As a writer, artist and human being, it is my duty to respond in honesty and truth. We are in a place of historical and spiritual transition and there are large decisions to made to bring about the change that is needed in our world today. Each one of us has a human duty to become larger than we were yesterday. Each one of else has a gift and voice that needs to be heard and thrown into the ocean of change so we may hear the echo returning to our open ears. The future is waiting for us, each and every one, in complete faith that we will be able to write our individual books. These individual books will be the living texts of our future.
My mother died on Thanksgiving Day. She died in a prayer circle, surrounded by family and friends, on Thanksgiving morning. After the mortuary came and took the body away, we had Thanksgiving dinner.
I had spent the last three days of my mother’s life with her by getting her home from the hospital so she could die quietly at home with family. During that period, I had time to sit with myself and examine who I was and I was disappointed. I had had a level of success, but I was not well mentally or spiritually and I was not living my gift. So, after my mother, who bore me died, I became born again to become my true self. I became a rising ash so I may write and paint my living book of reflections, the notes of loving on the pages of my book. Every story has a right to be heard. So, I have been gathering the sentences, paragraphs and chapters to make my book of dreams to be revealed. I am so thankful on this day of Thanksgiving, for I have new life and true purpose. These are the pages of my book.
Pages of My Book
The pages of my book are full
of emotions and reason to have rage…
yet I am too busy creating beauty.
I have known from the lips and voices of the ancestors… my voice
is my freedom train to glory
my colors of coloredness are sacred to my breath
my reason to rise like an ash
each morning in belief and faith.
I am anointed by spirit to be
the visionary artist ready for his appointment…
be the artist in service to spirit and love.
The pages of my book of dreams are spilling open
for all to see and read
with open eyes and hearts…
and hear my voice
for it is sacred.
For I am in fear as we live in the midst of
our wars of the heart…
too much time spent bent over
doubled up in bed trying
to hide the spoils of war embedded in the scars
of the human beings not listening with loving ears of compassion
left with memories of being split and left wide open bathing
in the reflections of what is wrong with living
in the ghettos of war.
And, cruelty is never a loving act.
We have become a culture of violence
an eye for an eye…a tooth for a tooth
still thinking we are so modern
caught up in the bowels of our cave man thinking
without knowing the meanings of the scratched writings on the walls
…not knowing the scratched writings on the walls
are the sacred texts of the human story
the reasons for the feelings I feel living
under water in bell jars of echoes hearing voices.
As they dance in circles
they echo languages of confusion
robbing Peter to pay Paul
and they do not even know their own names…
they do not know the chords of their hearts.
And the dancing makes me dizzy
because the spinning has no more use.
I have found peace
within the notes of loving that are so sacred
the songs that live outside the call of an ego echoing…
the notes that rise in a response, an answer
to its nature as they inhale the smoking barrels
the music of the guns.
And their stories will be written in the books
emotions and reasons that carry rage…
yet I am too busy creating beauty reflecting
my colors of coloredness…
busy painting the colors of nature
on my arms and legs, my face
too busy breathing in the breath of life knowing
the rhythms inside myself that whisper
sweet songs of a spiritual survival…
the resistance to the states of fear and hate
so I may embrace the rising, rich waves of life
for those chosen moments…
for they are so sacred.
Photo courtesy of author