Based on the teachings of A Course in Miracles
Behind each errant thought there hangs a thread
of continuity, a knowingness
that’s hidden by an unrelenting fear
of meaningless existence. Only in
suspended judgment can the truth emerge.
When ego is subjected to the light,
illusion evanesces. One by one,
each child of God, awakening, recalls
his rightful heritage of endless love,
for separation never has occurred.
Now, following the thread back to its source,
we see the world for what it is, a screen
projecting unreality, a blip.
The little willingness is all it takes
to conquer thought and matter, time and space.
Mary Boren, 2012
Public Domain Photo
I have fulfilled my purpose
when I cease to wonder …
Why am I here?
Am I doing this right?
What does tomorrow hold?
… when I can sit in stillness
and lose all sense of self in …
the song of a wren,
the rustle of leaves,
and the colors of sunrise.
I have reached the fullest expression
of human experience
when I can …
and let go of everything.
I have not been suspended in a body
to learn, grow, excel, repent, or conquer.
My sole purpose in this incarnation is simply …
to wake up.
Mary Boren, 2011
My soul, innate divinity —
the spark of God that lives in me,
connecting one with all the universe,
your light can penetrate the veil
and shine where hateful thoughts assail
the finite realm, and easily disperse
the darkness of mortality.
With two or three in easy reach,
you leap to meet yourself in each,
reminding what we didn’t know we knew.
As seat of peace and love and joy,
you magnify the best, deploy
the rest, and fill the spaces through and through
without a single breath of speech.
When ego gains a head of steam
and plots to keep me in the dream
of nothingness, you hold my fear at bay
until the balance is restored.
You are my wings, my rock, my cord;
without you, I would be a chunk of clay
instead of holiness supreme.
Mary Boren, 2010
How I used to envy people
who, possessed with certitude,
soar above the plain and steeple
setting straight the misconstrued.
As a young adult, I traded
for a rigid creed, persuaded
sure’s the only way to be.
struggled to accommodate
Feathers flew in hot debate.
Noisy flaps in lieu of balance
simulate a mighty whir
but, when gripped in zealot talons,
dogma’s merely tufts of fur.
Comforted by faith (the closest
place I’ve ever felt I stood
to the truth) I learned osmosis
wouldn’t make me right or good.
Soon the need for battle dwindled,
frantic worries losing steam.
wonder in the Master Scheme.
Then, ostensibly regressing,
tender roots began to sprout.
I became immersed in guessing,
softly growing into doubt.
Mary Boren, 2004