Resilience

Cultivating letting go,
being present, saying “no”,
embracing questions and disquiet
living on a balanced diet
of subversion and submission;
never asking for permission
yet always seeking for consensus,
even when we feel defenceless,
espousing vulnerability
as part of life’s humility
accepting failure with a smile
knowing that to reconcile
gain with loss and both with giving
is essential when we’re living
in the flow of “now” and “here”
inevitably feeling fear
yet choosing conflict when it’s needed
knowing how much ground is ceded
if we swerve it in our dread
and choose the easy path instead.

Mountain

Unmasked,
the band of anarchists
storming my heart
become human again.
As I make eye contact,
the cloud of their rage
dissipates,
revealing a mountain of
vulnerability,
capped with the snow
of distress.
The peak glows with the
raw beauty of
shared suffering.
The pacified faction
form clusters to
weep and embrace;
my tears fall too,
a warm rain
gently liberating me
from the cages of my
own judgment.

Dreams

My encounter with the other
and exploration of the self
have blossomed, fruited, wilted;
are ready to be planted.

Knowing what’s to come,
I gather my desires,
the dreams of every age
from deep within myself.

Well-worn childhood figures,
carved from ancient wood
appealingly curved and
worn from decades of caress.

Cleanly chiselled marble
from my early adult years;
noble figures of stately
countenance and bearing.

Bronze and copper forms,
cast from the furnaces of family,
with furious contours and
affectionate expressions.

Even my most recent creations,
neatly folded origami creatures,
precise and elegant, littering
my desk and nightstand.

I gather them together,
haul them to a cliff and wildly
heave them off, pausing neither
for breath nor thought.

Stunned, I watch as icons
break and sculptures shatter,
wood splinters, metal crumples,
paper figurines float out to sea.

With shelves laid bare and
heart exposed, I rest a while,
watching the horizon, gazing
with new eyes at what might come.

Cleansed and treading lightly,
I return to home and work, to
news of war and hate, and every
kind of trouble known to man.

Immersed and vulnerable
I toil and wait, poised to spark
new dreams, born of necessity,
community, and of revolution.

Jettison

Jettison those
pedestrian motions:
jaded emotions from
lifetime devotions to
ill-conceived notions.
Abandon the fast cars,
and glossy faced pop stars:
ubiquitous sub-par celebs;
let the ordinary plebs
– the quick and the dead –
come along on
your journey instead.

Fill up your trolley
with food never tasted,
the wild and the wasted,
the uneducated and
heart devastated
abusers;
with drop-outs and losers,
with beggars not choosers,
belligerent boozers,
and Christ’s own
self-righteous
accusers.

Instead of simply
predictably opting
for mainstream-adopting
safe bets,
wash out those toxins,
with fresher concoctions
full of life and
potential regrets.

Create for your cultures
ambiguous sculptures,
placing them round and about.
Through honest confession
and deep intercession
take a vulnerable question
and utter it back at
your house;
with your kids or your mates
or your spouse;
with those willing to listen
to honest admissions
of morbid conditions
and hidden addictions
without totally missing
the point;
without judging your struggle
or bursting your bubble
or talking of
wrecking the joint.

Let winos and weirdos
with hairdos like heroes
and lifestyles like zeroes
step into their God-given
birthright:
a conscious decision
with careful precision
and crafted incisions
to egos:
foregoing the limelight,
not bothered where
he goes or she goes.
Rather, making a highlight
of living, of loving,
of giving not getting,
of never forgetting
the tears or the sweating,
of lavishly letting
their beautiful flaws
shimmer bright.