We have come not to take prisoners

We have not come here to take prisoners,
But to surrender ever more deeply
To freedom and joy.
We have not come into this exquisite world
To hold ourselves hostage from love.
Run my dear,
From anything
That may not strengthen
Your precious budding wings.
Run like hell my dear,
From anyone likely
To put a sharp knife
Into the sacred, tender vision
Of your beautiful heart.
We have a duty to befriend
Those aspects of obedience
That stand outside of our house
And shout to our reason
“O please, o please, Come out and play.”
For we have not come here to take prisoners
Or to confine our wondrous spirits,
But to experience ever and ever more deeply
Our divine courage, freedom, and Light!
-Hafiz

Admit something

Admit something.

Everyone you see, you say to them
“Love me.”

Of course you do not do this out loud:
Otherwise,
Someone would call the cops.

Still, though, think about this,
This great pull in us
To connect.

Why not become the one
Who lives with a full moon in each eye
That is always saying,

With that sweet moon
Language,

What every other eye in this world
Is dying to
Hear.

- Hafiz

The Butterfly

You have spun and spun
threads of longing and caring
a cocoon of safety
You nurtured and fed
the hope of contentment
and tenderness and warmth
The chrysalis of bonds
secure and strong
threatens to swallow you up
squeezing out the fragrance
The world as you know it is ending
metamorphosis is at hand.
Let go, dear caterpillar
of the comfort of the familiar.
You are the butterfly
fragile and soulful
Break out of your shell
and spread your wings.

Living authentically

I read an article recently about this hippie couple spending years renovating a rundown cottage in Adirondacks into their dream home- a psychedelic, kitschy paradise with a pond and acres of open wooded land that they used to host frequent gathering of their friends. The woman who was part of this crazy couple- who by their own admission, nearly froze to death the first winter in this house with no heating they bought with their life savings- made a living out of stitching rags to make clothing and selling it on Etsy. What struck me about the details of her life was that even though she had lived what was obviously a very unconventional and financially uncertain life, she seemed to be living out her most authentic self. Her aesthetic, her home, her work, her travels and her relationships reflected the values she cherished the most.
It made me wonder- do we trade our most authentic selves and the values dearest to us for financial security and social acceptance? Are the eccentric people that we know, who seem to be living their lives so much differently than the rest of their peers, on to something?

The Yearning

You were listening, listening
as I called out to you.
Come, come now,
come into my arms.
I was waiting, waiting
inhaling and exhaling
one breath at a time.

Our moment had come
I knew that
you knew it too.
You were part of me
the heart of my heart
but now was the time
to meet in this world.

The path was long, and treacherous
the work was hard, oh, so hard.
Love, just pure love
was pulling you to me.
I kept the faith
I jumped over the abyss
knowing you would be worth it.

You were listening, listening
to my heartbeat
as it yearned for you.
A yearning that was
deeper than my bones
it stretched and opened into
the very center of me.

I called to you
over the rushing
that filled my head.
And you arrived,
at long last
to greet me.
Welcome, my love!

Walk Barefoot

Walk barefoot on the sands, my love.
Dip your toes in the water
let the goosebumps run up your shins
pause and look around
at the meeting of the land and sea
the worlds it joins.

Gaze at the mountains
full of mysteries
with wonder and awe
breathing in deep
letting your hair fly in the wind.

Camp in the desert
and look at the stars
the million points of light
in the drape of the night
the coyote howling to the moon.

Trek into forests
the wild jungles, the wooded groves
be silent and witness the canopy of green
listen to the crunch of pine needles
and the distant stream bubbling.

Climb to the highest peaks
and find solitude among the pristine whiteness
interrupted by ancient boulders
at the miracle of the irresistible living with the immovable
Then, even if for just a moment,
walk barefoot, my love.

The Red Line

by Bethany Webster


In my blood there is poetry

In my blood are ancient stories

You are there, too, my sister

The red line all the way back to the beginning

A red thread I hold onto for days every month

A red path that appears beneath my feet

A red echo I hear through my inner yearning

My punctuated flow is the steady tempo of a drumbeat

That life plays through me

The drumbeat that is played in the bodies of women

Across the planet

The drumbeat of all of us bleeding is the heartbeat of the earth

We are Gaia’s heart in perfect timing with the tides

That keep the earth turning

Woman, we must rise up

Removing the veil of shame

We are ancient

We who trace the red line

We who hold the red thread

We are She in whom courses the river of humanity

As sacred as the highest temple

The holiest of chalices

The spiraling path of birth and death

The womb is a cradle of both

We are a gate between worlds

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