“My forgiveness is the means by which I become aware of the light of the world in me.” – A Course in Miracles
When a harbinger of horror stalks the hall
and the silent sycophants embrace its call,
if you feel your spirit caving
to the voice of doom enslaving
tattered vestiges of courage,
come and stand behind the children
who believe the world’s worth saving.
See the light.
When custodians of chaos overreach
past the sentinels of liberated speech
and the sun goes undercover
where the creeping shadows hover,
bring an instrument for digging
through the wreckage of illusion.
Hold a lamp for one another.
Free the light.
Though the oracles of anger spread their lies
to the detriment of people they despise,
meet the hate and halt its churning
with the self-assured discerning
of a watcher who has witnessed
the capacity for healing
in a love that’s ever-burning.
Be the light.
For the weary world is longing for the day
when the universal truth goes on display
in its unimagined starkness.
Neither powerless nor sparkless,
each of us can stoke the passion
for our destiny that’s dawning
as divisions born of darkness
flee the light.
Laughter’s pealing through the spaces
hollowed by the weight of loss,
filling cracks in broken places
where distress and mercy cross.
Open hearts attend the healing
with the balm of fellow feeling
softening misfortune’s traces.
In struggling to accommodate
two pugilistic hearts and minds
within myself, I pull and push.
Rebellious spawn of love and hate
feigns discord, but awareness finds
the crouching devil in the bush
more fearful than the prey it stalks.
When authenticity’s exposed
it undercuts deception’s mask;
pain fertilizes/action talks,
while pointy-headed needle-nosed
impostors lurk in pill and flask.
Get real! Be bold! Don’t medicate
emotions — let them dance and skate!
I caught the fragile essence of a rose
that floated from the pinnacle of pain
and wafted through my senses. In the deep
encrusted caverns of my heart, I felt
an indescribable, compelling rush
of joy — unfettered, boundless joy — and as
it bubbled to the surface seeking out
the path of least resistance to the light,
I clung to earth, awash in healing tears.
It comes and goes, but always leaves a gift:
Love’s fragrance clings to all the rose has touched.
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