The First Day

The day I sat

and looked in the mirror

I stared:

I was looking at me.

 

But it was not me

that I saw.

 

My pupils rounded,

black trench coats

preparing for summer rain

my skin relaxed

after the ebb and flow of the day

I dared not move

for there I swear I saw

the light of a soul.

 

Inside my body,

beyond my mind

there lays a spirit so vast

that it does not know me by name

it stands tall and strong,

not with pride,

but not without it, either.

 

When you are Light,

I suppose you need no one

to tell you just how brightly you shine

 

I felt confused;

I felt at peace–

as if I had known this feeling all along

 

It was the first day of my spiritual practice.

 

It seems so clear now

but with fall leaves promising signs of winter

at 18 years

all I wanted was a pair of mittens and a safe

place to stay, away from the cold.

 

Listening to Spirit

is not always easy–

but it’s always needed

 

to quench a thirst deeper

than Jesus felt in the desert,

Buddha under the tree

when

compounded

together

we have every star, every Being

right here beside

me stood a mirror,

and in the mirror, a face

searching its own lines and faded chords

for lyrics one sang long ago…

there were mountains in my eyes,

an echo on each peak.

 

A sudden wave of peace

rushes from my pores, into the night’s sky

and asks you to grant its wish–

to look at yourself

not as you,

nor me,

but as One

 

a single universe united in song.

 

December 16, 2015

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City Living

We live here,

apartment three

floor four–

it’s confusing,

I know.

Burgundy molding

pinches the outside of my window,

a gentle beauty

I did not expect to find on my side

of New York City.

The big picture is always on my mind;

and yet I so rarely see it.

I can stand across the street

and trace the molding with my finger,

flowers and leaves winding down,

perfectly framing a place

that makes home feel a little bit closer.

My head hurts, sometimes.

Despite the pretty picture

I can still hear the questions

layered in the window pane,

stories corned in by concrete slabs

and the society

we close our doors and try to hide from

We cannot lock ourselves away forever.

My eyes are beginning to open,

learning what it means to not just think

holistically

but to be whole;

not just to trace the molding

but to hold the painting,

turn the knob,

open the door.

September 18, 2015