from the west hill

That Wide Sea

West — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 19:39:48 +0000

When you’re called to cross that wide sea
When finally, after you’ve set aside
any hope of completion,

how will you walk
your final walk
down the pier to that great ship?

Will your cadence convey the majesty
of all your days,
with pride and surrender,
to all you’ve given,
and what is yet undone?

When you’ve come to understand
that goals and dreams
are map and compass,
and you’re no longer interested
in arriving on any particular shore,
as much as
finding arrival in the crest and trough
of every wave,

will you finally hear
the whisper of water
lapping the hull,
is the subtle reminder that
this is it.
And this.
And this.

And when you surrender all your direction to the sea,
her wild winds and tides,
reef and rock,
When at last you’ve put away the scope and sextant,
content to drift toward the setting sun,

Tell me, then, do you breathe freely?
Even as you go,
can you yet take her all in,
deep into your still yearning lungs
knowing
there is nothing so full as the Nothing
to which you now return.

From the harbor they will watch you.
And some may wail and long for your return
as the farthest horizon
swallows mast, sail,
and you in the crow’s nest.

Which direction will you face upon that final wave?

Why The Dinner Guests Wont Come

West — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 20:59:22 +0000

All around the house
Are reminders of all the things you are not.

There on the floor, a pair of jeans
On the wall a painting
The stereo playing back someone else’s song
And rows of books on shelves,
Not one of them any more holy than what you might write
Today or tomorrow.

You say you keep these things around
Because they help you remember
Who you are.

You create this space, this home
Because you want a place where you always feel welcome
And somewhere to invite friends over for tea.

This rearrangement of rooms and décor is endless.
More photos, more books,
Some nice dishware –
It is never enough.

Don’t you know?

You are already host to the most divine guest
And there’s no time or place where you aren’t (really) at home.
So why all the window-dressing?

In this false house you’ve made
You’ve forgotten One Thing…

How can you expect anyone to feel welcome,
When you haven’t even made room for yourself
At the table?

We Will Be Reminded

West — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 20:29:53 +0000

We will be reminded
when we’re playing small
when our hearts have been closed too long
or when our listening has become fatigued.

We will be reminded
when we have grown comfortable
and when our attention
to the turning of the seasons
has paled
in the light of our own, artificial, glow.

Like the sound of a bell
calling us awake
or the rap of Zen Master’s stick
bringing us back to attention

we will be reminded.

Or perhaps like the final surrender
of an aging wall
the dam will finally burst
and we will be reminded

that the forces that are always, patiently
asking for our attention
when refused
may instead demand it.

And when we remember
let our hearts, like the dam
break wide open
and our attentions be stripped bare
to a single moment in time.

As if coming out of a dream
we didn’t know we were having
may we all awake to the same
moment

and remember that we are alive

remember that we have a choice

we can choose to go through the despair
of breaking down
to meet the Love that is waiting there…

or we can choose to fall asleep again
and in slumber
we hope to forget.

NO! AWAKEN! Let your heart catch fire!

The path to wholeness lies beyond
the broken heart – it cannot be avoided.

That Love is forever merciful,
But still we will be reminded.

Do not go to sleep.
Do not go to sleep.

Burn with the fire of one who is finally
AWAKE
whose heart, cracked wide open,
stands ready instead to choose
a different dream.

Burn Season

West — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 20:33:51 +0000

At the end of a dust and sandpaper summer
the mirage of a distant oasis fading on the horizon

the grasses crisp and brittle
seeds and deeds done their duty

the time for burning has come

i will wake up early
with the red ribbon sunrise
and set my torches aflame

nothing shall remain at the end of this day
i’m sending it all back
from whence it came
to the deep brown earth

golden fields turned to black
charred remains of looking back
pungent smoke and acrid skies
clouds of ashes fill my eyes

every year
it comes again
this time of burning

and yet I stand afraid
to reap and sow
to burn, replant
grow

beyond this field

One True Home

West — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 11:05:24 +0000

Do not be afraid to weep.There is suffering in this world
and those who now move to cross the veil
may need your tears to keep their boats afloat
as they drift across the nine waves.

What good can come from
stemming the tide?
No man has ever succeeded in holding back the ocean,
and in his surrender
She has only ever offered mercy.

“I will always be gentle with you, my beloved.
Even when my waves swell
and carry you away from this place,
I will not forsake you.”

Who is to say when it is our time?

We have only this moment
to love and offer the fullest
expression of ourselves.
If my ship sails tomorrow, let me waste not today
an ounce of energy in
holding back.

This is no time
for a stiff upper lip,
nor should we hear weeping
as anything
other than the One True Song
it is.

From source we come,
to source we go,
but in between
in this moment
we have forgotten
and we weep
at our own forgetting
to love
with every fiber of our being.

So let us weep for them that go before us
Let us sing for them
that our tears and voices
become the morning song and falling rain
as they arrive
at last
on the shores of the One True Home.

Mountain Holding

West — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 14:07:34 +0000

Have you noticed
the way you lean
shoulder in
as if holding up the mountain?

Not for the mountain’s sake
but because the holding
gives you form
and purpose

or so you want to believe.

The mountain has no need
of your effort
to be itself.

But who are you
without the holding
and leaning in?

This role you play
is a grand illusion
as if by holding this pose
you will someday awake as
Atlas himself.

The One who you are
is hiding
beneath the layers of days
of effort
of holding this shape.

To be who you are
You must surrender.

After all these years
you must fall to your knees
at the foot of the mountain.

From this place,
you will begin to find
your true form.

starting again

West — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 14:46:43 +0000

It seems I’m often starting again
like New Years Resolutions
remembering why I am here
what gifts I have to give

and looking at the painful reminders
I leave for myself
post-its on the desk
an old photograph of a time when I was ALIVE
some token of the courage I once had
to be still
long enough for the fire to blaze
and from that point
I chose
moved forward.

Here I am again.
The same place I’ve always been
but now, perhaps, with less momentum
and courage in short supply.

Searching myself for discipline
enough to start the conversation again.

I’d like to start the day
engaged
challenged
and swimming in the fire
blazing hot
with ideas and passion
so that even when I leave
to handle the rest of the items
on my to-do list

life cannot help but be imbued
with a little of that heat.

I will start again.
Maybe that’s what’s needed
every day.
Perhaps it is giving up starting again
and refusal to see every morning anew
that dulls the dialogue.

I offer a willingness to be a student,
raw, fresh, open,
perhaps that one can add the next log to the fire.

Rotator One

West — Tue, 15 Feb 2011 15:12:16 +0000

inside these open spaces, where time is absolute – remembrance is a sacred word for telling us the truth.

Rotator Two

West — Tue, 15 Feb 2011 15:11:25 +0000

can we come to know our Home by leaving it behind?

Rotator Three

West — Tue, 15 Feb 2011 15:07:28 +0000

speak now, sing now of Love so nothing is left unsaid.