the way to achieve a dream

the way to achieve a dream
is the the way of the wise mother
who weaves star dust
in the soft cocoon of her womb
until she births the seed of love.
she watches it grow
as she waters it with her tears
"bless you, my child,
your roots are safe in the ground,
your wings are safe in the heavens",
she whispers
while she dreams of forests yet to become.

the way to achieve a dream
is also the way of the hunter father
who speaks the language of trees,
follows the trails of stars
and is faster than the winds.
for he is one with his prey
and never forgets to bow
to the majesty of the prey's warm blood
as it dies and melts into the soil dreams are made of.
"bless us, mother
with the fruit of your womb",
he whispers
while he dreams of skies yet to become.

the way to achieve a dream
is to embody it.
it is your unique path,
and you are already on it.
for the wise mother
and hunter father
are both inside you.

*for Jayesh

Caterpillar

I had lost myself
and my flesh had failed
to shelter this forgetting.

Inside my heart
a tiny egg began to hatch
birthing a tiny caterpillar.

It was no small thing,
since caterpillars are very particular
about the heart soil they need.

This soil was cracked
with grief and sorrows
and the caterpillar thrived.

I learned from her
about my heart
how fickle and fragile it was,

And yet how it nurtures
without ever depleting
without ever complaining.

I became fond of my caterpillar
the many skins she shed
to grow and grow.

The soles of her many feet
softened my heart in their throb
till it became moist.

Then, one day,
she weaved herself into a hole
and disappeared.

My heart broke open
and a butterfly emerged whispering:
"I have found myself".

Contract

white sheets of paper
with tiny black words
black captive birds
crafting a gilded cage
made of promises
attached to your signature
still bind you to agreements
your soul no longer wants to keep.

make your inventory
of unlived lives
and choose which birds
you are willing to set free
and which sheets
will go on adding
to the story of your past.

make a bonfire
and watch them burn
old agreements
of how you would be good
and obey the rules
pay your dues
and show up on time
give away the thing you own
and enrol your children
in the same binding system
that has clipped your wings
and caged your potential.

yes, watch a new kind of bird
rising from the ashes
it is a terrifying thing
a white sheet of paper
a blank canvas
with no written rules
other than the integrity of
who you are becoming.

imagine a world
of no contracts
where trust and integrity
are the only safety guarantees
where you give your word
and allow it to unfold
beyond any sheet of paper
and every human you know
and every business they may own
does the same.

Renewal

It is in the smallest of deaths

where life is renewed:

The tips of your fingernails

manicured away

still echo the scratch of ecstasy

on your lover’s flesh

shedding sunkissed skin

uncombed hair

and unhatched eggs

blessed by your moon blood

unbroken yet by

the seeds of life.

It is in the closest of deaths

where life is renewed:

The  feathers of your tiny bird

buried away

still echo the flutter of wings

longing to lift

the weight of caged potential

as you kneel to mourn

another loss

and you bless the earth

that swallows your bird

to sow the seeds of life.

*In memory of my daughter's bird who passed away yesterday, to bless her grief in losing a friend and dealing with death for the first time in her life.

My hands won't bleed

My darling,

It is difficult for me to soothe you today.

As much as I wish to find the right words, the right gestures, I feel powerless outside your cage.

I reach between the bars and stroke your neck and elbow. I feel the tension in your body as if it were mine.

Let me carry this weight for you.

You may trust me with your intentions, with your fears, with your exquisite gifts.

Do not get me wrong.

I do not intend to save you.

I see how you deem yourself captive, yet I also see in you the power to set yourself free.

The gate is always open and I have been standing here in the doorway since the beginning of time.

I hear you calling out for me, looking for the great escape.

‘Save me’, you say.

‘Take me away’, you yearn.

‘Shine your light on me’, you sing.

‘Light the fire in me’, you instigate.

How can I explain this to you in plain words?

I am not the poet you are.

I am only a man.

I am your man.

There is no ‘away’.

There is only ‘here’.

And here is where I stand, naked in the spot light, with all of my own betrayals weighing me down.

The fear of generations.

I am calling out to you, see me as I am.

Allow me in.

Let me steer the wind for you.

Make space for me in your heart.

Accept my humble compliments of your majesty and beauty.

Accept them without humility or pride.

See yourself through my eyes.

You are for me the sum of all women.

Woman of Grace, hold my gaze in your light.

Woman of Wisdom, speak to me with your voice.

