Self-Forgiveness

Self-forgiveness is a must
in your private sanctuary.
“Authenticity or bust!”
Giving up the load you carry,
free the shutters, air the room,
bare your soul and clean the windows.
Wave like dandelions in bloom.
Choose, above the innuendos,
self-forgiveness.

===
cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2017

Photo Source

In the Neighbor’s Orchard

(With apologies to William Blake)

A parable of enmity
unfolds beneath A Poison Tree
as animosity withheld
evolves until the foe is felled.

The grievance that is unexpressed
becomes corruption manifest
in harvest that exacts its price
from victims who will suffer twice.

Another death to celebrate,
another seed to germinate
and flourish in a toxic mix
unless contrition interdicts.

“Poetic justice,” some will say,
but vengeance tends to ricochet.
When anger grabs you by the throat,
forgiveness is the antidote.

===

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2017

Image Credit

Weekend Retreat

tent-camping

If I could spend a weekend with the me
who used to be, I wouldn’t waste a minute
dispensing admonitions bound to be
unheard instead of boldly living in it.

I’d load me, bag and baggage, in the car
blindfolded, like a hostage – scared, unwilling
to see the wonder in the way we are
and take a trip abundantly fulfilling.

Awaking to the pungent pull of pines
with senses bathed in joyous morning glitters,
I’d hold my hand to swing between the vines
and join the chorus of the woodland critters.

For only in immersion at the core,
dissolving all the filters of resistance,
can unreserved relinquishment restore
the nature of divinity’s existence.

Alert to every scent and sound, aware
of all within our mental jurisdiction,
no leaf is left unfluttered nor a hair
unsplit in separating fact from fiction.

So, guided by example, having flown
the strictures of illusion that have driven
my younger self within, I’d say, “You’re known
and loved for what you’ve always been: forgiven.”

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2014

Forgiveness is a Zephyr

grasses-and-blue-sky

(with apologies to Emily Dickinson)

Forgiveness is a zephyr
that stirs throughout the night
without a hint of turbulence
to snuff the candle’s light.

Its whisper softly beckons
when hearts are bitter cold
and only in the strongest grip
could fury breach its hold.

I’ve sensed its gentle nudging
in trench and storm-tossed sea,
and never has its promise failed
or disappointed me.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2014

 

Unseen

flower-in-crack

When Hope has nowhere else to go
through withering attacks,
she gathers strength from roots below
to rise between the cracks.

When Patience, buffeted by wind
is prone to pull up stakes,
he finds the buried grace to bend
before the auger breaks.

When Courage has forgotten more
than cowards ever knew,
it taps a hidden reservoir
to see the battle through.

Forgiveness, waiting in the wings,
unshackled from the past,
is summoning the peace he brings
when amity is cast.

And Love, in all her glory, holds
the power to dispel
alarm.  Within her apron folds
we know that all is well.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2013

The Fall of Hubris

climbing

There comes a time when, with a stalwart heart,
I plunge ahead, not looking left or right.
With clarity and purpose, from the height
of glowing certainty I can impart
a sacred sense of beauty, truth, and art.
Yes, there are times when, bathed in broad daylight,
I walk a weedless, unstrewn path. Insight
is painlessly acquired.  I’m feeling smart!

Inevitably, following the climb,
I tumble from the summit with a thud
and grapple in the guilt-infested slime,
surrendering illusions to the mud.
But mercy reigns above me all the time,
forgiveness measured out in love, not blood.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2000

He Said

It’s true, it was a rotten thing to do.
Apology accepted, though.  What’s more,
the deed has been forgotten. Still, the spore
of guilt proliferates.  The mirror’s cue,
a wagging finger, leads its retinue
of blame.  You keep reopening that door,
returning to the crime scene to implore
the pardon that’s been freely granted you.

Or is God’s promise only for the clean
and righteous soul?  Do you suppose his love
is rationed out in bits … as case by case
is proven worthy?  Look behind the screen.
There isn’t anyone deserving of
forgiveness — that’s the miracle of grace.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2005

Public Domain Image

Hidden Wholeness

puzzle 

“There is in all visible things – a hidden wholeness.” -Thomas Merton

I harbored thoughts of insufficiency
induced by a pervasive sense of lack
through tunnels where I didn’t wish to be.
I plodded on for fear of turning back.

Then suddenly my world turned topsy turvy
and, squeezed between avoidance and relief,
I stepped into the whirlwind, wild and swervy,
and there I glimpsed a scene beyond belief.

Without a map, a compass, or a chart,
I crawled on hands and bloody knees to find
the truth already written on my heart,
the best-kept secret known to humankind:

The universe is infinitely less
concerned with our perception of its laws
than we ourselves.  It simply seeks to bless
abundantly, oblivious to flaws.

If only we could hold ourselves in view
as we exist in oneness, bathed in light,
with undiminished dazzle breaking through
the veil, we’d rise undaunted past its height.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2011

 

No Small Miracle

butterfly

Inherent in The Mystery that sketched
the universe is Consciousness, a mind
so boundless as to cross a chasm stretched
through time and space eternal, yet refined
enough to make a snowflake. As the blind
and crippled beggar huddled by the gate
of old Jerusalem, his faith aligned
with mercy in the power to co-create
a healing flow. Today, when you began
to bristle, then decided not to sit
in judgment after all, forgiveness ran
the course; benevolence flew over it.
In each embodiment of thought that spurs
a change of heart, a miracle occurs.

———

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2005

Circular Furrow

oxen-plowing

Forgiveness beckons. Pride resists,
as inner demon fires are fed.
Insanity is made of this.

Creating nightmares, ego’s kiss
entwines with hate’s recurring thread.
Forgiveness beckons; pride resists.

Meticulously keeping lists
of grievances — all done and said,
insanity is made of this.

Without a compass, dreamers miss
the portal where the veil is shed.
Forgiveness beckons; pride resists.

Wake up! Decide to reminisce
on episodes that haven’t bred
insanity. It’s made of this:

Abolishment of quiet bliss;
retreat from roads where, straight ahead,
forgiveness beckons. Pride resists.
Insanity is made of this.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2006