Surrender

Suitcases

If we surrender to the new
What may happen?
We don’t know…

It may not bring us instant joy
Or immediate relief
Because we can’t see the big picture
Or its temporary nature,

It may seem to lead us down a path
Which feels permanent,
Like concrete in our souls,
We may work harder, longer,
We may think we’re broken for a time

And yet, if we choose the path of same
We know what happens there –
More of what we’ve always known

What is the decision?
Do we risk it?
Do we listen,
To the whisper
Of surrender?

©SpiritLed 2017

Standing at the Edge

silhouette of lone woman facing a giant powerful wave in black a

Standing at the edge
I feel the familiar fear of movement,
The sting of failure,
The desire to lie low instead of being seen,
To run to the safety of the life I’ve always known

The softest path is well-worn
And rarely brings me to this place,
Yet on this darkest night
Here I find myself again at the crossroads
Of continued passage along the familiar
And this steep and jagged ledge

Stepping out has risks
And implications unseen
The edge has no railing
And the crevasse below seems bottomless,
With darkness as far as eyes can see,
No way to tell how far I’d fall
Or if I’d ever rise again

Standing at the edge
I know my chances of survival are greater
Unless simply surviving means missing out
Unless my own survival isn’t even the goal

Standing at the edge
There below me in the dark
The spirits of my ancestors beckon,
I feel the brush of angels’ wings
And a voice deep inside whispers,
“You won’t have this chance again.”

And so I take deep breaths
A few stumbling steps backwards
Raise my arms to the night sky
And take a running leap

©SpiritLed 2016
www.aspiritledlife.org

 

Into the Open

colombe

Birds sound in the birch tree outside my window,
squawks and caws of blue jays and ravens,
the familiar “birdie birdie” of the cardinal,
a “tut tut” from a robin, and the occasional
“hoo hoo” of the turtle dove

They go about their days
never making note of my coming
and going, buildiing their nests,
laying their eggs, hatching helpless
babies with no announcement
of their arrival

Children find a baby bird on the
sidewalk, hairless, eyes still closed,
too soon outside the protection of
its egg.  They try in vain to save it,
pour water over its tiny body,
baking in the afternoon sun, feed
worms into its gaping mouth, gasping
for its final breath.  They place its body
into last year’s fallen nest and forget
about it, on to enjoy their next adventure

The turtle dove sits on my windowsill
for at least an hour, peering nervously yet
never offering to depart, dark eyes piercing,
she stares, unblinking, and I stare at her,
and together we ponder what to do,
remain here on this ledge contemplating
each other and the world beyond,
or take flight, entrust the wind to carry us
on its back, permit the ground
to soften falls along the way, when,
startled, I break our gaze to look
behind me, and turning back
to my companion outside the screen,
I find that she is gone

©SpiritLed 2014