Ever Been a Seed like this? Ever Seen a Flower like this?

A seed, gets buried in an avalanche of soil. The soil is rich, impregnated with all the life juice and organic energy for the seed to use. The seed though, suffocates and struggles  in the darkness and compactness of being buried.
It knows it will survive …not sure how.

It finds in itself the innate ability to absorb, the nutrients and moisture available around. Something starts to happen as the seed starts getting soaked.
It begins to change …not sure how.

Ever wonder how the change feels to the seed?

So much of breaking up, as it transforms. So much of a stir, before it finally learns to feel the softening. The tremendous endurance before it feels the surrender…

The seed sprouts a shoot. The shoot is so puzzled as it begins to break out of the surface of the ground. It quivers as the first air brushes on it. It faces the brightness of the very first light. It is held up …not sure how.

Ever know what this feels like?

The shoot grows stronger, taller. Head high, seeing all around very clearly.
It blooms. Into a delicate, pretty, beautiful flower. It is crimson and pink all over. It is just Being. Just Being what it had come to become. Not knowing about beautiful or happy or anything.

The flower suddenly gets jolted out of Being. It has a question. “Am I arrogant?
They are saying, I am beautiful and pretty … Am I arrogant?”
It feels the judgment ..not sure how.

Ever wonder about why the embarrassment about what you are blessed with Being?

The flower looks down, to the soil. “I know” it says, “I am up here only because of your nourishment, all that you gave me. I still have my roots in you …will always have my roots in you, as long as I live …roots of my gratitude”. It hears a message back from the soil, “We never said you owe us!”

Ever wonder how different we are as humans, when we serve, just because we were able to?

The flower ponders, “I am up here …all beautiful and pretty. I will be Beauty to the eye that sees me, Fragrance for the one who smells me …as long as I just Be.
Then one day my petals will fall away, one by one. I will no longer be the flower, pretty and beautiful, up here soaking in the sunshine. I will become part of  the soil, to nourish another flower to bloom. I will get a chance to give back then.”
It feels content …a bit sure how.

With a happy smile, the flower looks down at it’s stalk …its connection to the soil and nourishment. It gets puzzled to see thorns and leaves, that it did not see before.
It finds the answer it seeks …not sure how.

The leaves help it absorb the intensity of the sunshine.
The thorns …the thorns …there is sadness on seeing the thorns.
With the morning dew drops as tears, the flower says …”I am sorry I have thorns. I am done being broken down! Don’t touch me, Now I have thorns!!”

“The wounds of the seed as it transformed, to help me be born, I still carry in my soul.”

“I am told I also have a name …Rose is what I am called. I am not sure what all that is about …I am just here as temporarily as you are. I will stand tall and beautiful and pretty as long as you look at me …until I simply fall away …one petal at a time …to return and become the richness of the soil”

Ever wonder how the beauty feels to the flower?

Just wanting to be Seen

Through the words
Through the face
Just wanting to be Seen

Through the silence
Through the emotions
Just wanting to be Seen

Through how we dress
Through how we stress
Just wanting to be Seen

Through the efforts
Through the turmoil
Finally not caring to be Seen

Through the Self that emerges
Just feeling and Being
From behind those curtains
As if just peeking …

Suddenly you are the Presence
You are the Beauty and Brilliance
Made invisible all this while
Through all the trial
Just wanting to be Seen …

Just how did the writer in me get born?

When drippings from a touched soul find their way in writing
A poet is born

When the beauty is undying and the joy so fulfilling
A poem is born

When feelings are heart wrenching and clarity is killing
A poem is born

When a surge comes as discomfort and words pour out
A writer is born

When the harmony felt is such that there is no choice but rhyme
A poem is born

When made-up words bring meaning and no-rhyme verse feels musical
A poetry is born

When living alive to feelings, words come to life
A writer is born

When clarity becomes more intense than the pain that afforded it
A writer is born

When no human around can suffice to contain the expression
A poetry is born

When a release is looking to flow out at an unearthly hour
A writer is born

When words choose the person as if a channel
A writer is born

When none can be planned to rhyme or reason
A poet is born

When human spirit gets broken to million-times-ten pieces, yet finds beauty
A poet is born

When Life decides to peel back layers of truth down to the core
A writer is born

When each level of façade is stripped down to bare soul
A writer is born

When all the suffering was a gift, lived through or let through
A writer is born

When there is no knowing if there is more from where it came from
A writer is reborn

When it comes from a place that is hard to own
A writer is born

When the essence of being is wrung out in best expression
A poetry is born

When it feels like a soft glove over the brutal thing
A poetry is born

When the loneliness in truthfulness is more than can enjoy yet
A writer is born

When inspirations come out of nowhere as if universal cues
A poet is born

Every story a writer writes may not be the writer’s story
But then the writer lives within herself
A thousand lives or the stories of lifetimes
Often that of all of humankind

So if you can just rest
In the drippings of the writers’s soul
Momentarily let go off the sufferings you insist on
A writer would feel content for being born.

Looking through the rain

As I sit in my patio now, looking through the rain …

Rain pouring, pouring love
Earth soaking, soaking heart
Winds blowing, blowing directions
Rainlines crossing, crossing thoughts
Waterbaskets weaving, weaving emotions
Branches brushing, brushing chill
Puddles float bubbles, bubbles burst in mind
Winds stand still, stands still mind

Birds picking under tree, tree is bare
Few dry leaves hanging wet, wet desires few soaked in faith
Feel at home, home that is within me
Wide open spacious, spacious yet so full
Look through the rain more, more I get the inward pull
It keeps pouring, pouring love
Each grain of sand soaking, soaking each cell, body and soul …

Times that become the year

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Gratitude 2016
For the rich, sometimes dark
The perfect roast of aliveness
(Are you talking of my coffee?
Asked a curious good friend
Adding a touch of funny sweetness)
For the amazing, sometimes confusing
All of them the beautiful times

Gratitude 2016
For the moments of laughter precious
Tears that washed away the vicious
Anger, sadness, agony too, I admit
For the endurance through it all, a gift
For the people I can only begin to list

Gratitude 2016
For all the sortin’ and the siftin’
Of all my wishes for the coming 17
Wishes of some conquests and quests
Of finding rest in best of self
And the best in slowness and rests
Heights of glory in mind & beyond mind
Happiness and joys of true kind

Gratitude in advance 2017
For everything I know will be fulfilled
That’s the faith I got from ’16
Ask, dream, believe, it comes
Cherish, relish, receive when it does come

All of you who touched me
With your kind presence or energy
Of your words, wishes, thoughts & gesture
No difference to me real world or virtual
I hold all of you in my intention & asking
To find peace and love and infinite living
In the year of 2017