Oh Lover of my Heart

 

 

Isn't it wonderful to find someone

in love with your heart?

someone who knows,

the buttons,

the clasps,

and unties...

the ribbons of the ungainly garments,

beneath which...

your innocence...

lies

someone

who listens....

not to what is said,

but to what is felt...

in the silence between the uttered  confusion of words

 

someone

who strokes your soul....

as if it is the softest,

silkiest substance,

ever touched

 

someone who

appreciates the sight...

the sound....

of the part of you

which lies naked...

beneath the armor of

your skin,

and

your bones,

 

someone who recognizes...

that light

shining....

through, (sometimes)

the glimmering diamonds of your shyly hidden tears

 

someone who can hear,

the sound

of those magical bubbles of  mirth....

beneath the seriousness

of your bravely constructed  façade

 

And when they join 

you there,

in THAT most sacred of cathedrals,

which holds,

both...

your soul,

and theirs.....

 

What union of Divinity....

can there be!

 

Poem by Carolyn Jackson photo by Dorey Myler

The Celebration of Solitude

In Celebration of Solitude

And she chose to be alone, ....

preferring the company

of solitude,,

unfettered by any other,

lovers, friends,

seemed too numerous a distraction,

for this day....

and these companions

rose up from within herself.
to celebrate !

COURAGE led the way...
into ALONE,

JOY with gay footsteps, danced along a path of utter FREEDOM,

SERENITY filled the air,
 the scent of PEACE,,
AND the nectar of SILENT APPRECIATION filled her on that day...
when others, came to call,
she did not answer, she simply turned away !

for

 with every breath

the warmth of LOVE

enveloped her

CLARITY opened her eyes,

….wide, and wider still

to every possibility of  BEAUTY

KNOWLEDGE told her of her choices, who she was, and why....

AND she sighed....

with the perfection,
of FULFILLMENT

on the day,
she chose to be
ALONE

 

poem and watercolor by Carolyn Jackson

White Queen to Black Knight

Players in the Chess Game

Some claim that  they are at the mercy
of unseen forces
playing chess with their fate
White queen to black knight..
checkmate.... you're dead....

And isn't that an easy way out?

Some claim, they have no power...
victims shoved into... the tower...
Clapped into chains...
but Prisoners only in their own brains........

And isn't that an easy way out?

And some would say...
hear me crying...
take time away from your own joy...
and join me in my dying....

And isn't that an easy way out?

They would be angered by the rejection...
of their perceived subjection...
But love does not encourage...
that entourage 
of doubt...

They would say...
how wicked...
how lacking in compassion..
that you did not listen...
to the bleating of my lamb...
as it was being slaughtered...

But, you  know...
you are NOT  that little lamb...
and the falsehood of your being  that tiny lamb will be devoured....
by the teeth of your own lion...

Its tiny bleating, ,
calls for its own dying,,
For this is a necessity to your becoming...
the lion, who within you roars....  !

And that IS...
the chess game...
that we are playing....
And your white Queen will take
your own black Knight....
But only if you let it !

Wandering the Wild Places

As I walked,

the wild path of no path,

the fingers of the fields and forest stroked my feet, my knees

with willow wisps of trillium, wild grasses and dandelion seeds.

As I drifted,

down that lazy river,

the currents and eddies which carried me in slowly dissolving perfect concentric circles

filled me with quiet, subtle, murmured tales of miracles

As I gazed,

out toward that restless ocean

listening to the symphony in the sounds of its forever motion,

the simple sound of tumbling stones, stilling all my inner commotion

My soul was brought back to life,

and I was reminded...

of....

the absolute perfection,

of a resolute and powerful connection,

the ease of having no set, particular direction,

the openness of being without any predilection,

the freedom in myself uncluttered by some silly subjugation

the simplicity of myself without complication,

filled with precious moments of quiet realization,

my heart rests...

fulfilled

by the air,

the sand,

an invisible hand....

my soul renewed ,

by the quiet,

the exquisite beauty,

of the open spaces....

my feet free to ramble...

of their own volition......

stopping all...

for awhile...

to renew my connection....

I will meet you there !

Beyond the pale human definitions of right and wrong...
Behind the usual ordinary of what is seen and what is sung,
There is a garden....
I will meet you there

When time stops and silence is the only sound that thunders,
in that space beyond all human tragic, manic... blunders....
There is simple cove...
I will listen for your coming.... there

Where all the road maps end, and kings and queens of only single moments lie,
When all the thoughts and desires are quelled by our collective contented heart’s sigh,
There grows a lily....
and I will wait for you there

There, in the mountains and in the valleys, where only children play,
There, where the rivers are made of laughter and all the oceans cannot hold the towering waves of love at bay,
Within the trueness of that world....
Surely....I will find you..... there

After all the secret wounds have lost their power...and we have voiced all that could be spoken,
After all the deeds we thought must be done....lie discarded....their fragility broken,
Under the spreading arms of a wind swept cedar.....
I will rest with you, there
there.... my friend.....there
I will meet you, there
Carolyn Jackson 4/22/14

The GUEST

Heaven is not an empty promise of priests and oracles,
The palace of Divinity is not the man made magnificence of ancient cathedrals
The “word” was never written in any archaic language, changed from book to book
its significance lost to those who hunger to know, those whose eyes are not too blind,  to look

Wisdom is not learned through the efforts of scholars,
Mercy displayed  in the stiffness of starched clerical collars…
Charity does not live in the empty halls of big business….
its amount free from taxable interest…

Hope is not something preached from pulpits and podiums,
offered to starving people, with grandiose promises,
Clarity is not gained by wearing glasses,
not an object to be sold to empty handed masses….

Love is not a quality that can be  limited by a calculating mind,
its virtues choked by the complications of that entangling vine…
Joy cannot be made to follow appropriate protocols,
limited by sanctimonious impossible laws….

A human heart contains them all,
A single breath, the power in its motion breaking through this constructed wall,
Of all that we were taught,
All that we thought, we fought, we forgot….
All of this….laid to rest,
In the presence of the “GUEST”

Learning to  Love

Love is not the beautiful reclining woman...as I was told...

It is not the superbly muscled man on horseback... I had been sold...

but an invisible, permeating presence,

a shimmering mass of light filled particles,  making up my very essence.....

and I have said, in my own ignorance....

oh no, not me...not them...

Undeserving people, undeserving me..

but love did not listen to the whispers of my mind

instead,

simply,

loved me anyway...

and when I tripped, fell into its currents

somewhat reluctantly, allowing myself to be taken by it...

all that I ever thought I knew

about love...

drowned...

in its generosity

I began to realize that...

I had inadvertently entered its doorways

shyly peeked down its shimmering hallways...

and fallen in love,

with LOVE itself......

More bravely, then....

I have...

undertaken to explore its pathways

more boldly, begun to climb the heights of its stairways...

and in this time....

it has welcomed me,

in its kindness....helped me,

to fly.....

high..--

without so much fear of falling....

balancing still somewhat tentatively,  on the tips of its gossamer wings

it is,

to my surprise....

delighting in my company......