Woman of Peace, forgive my forefathers cruelty.

Woman of Ecstasy, touch me with the essence of you.

You are not my mother, so do no attempt to mother me.

Nor am I your father, so do not seek solace in my attention.

Let us acknowledge each other for who we are.

Let us see each other, hear each other, feel each other and taste one another until the boundaries between us fade.

Let us melt in communion until words fail to provide meaning for who we were.

So, when we return to the world, the illusion of our cages and burdens will also fade away.

When we return, we will carry each other’s heart within our own without binding one another to any cage.

When we return, the world shall have already changed to shelter our love.

We already carry the seed of that world.

I promise you to never let you forget.

That is my gift to you, my darling.

In the meantime, I will stand here, outside your cage and reach out to you.

For when I touch your shoulder blades, my hands wont bleed.

They will rejoice.

You are welcome

If I were your home and you came back to me,

I would hold the space around

you with all the fragrances and colors

that make your eyes shine

and your arms soften.

I would open my doors for you

and crack my windows open

so the air would awaken your skin.

I would squeak my floors under your steps

so your feet would hear their own music.

I would sit you down on my lap

so your body may curl

and remember safety.

I would shower you with my warm waters

and quench your thirst with my cold waters.

I would offer you my walls and handles to lean on

and my soft pillows to foster your dreams when you sleep.

I would reveal my hidden corners to you

to keep your secrets

and light a fire in my heart

to cook your soup when your are hungry.

I would make the rooms for the things that you do

and keep your time and your silence.

If I were your home and you came back to me ,

I would whisper to you, over and over:

Welcome home, my darling,

Welcome home.

*To Kasia, for teaching me that opening my home is opening my heart

Coming home

Coming home is not this walking
through the door of your house
after the long journey
from mountains filled with wonder,
is not even this sitting here again
on the chair that carries the memory
and shape of your body,
but is the subtle whisper
of that tiniest plant in the forrest
connecting my skin to yours
in the invisible web of life
that shapes the memory
of all things.

Wherever you are on your journey
of homecoming,
however weary and tired
from all the luggage you carry,
still heavy and unpacked,
know that any breath you take
shelters the possibility of a thousand doors
opening your heart to that whisper.
Once you hear it, you will come to know
that we are already home.

A labour of love

You were born into majesty
an heir of land and sky,
blessed by the sun,
rocked by the moon,
sheltered by the earth
you thrived.
This castle was your cradle,
your playground,
your sanctuary.
Here, you've learned to stand your ground
and speak your name
and wonder at the beauty of your own hands
crafting things into being.

It was a labour of love.

As you grew up,
you castle grew smaller
and smaller.
The people came in.
Trespassers:
wanderers, crusaders,
rogues and beggars,
hunters and soldiers,
priests and teachers
disguised as kings and queens,
all claiming a piece of your land,
the earth beneath your feet,
the waters from your well,
the fire from your belly,
the feathers from your wings.
You paid the price
so they would see you
and call out 'Your Majesty'.
But soon the well dried
and the fire died,
the air grew thinner,
the earth turned to quicksand.
Your castle came crumbling down.
And you were alone.

It was a labour of love.

Then, it began.
From your grief,
a crack in the wall
and the light came in.
All the pain,
al the hunger,
all the fear,
exposed.
A tear here, a spark there,
a feather here, a stepping stone there,
Dissolving the defence
to rebuild your castle
from the ground up.
Your undefended heart,
taking the exquisite risk
of becoming vulnerable.

It was a labour of love.

Years have passed
and you grew older.
It seems like your labour has just begun.
Your castle is still fragile.
The floors squeak,
the walls creak and moan
bearing the scars of ancient wars,
the ghosts of all life still unlived
haunting the dark corridors.
Yet as the crows herald your homecoming
the front doors are wide open.
People still come in.
They carve their names on your trees
in fear of being forsaken.
Sometimes they flood your rooms
with their tears of neglect.
Sometimes they leave
without saying goodbye.
Still, most of the times,
they come together
in humbleness
to seek refuge and redemption
to heal and be healed
to pay their respects
and offer their gifts,
to bless the heart of your heart,
to honour the cradle of life.
You welcome them
as you welcome yourself
home.
It is still a work in progress.

It is the labour of love.

*dedicated to Steven, lord of Hayton Castle and his labour of love, with humbleness and gratitude for the shelter of his heart

Sanctuary

Come,
all you who seek refuge
from the harshness of all that is named
from the rawness of all that is untamed
from the bleeding of all that is wounded
from the crying of all that is unloved,
Come
and you shall find shelter.

