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The Big A.

The Big A

I am utterly alone.

what once used

to scare me

like a proposed

straight jacket

became something

I craved for

like a great friend

or perfect lover.

Now it’s simply the state of affairs

in my country

of Being.

Yes, people come and go

in this world of A,

just like tourists,

true locals, and indigenous of any place,

but I feel

this profound inclination

that no one can

fill the place

where Being sits

at my table now.

no one ever could,

although I tried to seat them there

the seats just kept busting

and the table grew.

Now I wonder

who really likes

the food that is served

anyways!

I’m not in control of it anymore,

I used to think

I was the chef.

You can’t tell me

that there is more

to life than this,

something like those

cracker stale promises

of true partnership

or even God

giving It’s most

delicious dish,

No… I know now

in the aftermath

of countless deaths

that Aloneness is

the only true friend to keep.

that I can keep.

And so I go into the night

heeding the call

of the Emptiness

that lives in the unique forms that

occupy my mind’s eye

and my hearts open or closed hand.

I’m saying Grace

with the Big A.

Eric Grace

7-31-11©

This Burning Moth

 

This Burning Moth

I want to run to you

 

and burn up

 

in the Supernova

 

that you are.

 

 

 

I want to cast my

 

laborious space suit

 

aside

 

and step into the

 

delirium

 

of your bright shine

 

dancing the stars

 

away

 

into infinity.

 

 

 

I laugh at my insanity,

 

A death wish high

 

that surely will fall

 

but this teenage feeling

 

cannot go unnoticed

 

for it has me by the

 

head, heart, guts, and balls.

 

 

 

You take me to my depths

 

and you raise me to the Sky.

 

You move me to

 

Cuming and crying

 

in sacred

 

silent stills…

 

moments of candor

 

and flow

 

that ease the crust

 

of days gone by,

 

accepting

 

what I do not easily feel

 

with others,

 

as just the state of affairs

 

on Planet Earth

 

or perhaps

 

my delinquent account of the Heart,

 

projecting its lonesome love

 

dove

 

out to the seekers

 

that surround me.

 

 

 

For you my dear

 

are at One with me.

 

At home

 

in the Great Abyss

 

of

 

this Life.

 

 

 

We dance in it

 

together

 

And I forget of

 

this passion

 

I feel so fervorently.

 

 

 

thank you

 

for the gift

 

you awaken in me

 

that I can feel

 

this Alive!

 

 

 

You are so fucking Gorgeous!

 

 

 

I want you.

 

 

 

I want to Burn in you…

 

 

 

like a moth

 

in a flame.

 

 

 

Burn me up.

 

 

 

Burn me Up!

 

 

 

Fast.

 

Now.

 

 

 

Impulse drives

 

me to your doorstep

 

without a key

 

the door of flames

 

burst into my

 

heart

 

and takes me

 

to the place

 

of no names,

 

no words,

 

no nothing.

 

 

 

I drink Here

 

for the day has light

 

and the night

 

its own dark blanket

 

and I hide in both

 

until  I’m reminded

 

by you

 

of the glory

 

of Truly Living.

 

 

 

Eric Grace

 

7-29-11 ©

 

for Liz

 

 


Blessed by Rain

Righteous Rain

knocks on my doorstep

tapping my windo

inviting me in

to its shallow

slumber

of night time

daydreams

a calming voice

that beckens

the notion

of the goodness

of Gentle

soothing in her

fortitude

she grabs hold

of my attention

with grace

and an accompanying gaze

of serenity

And so she goes on

all night

without most noticing

her gift to us all

she cleans us

bathing our bottoms,

nourishing our crops,

cups, and cows

wetting our appetites

for tomorrow’s

Savory Meal.

by Eric Grace

2011 copyright

Cruelty Free Being liberates the Day of Night

Crushed in currents

shaking my bows

sailing the salty seas

that make me weep

and cry

for the sailors I meet

and the sailor in me.

I stand up

in what I am

grateful to live

in this native Heartland.

I pray to God

others live and know

this gift as theirs

I hope to show.

The journeys on

to no longer fear

to tread

the days and

nights

as Life’s bridegroom

I wed

in the Here.

I take her hand

and see her face

in all the women

I taste

in all the bosoms

I greet.

I carry the child

that once was

abandoned ashore

that crazy

Island

separation

and delusions

galore.

I frequent now

the hobbies of

threads

that weave together

The Great Being

a most delicious

Life’s Bread.

I say my prayers

and Grace is given

through my heart

like Sunday

brushes

the face of grass

and the blossoms

of these Spring trees.

Eric Grace

5-10-11

Having come and gone to now

The whirlwinds have settled

the names have changed

the years have come

and become,

I am no longer to blame.

Death and grief,

rise and falls,

family losses

and falling aparts.

Divorces and marriages,

bankruptcies and courts,

Cults and children born

out of and into my heart

I am no longer remote.

Grace carries me

through thick and thin

while I am finding

my spirit and soul

coming together

as this fleshy within.

Out of the ashes

of a life torn apart

Springs form

a unique orchid blend blossom

giving fragrance

offered to the my loving Sun.

And everyone is welcome

who wishes for a sweet smell

and a beautiful vision

to ponder

that brings them back to square one.

Now, I am Singing a little song

like the mellow creek

that whispered its way along

beside the willow tree

down that street

that I once knew as home.

By Eric Grace on 4-16-2011 ©

A Humble Banquet

leading

and living

these broken lives,

half-truths

and saviors

fade into the

background…

while the apparent

need to find perfection

subsides in the wake

of discovering

how we need

one another,

that in discovering

each other

we find the wholeness

of our humanity

and the rebirth

of our kindness

to the world

in all its wretched  humility

 

in this still place

I breathe

quietly

within me

I hear

the creek

flowing outside

and the harmony

of nature

and That which it abides

 

You and I

are a new story

in an old fabric

or tapestry

that grows denser

and more liquid

with time and age

but still remains

the same cloth

that our parents

and theirs’ used

to wipe their face upon

when the feast

of their lives

was finished.

 

Come to me

so that we can

make bread

for this day

and celebrate

the feast

that is ours

for the tasting.

3-23-11

From where she stands

I must look like

a man

that has yet to bellow

his deep call

of yearning for the Sacred.

from where she stands

I must seem

like a man

that has not fully

anted up.

When she looks down on me

from the great sky

where she breaths

or when she pears out

through my chest

into this naked world

from my frigid flesh

I believe

she knows that

I haven’t come

into my full

birthrighted

palace yet.

she knows

that I am humbled

before eternity

with the crest

of deliverance

of the sacred cow

waiting

to give its final moo.

I know she thinks well of me.

If she thinks at all.

But I wonder,

Is she having her way with me yet?

Is she taking me

into the full swing

of her hips?

Is she guarding me

from the power that she carrys

until I give my full

utter

surrender

into her gates?

I wonder.

 

Copyright by eric grace

March 2nd 2011