could turn,

If I could move

In the direction of the sky.

walk with the stars.

walk with the sun.

The Work You Do

If you don't believe

In your most golden thoughts

Of what life should really be,

Then who will make it be?

No one but you.

No one but you

Can do the work that you can do.

Living out your days,

Dripping Time from a bottle,

Drops more precious than gold,

Oiling the wheels

Of the machine that enslaves you.

Oh Children of the Earth,

Children of the Earth,

Children of the Earth,

Remember.

Remember.

If you do not embody

Your most precious hope,

Your most splendid vision of what life can be,

Then who?

Unfold

unfold yourself
slowly and completely
leisurely and attentively
unfold yourself

fall into flight

this is the day you can rise
lift your wings and fall
down below winds will blow
trees will go down
above the storm the cold is warm
the fall is flight

Stay Connected.

When we participate in this life, we participate in the cycles and conflicts to find the resolutions and the harmonies. Opposites and oppositions magnetize and repel, creating the circles and setting them into motion.
Ever widening these circles and reaching higher, we create the spirals, storms which may destroy us or raise us to transcendence. Even as we spin in the apparent chaos of the dance of life, we stay firmly connected to our center and The Center so we may rise and explore and not be flung into confusing blindness and fearful illusions of separation.

mary

keeper of the mystery
purified soul
silence of eternity
one and whole
balancing the energies
on a stairway to the stars
mother mother mary
holding all our dreams in your arms

Thanksgiving

For the wind that blows the trees outside my window,

For the rain that falls in the coldest drops on the dry brown leaves,

For the preciousness of every moment,

for the silence and the shadows,

for the ever-changing scene,

for the ever-living dream inside my heart -

I thank you

for my life.

Snowflakes

He wanted his picture made with his hands lifted and his face thrown back
The falling snow lifted our hearts and made our faces smile
Something unexpected and rare in these parts
somehow informing our spirits that the scenery really can change and the unexpected lovely things can still occur
even now
making us feel like children
one cannot hug a snowflake
so he holds out his arms to the sky from which it falls in drifts and swirls
make the picture to record this joy
with hands lifted and face thrown back

No shoes on my feet . . .

I think it's kinda interesting in the coincidental/synchronistic sort of way that I posted a poem that involved having no shoes on my feet and Bush was getting 2 shoes thrown at him in Iraq. (see Dec. 13 post)

No Hat Up On My Head

for a long time I
travelled down a dusty road
with no shoes on my feet
and no hat upon my head
and i wondered why
i had to carry such a load
through the cold and the heat
and no hat upon my head
so i gazed at the sky
where the sunset glowed
with no shoes on my feet
and this is what i said
i sure hate to die
travelling down a dusty road
but i've only seen defeat
and my heart is full of dread
for a long time i
knew i'd reap what i sowed
but never thought i would be beat
in the land of the dead

and i wondered why
so i gazed at the sky
i sure hate to die
in the land of the dead
with my heart full of dread
and no hat upon my head

21 august 1987

found this this morning going through some old stuff and was amused

there's a tune as well, very somber, but not slow really

Pit of Bones

Every time I think that I am dead and gone
I see myself rising from a pit of bones.
So unexpected, this ghost of another day--
I had forgotten that it feels this way.

So many flavors,
and textures beneath the words,
expressions and gestures
shaping the world--
See them with joy,
see them with laughter,
Feel their weariness as they follow after all the disguises of Emptiness.

A bird cries across the ocean of night
Dipping into a sailor's fevered dream
then on to drink from a child's hidden tears
Until echoes of ancient longings pierce through all the worlds,
Stirring up corpses of long abandoned dreams
To send them scurrying after the receding shadows of forgetfulness.

Feel the sting of wounds fresh cut by the sword of Turning Away.
I did not know it would feel this way
As agony and ecstasy join hands
And merge into the smile that journeys across the arc of my soul
as she rises from this pit of bones.

Mother Goddess at the Traffic Light

one in her belly
one in her arms
one held tightly by the hand
four souls cross the busy street as one
no time for feeling lonely
no time for feeling anything but the strength she must always find
for holding head high, back straight, and little hands tight
holding onto nickels and dimes
holding onto sanity and personal pride for one more day

sherry fraley, 2000

Starting Line

crazy thoughts fill your head
you think it's too late for you now
you've tried and tried again
only to fall short every time
one more time
you step up to the starting line
one more try
you want to have it all

you'll never settle for something less
than everything you see in glimpses
like a magnet drawing you
even pulling you up from underneath endless layers
dark and heavy upon you

crazy winds are filling your heart
your're thinking it's too much for you
can you find the strength to stand?
will you fall again
fall short one more time?
you can never settle
for something less than everything
one more time.
you step up to the starting line...

Sherry Fraley

Well, it's that time again. Time to make another go of getting my life together, so to speak.

New Human

You are so open and so free, so ready for the love that comes your way. Wherever it may come from, you recognize it, and you embrace it without trapping it. Each moment is leaned into with wondering eyes and eager mind and open heart. You are the new human, lower lows and higher highs contained in one invincible sanity.

Thoughts inspired by Captain Jack Harkness and The Doctor

The Hermit and the Fool

Oh the Hermit and the Fool
Walk through the moonlit night
And the hermit doesn’t see the fool is there
He finds a lovely spot
A mossy little clearing
Sets his lantern down upon the dewy ground
And walks the circle on the edge of the light

Head bowed just a little
Eyes half closed
A very gentle bounce in the knees
And a very slight tap with his staff on the earth
As he trances to the edges of the universe

And all the while the fool skips and sways
In circles around the hermit
Each small tap of the hermit’s staff
Stokes the fire of the fool’s desire
And each little nod of the hermit’s head
Dips into the deepest pool--
The heart of the fool

The moth in his brain dances with the flickers of the light
The firefly in his eye searches out the treasures of the night
In the forest of the hermit

Then in his trancing dream
The Hermit sees the Fool
And gathers him to his heart
Like an old forgotten friend who never leaves
Like a new remembered joy that always stays
On the edges of the circle
And in every movement of their dance

Sherry Fraley, 2007