dailydatewithgod

Possibility
is what we see
When we search the sea
for a reason to be free

Looking to the great wide open
under the skies of blue
So much motion
Maybe it is a clue

We say we fear change
We want things to stay the same
Unfortunately, it’s insane
to think its best to constrain

Everything else in nature
acts more like a conveyor
Cycles of motion
sometimes causing commotion

Perhaps we believe
its the speed
Are we not ready to receive
who we could be?

Then again, when
does a change truly happen?

Only when we are looking
or paying attention?
As if all is still
when our attention is nil

Change becomes the process
reminding us we are a part of nature’s progress

Freedom is inherent in the play
Inviting us to stray
From thinking we know the way
and can betray

The beating of our hearts
as rhythmic as the stars
Burning brightest as they change

Are we really so deranged
to think we can discover our range
without the possibilities inherent in change?

If God has a plan
And you have a plan
Which one do you want to have?

Man plans and God laughs.

Is it an invitation to craft
or not get wrapped
up in our drafts?

Do we just not bother
Or simply become a watcher?

The plans we create
keep us in wait.
Will it happen or not?
Is waiting part of the plot?

Perhaps God wants to know
where our planning might go
So he knows
How close
We are to our own

How tapped we are to our desire
or what light’s our fire.
Indeed she is already aware
being in the heavenly sphere

Maybe part of the dance
Is to provide us a chance
To dream and wonder
outside of our slumber

Tap into our undiscovered
Find out what within us is unbuffered
by life and expectations
or silly machinations
rolling in our head
which are often misread

Planning is the process
guiding us to profess
the kindling of our hearts
not hindered by imports
or something wanting us to divorce
from our true source

Perhaps it is the lesson
for which we are hesitant
wanting to rely on the precedent
that we will not have to question

How far apart we are
from the depth of our hearts
and feel the tear
only God can repair

Sometimes
we have to rewind
find the time
refocus the mind

Step back into the tale
where magic is unveiled
existing beneath the detail
of the systems which prevail

Leading us astray
causing us to forget our way
with such much fray
we think we are only ever afraid

We marvel at children
drawn in by tales
without any hindrance
or needing assurance
They delight in the mystery
and don’t worry about the history

Existing in the moment
Not getting pulled away
Is that the secret
to not being always afraid?

The tales we weave
from inside our head
are what we try to leave
when we are afraid

But where can we go
where we will not be?

Our head becomes our foe
unless we turn the key

Open the door and explore
see what the tales are trying to inform

Perhaps like children themselves
they like to play unveiled
searching for a way to cast spells
but have gotten curtailed

We’ve gotten too busy to care
that deep within us
there is magic wanting to prevail
now making a fuss
asking for a way to unveil

an essential part
of our very own heart

With any given choice
There is multiple force
From behind and in front
happening concurrent

What is being chosen
and what is not
might cause you to be frozen
or tied in a knot

Is it possible to separate
what the choice will create
from the choice itself
versus its consequence

It is hard to imagine
all the potential scenarios
firing like a cannon
or blaring music from a stereo

The potential cacophony
emanating from the colony
inside one’s own mind
is enough to consign
from ever making up your mind

Choices are chances
potential dances
of consequences
and expansions
ramifications and
possible answers

Leading to more choices
with or without more voices

Choosing to opt out
is of course allowed
but that choice must be made
and has its own cascade

So you see
dear one
there is a sea
of options

But the question remains,
what strain
of consequences
will you unleash today?

Relationships
Wish they were like ships
knowing how to ride the waves
to navigate through stormy days
when rain comes to contemplate
raising the stakes
questioning if we can relate
without the ship in place

Maybe its the anchor
which keeps the banter
from becoming slander
opening the door for candor
we can handle
without getting rambled

Is it the sails
flowing like veils
moved by the wind
showing us where to begin?

Standing on the deck
compass in hand
realizing the full effect
of what it means to be captain

Setting the course
adventuring tour de force
to explore and discover
through unchartered water

Looking beyond into the deep blue
Reflecting back to us
how much we don’t have a clue

Though the muse may be external
our true anchor is internal

We are the ship
doing our best to navigate
attempting to relate
and get a grip

Sailing in the unknown
getting out of our head zone
Relating one to one
our minds are blown

Resources of the heart
call for a restart
Moving us to embark
Past the known parts
Finding more watts
to power up what we forgot

that this kind of sailing
calls for an unveiling
of our soul

I’ve heard insight is hard won
or was it insight is a hard one?

