Poems for Healing

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Something in this poem stirs a sense of wildness that I love!

Surely, you too have longed for this —
to pour yourself out
on the rising circles of the air
to ride, unthinking,
on the flesh of emptiness.


Can you claim, in your civilized life,
that you have never leaned toward
the headlong dive, the snap of bones,
the chance to be so terrible,
so free from evil, beyond choice?


The air that they are riding
is the same breath as your own.
How could you not remember?
That same swift stillness binds
your cells in balance, rushes
through the pulsing circles of your blood.


Each breath proclaims it —
the flash of feathers, the chance to rest
on such a muscled quietness,
to be in that fierce presence,
wholly wind, wholly wild.


 – Lynn Ungar aad1f87da3b7c42261ffbd17c7136b29
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Awakening Now by Danna Faulds


Why wait for your awakening?

The moment your eyes are open, seize the day.

Would you hold back when the Beloved beckons?

Would you deliver your litany of sins like a child’s collection of sea shells, prized and labeled?

“No, I can’t step across the threshold,” you say, eyes downcast.

“I’m not worthy” I’m afraid, and my motives aren’t pure.

I’m not perfect, and surely I haven’t practiced nearly enough.

My meditation isn’t deep, and my prayers are sometimes insincere.

I still chew my fingernails, and the refrigerator isn’t clean.

“Do you value your reasons for staying small more than the light shining through the open door?

Forgive yourself.

Now is the only time you have to be whole.

Now is the sole moment that exists to live in the light of your true Self.
Perfection is not a prerequisite for anything but pain.

Please, oh please, don’t continue to believe in your disbelief.

This is the day of your awakening

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I know it’s not pear season but…

….the pear blossoms brought these beloved words to my mind.


Comice by Joseph Stroud

I think of Issa often these days, his poems about the loneliness

of fleas, watermelons becoming frogs to escape from thieves.

Moon in solstice, snowfall under the earth, I dream of a pure life.

Issa said of his child, She smooths the wrinkles from my heart.

Yes, it’s a dewdrop world. Inside the pear there’s a paradise

we will never know, our only hint the sweetness of its taste.

From “The Poet’s Child,” edited by Michael Wiegers


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