Come,
all you who seek redemption
for the sins of all who came before you
for the hollow of all life that is unlived
for the hunger of all children who are unnurtured
for the hurt of all men and women who deny each other,
Come
and you shall receive forgiveness.

Come,
all you who suffer
against the true nature of all that is you
against the way all things are
against the ruthless mine fields drenched in all the cold blood
against the wisdom of all that is unknowable,
Come
and you shall be touched by grace.

Here, you are all welcome
to come as you are,
wounded and bleeding
shattered and broken
hurt and lonely
limping and dragging your bodies
to the doorway of this moment
to fall at your own feet
astonished
to find the one waiting beyond the door
the one who shelters
the one who forgives
the gracious one
who offers sanctuary.

Yourself.

Brutally soft

I am a brutally soft woman
I melt under your skin
through the crack in your wall
tearing your defence down
tearing you down
brutally
unapologetically
ruthlessly
tearing you down
with the soft curves
of my hips
with the moist darkness
of my womb
with the soothing fulness
of my breast
with the gentle radiance
of my face
with the silent music
of my heart
I tear you down
so you may rise above
your walls
your defence
your past
and become
brutally soft
with your self.

I am a brutally soft woman
I challenge you
where it hurts the most
where you raped me
and blamed me
and forced me to cage my wings
and seal my lips
and cover my hair
and hide my face
and shame my body
and silence my song
where your father did the same
his father's father did
as my mother tolerated
abuse
and shame
and promiscuity
and punished my father for it
so we may finally learn
to forgive each other
and be brutally soft
together.

It's in the little things

It's in the little things
always
in the little things
where love is hidden

and the big things
become more little
as you breathe in
and out
zooming in
and out

It's in between things
always
in between
where life just is.

Father, may I breathe in church?

My sweet child,
I have built a home for you
to shelter your innocence
and safe keep the seeds of your dreams
Yet in the building I have lost myself
I held my breath
and could not bear to look at you
for in you I saw the innocence I had lost.

My wild rose,
I have built a temple for you
to shelter your prayers
and echo the voice of God back to you,
yet in the building I have lost myself,
I held my breath
and I could not hear the choir of angels
singing through your voice.

Forgive me,
for in my last prayer inside this temple
I can finally hear you
and your voice is the sound of grace
reclaiming the gift of breath
inside the church of this body.

Forgive me,
for in my last breath
I am whispering to you
I can finally see you
and you are beautiful,
You are precious,
You are strong
like the wild roses
in the garden I have forsaken for so long.

I thought I was here to protect you
and teach you the ruthless ways of this world
yet in the end, I see
it was you all along
teaching me that
I am safe to be here,
I am safe to surrender my breath to this love.

*To Cecilia and her garden of oak trees and wild roses, with love and reverence

Prayer

We are pilgrims,

We have come a long way
To kneel our burdens
before these shrines
where hope glitters
framed in golden temples.

We pray,

We pray for redemption
We pray for someone
to please come save us
to please come love us
Love our bodies
Love our land
Love our castles
Made of sand.

And still,

The only prayer that matters
Is the song of the mockingbird
Sheltered by a willow tree
kneeled above the water
where the sky bends over
to pour it's tears of grace.

This prayer,

Is the whisper of the heart
fierce and silent like the wind
Is the fire in the belly
the ocean of breath
Is the song that makes the body dance
all the love sheltered in these pilgrim bones.

Blessing

Blessed be your silence
and all the tales it births,
the flowers in my garden,
the bodies in my earth.

Blessed be my tears
and all the floods they make
to summon up my fears
from underneath the lake.

Blessed be this heartache
and all the walls it builds
to make you climb the mountain,
to make me drop my shields.

Blessed be our loving
and all the light it shines
to get us through the darkness,
to read between the lines.

Kiss me

With every layer of skin you shed,
With every word to be unsaid,
With every prayer you uncast,
You burn the story of your past.

With every ragged bone you break,
With every crumbled step you take,
With every liberty you vow,
You birth the story of your now.

With every moment that goes by,
With every sun that leaves the sky,
With every heartbeat, every breath,
You're getting closer to your death.

And even though you know all this
You still get hungry for one kiss,
You still refrain and play your part,
You still get locked outside your heart.

With every kiss that you refrain,
You burn, give birth and die again.