I had sparkles in my hair that dazzling
afternoon we walked amid cottonwoods
and white-barked sycamore, along
a shimmering stream with song sparrows flying
overhead, the majestic Red Cathedral
in Sedona looming above.
Sheltered, we listened to Native American flute
Music, breathed deeply the sounds of energy
Swirling through trees, wind roaring from all sides
like the voice of Spirit. I was reminded
of my late friend Carmen, everywhere and nowhere.
Another wind, a Florida wind on a walk down
open paths is like the soft breath
of angels, a surprise on a humid afternoon.
Change like wind can happen at any time,
sadness can flee, wonder can bring
us back to childhood like a skipping wind.
I see half the blue sky and clouds
as if my vision were truncated.
The sky watches over the green bushes
and trees below, calming them with
healing energies. The white rays of the sun
give warmth, air inspires growth.
I walk amidst the oaks and mulberry, waving
branches shift in the morning breeze,
reminding us of aliveness around us,
shielding us from imperfections and mistakes
of man, far fromthe grey of everyday life.
My vision sees only part of the sky, and
for today, that is enough.
Gainesville Container House AirBnB
I picked leaves from the pristine pool
like a pond skimmer, happy
to slice through liquid,
prepare the way for a pure swim.
I began to welcome leaves and pine fronds
as visitors to this natural paradise,
saw that perfection is already here:
the tangle of ferns, the jumbled
bamboo, the odd plant shooting up
at angles, fallen leaves along the deck.
Back in my container house,
I watched a butterfly fan its wings
in and out, shy in its vulnerability.
For a few minutes, it sits quietly
on the leaf. I wonder if I could be
that still, content to meditate
in the morning on my own leaf.
The quiet hum of an airplane interrupts
my reverie. The butterfly sits,
perfectly still. A lone leaf turns
in circles, winking and nodding.
Sun shines slant through a copse of trees,
a green glint in the morning light.
Narcissism effects the victim on a very deep soul level. It is a type of “soul rape” that leaves the victim feeling very violated on many levels.
I am recovering from narcissistic abuse by spiritual means: meditation, prayer, attuning to God. Here is a poem reflecting that desire.
Let the wind blow through
The trees of regret
To the full moon of happiness.
Let the ocean sing a song
Of acceptance in its
Many waved beauty.
Let the night forgive the day
pull the shades on sorrow,
blanket the earth like an embrace.
Let my walk down the pebbly path
to the ocean shore
tame the beast of wanting.
Let the star’s distant twinkle
Remind me there is Something greater
Than a tiny fleck in the sky.
The Red Leaf
A red leaf dropped
on a path in Maryland
woods during a Buddhist
retreat. A shattered soul
picked up the leaf and
observed it, a nick
on the stem, a bit
of black against red.
I began to accept
my flaws, my fragility,
walked more steadily,
the world not broken
or wrong, just
Every sign a gift,
Letting Go of the Narcissist, 2002
I will let you go now
as breezes blow
across the green fields
I will let you go now
as anger dies and love erupts
like a once-dormant volcano
I will let you go
to heal your pain,
to find the cure,
to live long enough
that regret is not a word you use.
I will let you go,
knowing I’ve loved you
the best I know how.
I wanted to spend my life with
you sleeping beside me,
night after night,
to feel your skin on mine,
to hear your voice softly
I will let you go now to drink or stop,
to hide your true self,
I will let you go, never
to touch your face again.
knowing I will always love you.
Today, I sloughed off the placenta
of my relationship with you, sloughed off
that unneeded baggage, a letting go
of what did not serve me.
I welcomed the baby that was my
freedom, my self love, the baby of desire,
the baby of rebirth to the person I always
wanted to be before the endless fight
for rights and freedom, to live the life
I lived before I imprisoned myself
in your energy. I do not let go easily.
There is a comfort in holding on,
like a warm cup of tea every night,
or a latte at dawn.
There is the mind’s not wanting to accept
that moving forward is the only way
because backward holds no sway, backward
is a falling back only to hurt myself
again, my back slamming the floor in
shock. Forward into the child’s pose
or the soft sofa can comfort before
I am up and running.
I trust God to let my life unfold without
my controlling its direction, like a blindfolded
child, believing that when my eyes open fully,
the sights will be much brighter than
the past, a past that dims a little each day,
dimming until there is only a faint light,
not looking back because a fossilized
pillar of salt is all that is there.