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Archive for the ‘Change’ Category

The Land of Yum

(©by Eric Grace 1-26-2012)

 

If and when the spirit comes to you

And you’ll find this comes to pass,

Where you gaze upon the moon above

Or upon a most beautiful lass,

Give yourself the subtle pleasure

To infinitely pursue

The gift that lies within this mortal flesh

Thy sacred Hand, Thy sacred Muse.

 

That golden basket that opens up

To share its gifts of Bounty,

That there within lies a precious form

Birthed from struggles,

Newly found and freely shared

into a land of plenty.

 

If you but find the way to walk

into this quiet pasture,

It will lead you by the hand

Into the heartland of your one and only

tried and true Heart Master.

 

Then forgive yourself of all you’ve lost

And gain yourself a new composure

That gives the rain its style and spin

While leaves the ground all

the wiser.

 

So whistle a sweet tarry or tune

And wiggle that silly temple

Find yourself refreshed and renewed amongst good friends

And your toil will last no longer.

 

Grieve the sacred heart

Your tears

And the mists of fog will rise above

Giving Heaven all the fears

which have grown from secrets

Stolen from the mud.

 

When you’ve cried your last wail

And the circles become complete

Dance a celebration song

And set sail to the new world

a living loving tenderness,

numerous in fleet.

 

And as you walk upon the shore

Tender warm sand at your feet

Touch the sacred earth, this land

Give a simple song or chant

Listen to your heart beat.

 

Praise the Golden Hand.

Thus Grace has given to you this Day

And all those still yet to come

You will live into this my love,

Onward! Into the Land of Yum.

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Broken Light

I lied.

I cheated.

I borrowed.

I stole.

I was perverse

in thought and action.

I fucked.

 

I ran naked through

the woods

screaming

Jehovah’s name.

 

I lost myself in

so many thoughts,

people, and delusions

of grandeur.

 

And now I’m here.

 

I have no dreams left.

I have cracked open

to my brokenness,

living in my core.

That place that is unredeemable

except

in the living it as such.

 

In being what I am

freshness cleanses

the wound

so that its revealed to be

my destiny,

giving birth

to this broken light.

 

I stumble down

these halls

banging against

my self-inflicted walls

pretending I’m great

or straight or narrow

when I’m not.

 

I’m nothing of the sort.

I’m wicked game.

A fuselage

ready to explode

rocketing into orbit

around the sun.

and it takes just one moment to

bring me there,

 

That place between

you and I

that hurts,

that groans,

that’s murky

and disgusting.

 

none of it is far from here,

if you but scratch the surface

of this moment.

That is my gift.

11-7-11

Eric Grace ©


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When Freedom Rings

First, there was the Sound

that odd and then magnificent sound

the creaking door

edging its way

to a new position.

 

Then, there was the Light

blinding at first

from its newness

to the eyes of your heart

and then it became

so comforting

as it soothed

the eons

of despair

that had been its

ineffective replacement

or better said

its poor substitute.

 

This Light then found its way

down into the depths

of the dungeon

that you kept yourself in

where you had huddled in

and upon the beliefs,

the fears,

and the challenges

that broke your spirit

and hurt your soul

but this was your food.

 

Now as that thick door

finds its way to a new stance in your life

you come to know

that Grace

welcomes you

to your joy,

to your divine pleasure,

and to your calling to live

this moment

as your center.

 

And to give it freely

to those you love

and those that you have yet to love.

 

Celebration bells are ringing

as you come home to yourself

and to the Other

that is all around you.

You are free.

 

Eric Grace

9-20-2011 ©


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a poem by Eric Grace ©

10-1-10

You can’t tell me

that things aren’t fucked up.

In me

In you

In the world.


People blown to bits,

babies crying alone,

and animals crushed

by careless cars

passing by in broad daylight.


You can’t tell me

that there is no beauty

in this world.


How I persist in trying

to be a better man,

how she smiles

and sees my soul,

how the trees shake with their

colored leaves.


I have lived in days

where only

one exists.


The beauty I seek,

the wretchedness I avoid.


I see and feel both now,

together in seemless unity.

Inextricably woven together

as one grand Mystery.


This I cannot fathom

but must now live.


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Tonight’s Lover

a poem by Eric Grace ©

10-1-10

This blank page

looks at me

with more of an

invitation

than a stare

of condemnation.


It calls me out

to get to know it

through how I

caress its skin

with my pen,

how I color over

its straight lines,

scribing over

its curves and surface

with my expression.


It is open to me

It wants me

to use its absolute

space

as a mistress

to make love with form

from the creative void

that is God within me

waiting to get out

into something delightful.

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a poem by Eric Grace ©

10-15-10


No longer willing

to lay the gauntlet bare

I stand naked

at experience’s front doorstep.

In its hand

I quake

at the certainty it has

for my life,

the gentle urgency

that I have no choice

now

but to live

the life I was given

from this moment

to the next.


A garden of fresh fruit

is awakened in my chest

and my gathering basket

is carried

between my legs.

I gather

the ripe edibles

and then prepare for the feast

with friends and family

yet to come together

at my request.


It will be a good dinner.


A good life.

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fresh tears

are welcomed by me

as they quench

my thirsty heart


it sheds

layers of skin

and I breathe

more freely

in this world.

My head acts

as a metal box

at times,

craving to be released

from its confines

and ushered into

the wisdom

of my body.

And somedays

its steely walls

echo

words and voices

that make my ears

ring.

Feathers

sometimes touch

my brow

reminding me

that the angels,

my brethren,

are not that far

off from here.

And that they

await my requests

as friends, helpers,

and guides.

God

seems to await me

every time

I pick-up the conversation

after having left it

due to some apparent

memory loss

of Its existence,

to which It

lovingly and warmly

responds

and I am grateful.

Simple defines

my moments,

with some fear

of moneys’ chains

around my ankles.

Solitude is my friend now.

And I happily hold

my son

tenderly

in and with my heart.

Being in love

comes and goes

just like the Spring

but it always is a season

with its rightful place

in each year

in my life,

and each day.

What I can give you now

is my life,

in its barren

simplicity

and the grace

that quickly

walks through it

as myself.

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