There is more to a word than the spelling, neither future nor past in its tense, and the story that grows in the telling can jump over a pastoral fence on the drive coming home. It’s compelling in a deeper than physical sense.
When I think of the love that enfolds me in the leap of a frolicsome pup and the arms of a husband who holds me like an obelisk propping me up, there’s a presence that softens and molds me to the shape of serenity’s cup.
From a window, the woodland is sounding with the hush of an orderly mind. In a natural rustic surrounding there is space for the nerves to unwind from the noise of a world that is pounding the humanity out of mankind.
So the run-of-the-mill intersection on the way to our humble abode masquerades our affluent connection to a heavenly area code as it leads to supernal perfection living large at a bend in the road.
I’ll be your hearth, your welcome home,
your trusted secret-hearer —
your witness and your mirror.
This door may stand familiar,
but it’s not the destination.
The journey starts anew with each
to mindfully return into
the loving Gift of Presence
from every tempting escapade
that calls us from our essence.
For breathing one another’s air
beyond the realm of reason
where metaphor and matter meld
(if only for a season)
as better half or weaker half
at odds is lunacy.
Commitment in its fullness
summons vibrant unity.
And so I come before you whole
with all my baggage carried
across the threshold, labeled “Ours”,
unpacked … profoundly married.
2018 Mary Boren
Revisiting a 2014 poem originally written in free verse.
“When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it–always.” ― Mahatma Gandhi
Unanswerable questions plague the minds
of all who yearn for justice in the world.
Why must the battle rage relentlessly?
How can it be we never seem to learn
from all the brokenness and suffering
humanity inflicts upon itself?
Will any of us live to see the day
when sanity prevails across the globe?
But earthly eyes are not equipped to view
the picture from the timelessness of space.
Our singular assignment in this realm
of fitful dreams is training to connect
with love in all its forms. If Gandhi could
experience and witness all he did,
yet cling to the belief the universe
is ultimately kind, I’ll do no less.
“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.
With boundless greed invading
like charging bulls, creating
an atmosphere of hating
all up and down the aisle,
remember how we started
with open hearts unguarded
and immigrants rewarded
for waiting by the mile.
For all have benefited
from hordes that were admitted,
like threads securely knitted
in variegated style.
Our tapestry unravels
if loudly pounding gavels
prevail. In all your travels,
outshout them with a smile.
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