Learned in the Light

Some higher truths are understood
at once; a solitary quote
can drive a lesson home for good,
while others must be learned by rote.

The Holy Bible clearly states
"Don't fear" in phrases that abound
like manna, yet while heaven waits
I set my feet on lower ground.

I only need recall some things
in darkness, for I've seen the sky
replete with chariots and wings;
a host of angels standing by.

And knowing who is present here
is all it takes to banish fear.

© Mary Boren, 2009

Henny Penny Speaks to America

A tally of predicaments could wrap around the block.
The kids need shoes; the bill collector's calling.
Politisquabbles dominate the news at 6 o'clock.
Relax, the sky is probably not falling.

The pundits paint a bleak scenario. Predictions seem
convincing in their repetitious drumming,
but to the watchers waking from a bad collective dream,
one thing alone is certain: Change is coming.

More likely what we're feeling is a planetary jerk
produced by waves of panic. But, believe it
or not, a proven principle is steadily at work:
The world's as good or bad as you perceive it.

So when you're pecking for a meal on ground that's parched and hard,
and hear the sound of thunderclouds advancing,
take heart. Don't blindly string along with chickens from the yard
to hunker in the coop. Look up! Start dancing!

Perhaps the slurpy spectacle as optimists cavort
in mud could set a brighter course. Thank heaven
our future's not determined by the 6 o'clock report.
"America's Got Talent" airs at seven.

© Mary Boren, 2009

Perspective

Photo courtesy of PD Photo

Beyond it is the vast unknown,
above it is the sky.
For some, it sparks a sense of awe,
for others, just a sigh.

Constructed of materials
that correlate with strength,
it's nearly unassailable
approached by width or length.

Look closer! There's a way around
or through, or simply this:
Tear down the wall you've built between
your yearnings and your bliss.

© Mary Boren, 2008

Chances and Choices

From the fathomless profoundness

of ethereal expression

in the chronicles of knowledge,

one by one, a page is torn.

In the guise of mewling beings

fraught with questions and conundrums,

pages flutter. All the answers

are forgotten when we're born.

We endure the transformation

through the passage of illusion

as embodied bits of wisdom

disconnected from the whole,

for our singular assignment

in this realm of bounds and borders

is to reassert the message

that is written on each soul.

Life presents us with its lessons

in apparent chances - choices

rife with symmetry and purpose,

comprehensive yet concise,

'til by boon or lucky blunder

or relentless repetition,

we perceive that pain and pleasure

are as temporal as ice.

But as ice returns to water

which, on warming, forms a vapor,

we're reminded of the substance

of creation -- Eden's mist

spreading clear across the ages

through the veil of incoherence

where, with passing recognition,

flesh and spirit coexist.

© Mary Boren, 2008

Face It

Old wisdom says our faces are a gift

until we're thirty, then we each become

the author of our own. To shift and lift

by artificial means appeals to some,

but as for me, I'll go au naturel.

The story that's unfolding on my mug

is published line by line in runes that spell

long-overdue contentment, with a shrug

of bittersweet remorse for punctuation.

Each burst of joy, each melancholy sigh

converge in symmetry on my creation

for all to see. It's written on the fly.

© Mary Boren, 2009

This Man

When, in the middle of the night,

I'm shivery, I snug up tight

to all his horizontal height.

I love this man.

At breakfast, as the day peeks in

on tousled hair and stubbled chin,

he flashes me a crooked grin.

This peaceful man.

While exiting the grocery store,

I see him parked right by the door,

and I'm the one he's waiting for.

This patient man.

His eyes are closed, his breathing slow.

He's out there hunting buffalo

on open ranges long ago.

This manly man.

When I am cross and full of me,

he calls me back to harmony.

Our joy is in simplicity.

This man, my man.

© Mary Boren, 2009

No Small Miracle

Inherent in The Mystery that sketched

the universe is Consciousness, a mind

so boundless as to cross a chasm stretched

through time and space eternal, yet refined

enough to make a snowflake. As the blind

and crippled beggar huddled by the gate

of old Jerusalem, his faith would find

completion in the power to co-create

a healing flow. Today, when you began

to bristle, then decided not to sit

in judgment after all, forgiveness ran

the course; benevolence flew over it.

In each embodiment of thought that spurs

a change of heart, a miracle occurs.

© Mary Boren, 2008

Feather

"Be a feather on the breath of God." -Hildegard of Bingen

Feather

Breathed into being by God's unbound

imagination,

I am the essence of everything

in all creation,

destined to soar on an eagle's wing

above the ranges,

gracefully drifting beyond the sound

of seasons' changes.

I am a thread in the downy quilt,

beside my brothers,

sheltering nestlings from biting cold

when darkness hovers.

Pivotal, temporal tides may fold

but not destroy me,

borne on an aerodynamic lilt

to guide and buoy me.

I am the spirit of east to west

in acquiescence,

trusting the flow of the breeze that fanned

my holy presence.

Once I am given to understand

the art of sailing,

I will return to the place of rest

by His inhaling.

© Mary Boren, 2008

Lessons Learned in the Dark

I. Surrender

"What doesn't kill you strengthens you."

Perhaps, for those whose goal

is tyranny, pain's wielded like a sword.

But, on a gentler parallel,

it binds me to the whole,

exposing all my weakness. Pain's a cord.

I seek, instead, experience

that empties all I am

(assuming, first, the Self is mine to yield)

into the flowing Mystery

that breaks this human dam

of fear and spills across the open field.

If I, in passing circumstance,

can catch the cresting flow

of consummate compassion, may I give

the trapped debris that barred me from

the current to the foe ...

for only in surrender can I live.

II. Forgiveness

I won the battle; lost the war.

You're not my enemy.

At last, I wonder what has been attained,

and how much love was squandered in

the time it took to see

Fear's alter ego, Arrogance, restrained.

What is it that entitles me

to fancy I can judge

another's heart? I don't know where it's been,

or how the blanket wrapped around

that soul got stained with sludge,

or what's been siphoned out or ladled in.

For hollow is the victory

where fractured dreams occurred --

those clanking bones that muster to defend

the id. They quell the music of

an understanding word

that might repair the rift and save the friend.

III. Gratitude

"In everything, give thanks." It's not

a sugar-coated bite

of Pollyanna platitude. For me,

it keeps the heart attentive to

those blessings wrapped in light

the universe bestows abundantly.

But what about adversity --

the unrelenting sigh

of disappointments, illnesses, and tears?

A butterfly emerging from

its chrysalis would die

but for the struggle. Workouts bridle fears.

So, mindful in expressing praise,

rejoicing in each thing

synonymous with good, I must include

unanswered prayer, the harbinger

of transformation's sting.

It's unconditional, this gratitude.

© Mary Boren, 2004-07