Advent Austerity

 

That which we seek may not show forth today
—perhaps this is a hidden blessing.

 

Moon and stars light the night skies,
making way for bright sun / cold morning.

 

Masked faces pass one another silently,
like quiet and distant ghosts.

 

Solitary cyclists ply their courses,
weaving between pedestrians with care.

 

Fisherfolk, in shorebird form,
bide their time, lying in wait for canny nourishment.

 

People prepare humble meals at home,
created with simple ingredients to hand.

 

Come nightfall, all creatures
retire to their respective nesting places.

 

Thoughtful quiet descends.

 

There is a measure of,
if not peace,
acquiescent composure.

 

The tension between oppression and freedom
is bridged by self-control,
wherein this condition apart 
is allowed to uphold fragile integral nature,
very like the deliverance depicted in any miracle play.

 

If we were not so self-conscious
within our self-regulated austerity,
we might yet hear the song
of the hummingbird's dream,
might feel the earth’s hum in our bones,
might awaken to the nascent answer
of the riddle of our existence,
then tattoo it, as a reminder,
on our opened-ever-outward palms, 
ready to accept and to give blessing,

as the journey rolls on.

© 2020 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen and songsofasouljourney.blogspot.com

photo by Rick Lewis for Bay Nature magazine, April - June 2016

All That You Touch

It is not enough
that each step moves forward
if there is neither measure,
nor meaning;
if the ground that offers support
isn’t also speaking,
or, if speaking, is not heard.

Know: All that you touch is also touching you.

Being is a reciprocity,
an opportunity and invitation
to participate in fullness, everywhere
         to glean,
                  to feel,
to make,
         to sing and
                  celebrate.

Remember: All that you touch is also touching you.

You are the butterfly sightings
the drumsongs of feet,
caught up in this epic symphony;
your instrument
is tuned to the entirety
of all that has ever been,
         of all that can ever be.

Every touch, every encounter,
is an opportunity and invitation to renew,
         to grow,
                  to learn,
         love,
                  laugh,
an invitation to linger in song.

Celebrate: All that you touch is also touching you.

An infinite smear of star dust,
twin enigmas of light and dark,
blessings of water and earth,
join in the marvel of you,
burnished by sun, wind and waves,
l’dor v’ador, in saecula saeculorum.

There is no need to discover,
the garden of wisdom,
the lake of merit,
the mountain of repose,
the vale of mysteries
—they meet on the
landscape of your soul.

For, all that you touch is also touching you.

There is no need to search for
mystical union,
for all that you touch is already touching you,
awaiting an answer to the eternal question:
“Will you be with us?”
—awaiting the resounding song of your soul,
the song of “Yes.”

© 2018 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Volition

within the stream of consciousness,
contemplation flows
—about and through,
even melding together—
so that all local molecules
shimmer with union and integrity;
a music of central calm and silence,
of gratitude for being.

all at once,
the call comes down:
the Gentle Whisperer is thirsty,
but the river is dry.

what to do?
            barren clouds and angels
                        whispered amongst themselves:
who will go for us?

which query unraveled the silent music,
faltering the molecular dance,
tearing at the seams of togetherness,
halting flow and thoroughgoing of contemplation.

the crisis registered to one-mind as a challenge.

having returned to now from Now,
i can say i am in this place,
and i will gladly go for us
—quick pour me in!

and so the challenge was answered:
mindful contemplation restored
the river of life
by pouring in the stream of consciousness,
the new water of thanksgiving.

in the way of weather,
the river was drawn to the clouds,
which grew heavy with joyful tears,
and celebrated with a watery dance.

the Gentle Whisperer tasted the libation
and pronounced it good.

the drought was over.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

She Fell

A cloud
passing overhead
released a solitary drop.

She plunges through air
with as much abandon
as friction will allow her,
the while losing bits of self
to the surroundings.

Down, down, down,
she falls down;
warm through the cold,
wet through the dry

Until a violently soft contact
presages a realization

For the smallest fraction of a moment
she feels her roundness
spreading flat
over something colder,
vaster,
more dense

The vast abyss opens,
opens beneath her,
emptying her
into the flow of everything.

A short conversation,
but full of meaning:

She knew herself,
she found other,
and, recognizing it,
by the tension of the meeting,
found other welcoming,
even loving.

She belonged here,
she knew,
and was happy now to stay,
at least until the sun might
call her back to the sky.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

independence day

not from,

but to;
more specifically:
to be,
no matter
who,
what,
when,
where,
how or
why—
independence
to integral connection,
to the mindful dance
of spatial presence
and understanding,
of communion
within community,
where imperfect us
sings the chorus
to perfect now,
anticipating silence
will sing the verse
that opens our hearts
from inward outward to together.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen 

Feelings

A certain poverty,

the lack of touch,
is felt as isolation of the flesh
from all that is and would be sensuous.

Long the light ponders this quandry,
playing over limpid surfaces,
tracing each plane and place,
'til at last each body is kindled
with the truth:

All that it is not
is touched by all that is;
sensual it is to be,
completely sensual,
in this ever-renewing event,
where one is, where all are,

sensed,
noted,
checked,
equated,
felt,
explored,
and known.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Indivisibility

Through now’s vast dreaming space,
light passes through and through the me I know as mine,
enlivening, crystallizing, enlightening, singing
--singing within me, singing through me, singing of me--
to every other facet of now as it passes through happening,
carrying my essence,
like a delicate thread,
to gently weave,
with all the others,
into a pulsing brocade of Being.

Light,
unseen while visible worker of miracles,
interleaving, interweaving, transporting, transforming
each uniqueness from simple melody into a symphony of life
by the mere whispering of each name through every other,
a subtle grafting of every loose end or fragment,
onto every complement that could ever be devised,
and some beyond imagining,
until all endings and all beginnings blur… blur… blur…
so that there are no more boundaries
and there is but a single name
carried on the head of the mystery called light:
an invocation of all-that-is, of all-that-could-be,
of all-that-shall-ever…

--One body streams
across the shadows of yet-to-be
unfolding into the awakening smile of now.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen