And God encapsulates us with His spirit before we were even born or thought of
sitting spirits
waiting to be sent down to the world
we were bathed with blessings and hope
and sent down into the sacks of our fathers
to be buried in the warm wombs of our mothers
and as we cycle through the stages
we prepare ourselves for release
but this weary globe is not what we expected
and our newly beating hearts are taken aback by the scene
the warmth we had in our soft cozy wombs
has been replaced by a chill
we become afraid and worried
"God, what is this?" we ask
"Just continue and you will see"
as our hearts continue to beat
and our form grows in size
we reach out again
for those of us that remember now
"Do not let yourself be eaten up by the illusions of this world, do you not remember your mission?"
and by this point we have forgotten
and our first instructions have become lost to us
and so our new journey is to find our mission again
and in desperation we go to places that are suppose to be of dedication to God
although our true education of him is better found alone
because the so called peace seekers may really be heat seekers
trying to suck up light from our souls
or maybe they are just as lost and confused as we are or more so
but still insist on advising us
and in our ignorance we continue to let them advise
when God has all the instructions we need
God is screaming our names
but we can not hear through all the chaos
all the voices of the people that claim to know
I dont believe in evil
but I do believe in lost
and they rather be lost in company than alone
if we quiet our waters
we will hear It speak
and will slowly be re-introduced to our forgotten mission
slowly as not to overwhelm us
because our trust and belief is not the same as it was in the womb
neither is our confidence
but instead of seeking him out we run away in disbelief
we stab and pound and murder ourselves
with foolishness, lust, greed, and shame
we take God's materials and create costumes of fake beauty
and inventions of fake power
and bombard ourselves with destruction
we hurt the people next to us and far away
we attack the ones we claim to love
but our sad confused minds have lost complete meaning of the word
always defined as a feeling when in reality it is action
we run further and further from God into the haze
the smoke
and are blinded and deafened
with false ideas of knowledge
Get quiet
like we were in the womb
when God was loud in our ears
the only voice we knew
we fear silence because of its truth
we dont really want to know how far we have strayed
but if we dont realize our distance, we can never go back
He is screaming our names
let the lusty smell of chaos go
some of us hear Him and it ignore it
to chase desire
then scream "whoa is me!" when they are gashed in the head with strife
and they then give up on a God that they never truly believed in
or make fake promises to listen next time
if we only shut our busy mouths and open our ears to Allah
listen for the silence in his voice
no need for long winded apologies or stories
He knows us and the distance of our hearts better than we will ever know ourselves
close your busy mouth and listen
no need for loud emotional rapture
or huge congregations that mix in folly with their truth
we were born with what we are looking for
no need to search the corners of the earth
we were born with what we are looking for
no need for the rituals of our fore fathers
or the lectures of men that are just like us
you were born with what you are looking for!
and have only forgotten
be quiet and still
pour a cool pitcher of hope into your souls cup
and hold on to those few glimmers of faith that you remember
that were given to us while sitting on heaven's ledge
hold them quietly close to you to grow
so that they become stars within you
endless as the ones you see in the nights sky
and you will be bathed again in It's Spirit
your faith unyeilding
your courage plentiful
deflecting the boulders of those that attack you
your unusual strength will amaze them
and urge them too...
to be silent
and ahh now
Our mission has been fulfilled
--Alicia Mooltrey
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Buddha -- The Return
I am exchanging my life,
I say to Buddha.
We have bumped into each other
as we wait on the
return line.
Buddha opens his crinkled bag
to show a red robe.
Wrong shade
and the threads are unraveling,
he says to me.
I understand this,
as it is how I would
describe my life:
peppered and ashen,
with missing pieces.
I remember my birth:
half of a whole
and whole of a half.
my mother’s jagged scar
tearing the seams of a
not-so-hidden war.
I should have returned
when I was born.
I feel awkward in this explanation--
not wanting Buddha to think
I am a snob and only like
shiny new things.
As the line moves up,
we stare
at the large woman
returning a flowered scarf.
I want to say something to him.
To ask him
if I return my suffering
will I know something more.
But it’s too late—
Buddha’s number has been called
and he slowly approaches
counter number three.
-- Nancy Marks
I say to Buddha.
We have bumped into each other
as we wait on the
return line.
Buddha opens his crinkled bag
to show a red robe.
Wrong shade
and the threads are unraveling,
he says to me.
I understand this,
as it is how I would
describe my life:
peppered and ashen,
with missing pieces.
I remember my birth:
half of a whole
and whole of a half.
my mother’s jagged scar
tearing the seams of a
not-so-hidden war.
I should have returned
when I was born.
I feel awkward in this explanation--
not wanting Buddha to think
I am a snob and only like
shiny new things.
As the line moves up,
we stare
at the large woman
returning a flowered scarf.
I want to say something to him.
To ask him
if I return my suffering
will I know something more.
But it’s too late—
Buddha’s number has been called
and he slowly approaches
counter number three.
-- Nancy Marks
Lost
This is no fairy tale.
The crusted crumbs
cast on sodden umber moss
are now gone
and I feel my way
through blanketing darkness
and weighted slumber.
Against grooved lichened bark
my hands scrape
leaving trace
as I pass under
then over
felled elm and maple.
Earlier, I placed seeds
of yellow maize in rows
and waited.
The storm came
as fast as it left.
A tempest,
first welcomed
then feared
for its
hard rain.
-- Nancy Marks
The crusted crumbs
cast on sodden umber moss
are now gone
and I feel my way
through blanketing darkness
and weighted slumber.
Against grooved lichened bark
my hands scrape
leaving trace
as I pass under
then over
felled elm and maple.
Earlier, I placed seeds
of yellow maize in rows
and waited.
The storm came
as fast as it left.
A tempest,
first welcomed
then feared
for its
hard rain.
-- Nancy Marks
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