love waits – a poem

Love Waits

Love waits
patient, unseen, outside of time.
It cloaks as car accident,
chronic illness, or grief;
starry night, baby’s breath, or
first ripe raspberry in spring.

It is waiting,
waiting for you,
waiting for you to turn around,
to finally turn inside.

This love flows, wholly dependable,
unlike relationship, made of two:
at best, a luscious, rampant garden,
filled with surprise and hidden delight—
still—in all its fullness, a mere reflection,
temporary and time-bound for loss.

Love waits,
waits for you,
waits for you to turn around,
to finally turn inside.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2015

searching for peace and happiness

child on gate with birdAs a child, I often climbed our neighbor’s fence to get a higher perspective, to see both farther and more deeply.

I was curious about the truth of my experience, although my parents only directed me to consider the so-called outer world. They wanted me to grow into the life they found relatively comfortable, so forays into my inner experience met with their disdain. Fitting into what I saw as their wooden society was not to be, and that remained–until my mother’s death–one of her griefs, and my great reliefs. I knew instinctively that their world would not bring peace.

And so, as humans do, I searched for the root of happiness. For almost four decades I traveled with like-hearted peers, convinced I was on the right track. We walked down sweetly scented paths that were filled with longing and looked outward, into the world of practices and self-improvement. We couldn’t all be mistaken, could we? Threads of the truth were embedded in the teachings, but veiled.

I did not find what I was looking for there.

Like the Sirens in Greek mythology, the root of happiness kept calling until I made the final turn for my inner home. To paraphrase an old Sufi saying: it is nearer than the pulsing of your own heart.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2014
photo credit: Panhala Poetry

hot tub epiphany

hot tub surround 5050 Fox Hollow croppedI’ve waited to write about this hot tub epiphany for a few weeks–I wanted to make sure that what I saw held up under life’s pressures.

One of my main patterns has been tormenting thoughts–the creation of nightmare scenarios that might possibly come to pass. Best to be prepared, thought says, in a confident, insinuating tone.

Rather than follow thought-trains, I’ve learned to inquire into them. This particular evening–as I soaked and stared at the stars, and as usual, worried about this and that–the question arose, why would thought torture a body-mind? The answer came immediately, like a typewriter print out: so the imaginary sense of separation can perpetuate itself. This thought had never occurred to me before, and I knew it spoke the truth. The implications are immense–once seen, truth like this cannot be un-seen.

The next nightmare thought that arose was met with NO! I will not bolster your fictitious self-importance by believing, or even following, this train. Instead, I returned light attention to the current sensations of hot water and cool evening air, and the thought died its own natural death.

This is the new pattern: I can’t control thoughts arising, but I can welcome and immediately discredit them. And come back home to right now, the safest place of all.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2013
(my photo)