unbound

unbound
note to self

you are bound
to this earth
no doubt, but
there is a way
to untether—
gain quiet insight
from dismantling
and unlearning
the strange way
you were taught
to frame reality

you were coached
and molded to
amplify beliefs and
stories on top of
what actually
transpires—the
how and why
instead of a
clearer what—

peel them off
return to vivid truth
what happened?
instead of inviting
drama, meet and
welcome the feelings
—nothing more

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

wake into this life

wake into this life
note to self

remaining asleep
is no longer an option
this time on our world
demands that you
wake into this life, meet
every other—daffodil
poisonous adder or your
loud, drunken neighbor—
as your equal
and use your aplomb

they, too, whether finely
expressed or not, are made
of pure lively awareness—
they, like the snake, might have
a quite different role, or like
your neighbor, be profoundly
veiled—still, they were poured
forth from lucid consciousness
just like you—imagine that!

with thanks to David Whyte for the title phrase

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

lamp unto yourself

lamp unto yourself
note to self

this is the work—
to become a lamp
unto yourself

notice, you already are
it’s a chilla, a test
and shows up again
and again—a new
region on the spiral
to scout and survey

everyone’s task—
collect and harmonize
radiance so it sustains
but doesn’t sear—
be a sprig of light
humane, balanced, kind
and warm, yes, that too
this is the way

—the Buddha is reported to have spoken the title phrase

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
Disclaimer: These are drafts—not final versions
.

let your sand settle

let your sand settle
note to self

it’s so easy to be
anxious, frightened
unnerved—you know
this, it’s your first
echo—qualm

let your sand settle
and the lake go still
notice what’s around you
it will slow your breath—
the fox laps from the bird
bath, hummers quarrel
nearby, their rich ruby
throats glinting the light

reframe your fright as
awe—let it reel you into
quiet—the spooked mare
gentles when you smooth
your palm on her neck
you can do this for yourself

—thank you to Rolf Gates for the title phrase

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
Generic disclaimer: These are drafts—please understand that many will be rewritten.

nowhere now here

nowhere now here
note to self

your planet lives
at the edge of a
galaxy—some
say in the middle
of nowhere
nowhere now here
it’s all a matter of
space—

your friend says you
can’t put “love”
in a poem—
has love become
commonplace?
hackneyed? cliché?
it cannot be—
love flows out from
that placeless space
eternal, pellucid radiance
into now here
notice that

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

cracks where the light comes through

cracks where the light comes through
1976

his heart formed
differently
not quite right
but when I queried
a sage, her words—
his heart couldn’t
contain the radiance
it needed cracks where
the light comes through

his heart is kintsugi
broken and skillfully
repaired—patched here
sewn there by a humble
and adept healer
a rare find—
but what have we done
how will the light get out?

—thank you to Susan Adelle for the title phrase

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
Disclaimer: These are drafts—not final versions.

name the shadow

name the shadow
note to self

what is the shadow’s shape?
its intention?
is there a gift?
can you befriend it?

in order to name it
you must see it clearly
greet and metabolize
the knowing—
avoidance invites suffering

once seen through
it will open as insight—
shadow and name
dissolve, and it’s done

thank you to Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer for the title phrase

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

gravity

gravity
note to self

not consequence
but weight—the
pull that tethers
you to ground—

don’t bemoan the
physical toll—bent
back and sagging face—
even though earth
drags you to her
gravity is both
dogged and required

notice the gifts
your feet stay planted on
the ground, the sun—your
sustenance—holds earth
at a life-giving distance
and rivers run downhill
so much is provided—you
are beholden to gravity

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

give it up

let it go
note to self

oh, girl—
remember Robert
Bly’s proverbial
five-mile-long bag
filled with the rubble
of living—annoyance
umbrage, anxiety—
give it up, all of it—
piecemeal hurts more
you know that

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.