minefield
are you ready to come
out of the cave? have you
had enough of drowning?
the mind has claws,
ties your view into knots
drags you under
with the weight of stones
you know this mind
it perseverates,
steals sleep
tangles intention
revs apprehension
let it go—set it down
that gnarl will not undo—
then swim away
that’s right
use powerful strokes
minefield mind, a drag
on vigor and time
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
slant of light
late in the afternoon
my favorite slant of light
it tickles the firethorn
invites sunflowers to turn
shifts jasmine’s white to cream
dusts everything with gold—
so why do poems demand the night?
my earth suit wants to sleep
yet fingers claim the keys
silence awakens my genie
she swigged that slant of light—
her drink of choice—it kindled
inner fire and pleads for air
write it write it write it now
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.
ravished
okay, it’s true
I’m ravished by poems.
lines brush me awake at
twelve, one, two
if I resist getting up, they’ve
vanished by dawn.
gone. I’m left bereft
words stalk, draw me
from bed—most every
night now—a phrase
threads through me
like tendrils of dreams,
shakes me and won’t let go
until they find their home
here on the page.
I’ve given up
no more withholding.
words, have your way
confide to my heart
pry me open
play me, your flute
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.
this, too
note to self
so tired.
tired of infighting and
hatred. tired of lies.
what is this human
aversion to truth?
we’ve slipped
off the diving board.
let’s cherish the bowl
of our fragile home.
wholeness is no longer
possible in the manifested
world. Kintsugi calls.
we can mend ourselves
with rivulets of goodness.
it takes more juice
to frown than smile.
choose gold.
gold lacquer and rice flour,
a delicate harmony.
start.
sit in silence.
parse what is.
right now. all of it. the lush
air at sunup’s first blush.
hawk nabs gopher.
gunfire.
parents beg.
even DNA required.
weeping, they
comfort each other.
this, too.
with a slender brush,
smooth liquid gold
into the seams.
kindness.
peace.
care.
love.
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.
abidance
note to self
remain with—
dwell in—
endure—
hold steadfast—
life exacts all four
remain with
yourself
at all times
feel everything
that needs to be felt
dwell in
pure consciousness
rest there
notice and open
to what is
endure
what life tosses
your way
hurt and joy
often both at once
hold steadfast
there is no other
way to survive
planet earth
love one another
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
disclaimer: I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more, or they might flower. Some are clumsy; forgive me.
Last evening, Caverly Morgan and I talked about anxiety and self-love. She is an introspective, thoughtful woman with a Zen monastic background, and works with teens in the Portland, Oregon schools. Check out her website onehouseofpeace.org. She had some suggestions about working with the overactive nighttime mind which I decided to try out, along with the self-reminders I posted yesterday.
When I went to bed and relaxed my body, as usual, the mind fired up. I worked with sensing the feelings that underlie and precipitate thought, and while doing this, noticed just how strident the mind was. With curiosity, I queried, “Why are you so loud?” The answer: “I don’t feel heard.”
One of my companions over the last nine years has been a volume of daily readings called The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo. In one entry, he describes how Aboriginal Australian people pay their respects when they come upon each other in the bush. Their greeting is, “I see you.” In this vein of deep love, understanding, and union, I responded to the mind by saying, “I hear you.” I repeated this, with love, a number of times. The mind chatter volume immediately dropped. Now I could rest in being, aware of, but not engaged with, the ongoing commentary.
I went on to sense the feelings beneath the chatter, and then, prior even to feelings, bodily sensations, which I invited to soften, and permeated with knowing presence. At some point, filled with gratitude, I dropped off to sleep.
© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2015
image credit
the heart of the matter 