The question is who gets to say
what qualifies as insight?
We may be exposed to it all day
but not realize it until the night

What if what you feel is insight
feels to me like a distinction of light
which might
take flight
if viewed in hindsight

How much might
does insight fight
to get it right
in this light?

What if someone completely misses the sign
which outlines
how much time
it takes to define
the nuance provided by time
distinguishing insight mere hindsight

Are they in cahoots together?
Maybe that is whether
people even use the word cahoots
to introduce
the concept altogether

This all seems like an elaborate roost
to disprove
and show to be a fluke
that the power of insight
cannot be defined
along general lines

It is particular within each heart
as is anything daring to move from dark
to light

Got issues?
Quick get the tissues

Or maybe it is our tissues
which shows us our issues

Tomato versus Tomato
Potato versus Potato

Shall we call the whole thing off?

Or admit to ourselves
That hidden in our shelves
Are our cells
making noise like cowbells
begging for attention
Because we pay no notion
or quiet the commotion
by numbing the motion

Pain
the great equalizer
not swayed
by the analyzer

so does it matter if the issue
is in our heads or in our tissues?

Like fear it requires courage
a willingness to nudge
to notice what we begrudge
and maybe even judge

If the cowbells had words
what would be their terms?
what do they observe
that requires them to be heard?

Instead of numbing
or running
could we become loving?
before our cells start buzzing
or even cussing?

words and screams
almost too obscene
past the point of no return
where we can no longer learn
how our body is prompting us to yearn

For a deeper knowing
a dive into the groaning
a message coming
directly
from
our
souls

Is it grief?
Yet no one died
Is that a relief
or a reason to cry?

The ability to feel
basic human quality
Sometimes seems unreal
like a foreign entity
Embracing it is a task
one best faced unmasked

Told to like the good ones
and get rid of the bad ones
But if all allow us to go deeper
why do we run like it’s the reaper?

A challenge to be sure
but what else are we here for
meant to grow and stretch
discover what has not yet been met

Maybe it is the tool we choose to use
to face the unraveling rule
of riding the emotions
to places in motion
no fixed beginning or end
too hard for the head to comprehend

Bring our hearts to the task
there is suddenly the room
for what gets unmasked

Good or bad is no longer the criteria
only what calls us to meet
the seeming inner hysteria
with acceptance and noncompete

Inhabiting a beat that likes to groove
a space where no one needs to prove
we can be carried through
to a new point of view

One that makes room for all of who we are
not worried about others seeing our scars
only how to transform them into bright burning stars

A poem about love
are you for real?
I can already hear the whimsy
Get ready for the schpeel

Rainbows and butterflies
hearts and unicorns
flying all around
trying to find a landing place
so we can start to find the line
at which we align
with what emanates from the divine

Beyond a silly rhyme
how dare we try to define
the very essence
of the omnipresent

Is it fixed or scattered?
What part of it matters?

Depending on the time
whether giving or receiving
all of the sublime elements
to be found in the creasing
of the imprint left behind

Is it about the moment
the truth
the belief
or the proof?

Do its’ properties change
amidst the exchange?
Heavily dependent
on who is the intended

Understood upon reflection
to be wholly misunderstood
Like the presence of the wind
Felt on the skin
With no clear sight of source
to blame for the change in course

The waves of the divine
attempting to dance with time
Seeing if the shifts
causing one to feel adrift
only long enough to grasp
trust there is one more gasp
before it is all past
and in the end
we all feel the mend

I must confess
I find myself off track
It’s a bit of a mess
and I feel out of whack

The question remains
Can I get back in the lane
where things feel more sane?

When ducks are not in a row
There are lots of noisy quacks
Searching for the know
to put things back on track

Maybe the point
is not to get out of joint
just because the ducks
stopped forming a row

Looking for the meaning
without it seeming
like being lost
has too great a cost

We have been sold the line
of how important it is to find
the path we are meant for
which helps us discover more
about ourselves and about the world
apparently, it is about having and doing more?

We hide behind
an incorrigible bind
preaching like pungent wine
Exclaiming: “Its a crime
you have not figured out why
your song does not rhyme!”

What if the song you are meant to sing
is more like a jazzy syncopation
something with a little bling bling
moving away from the constipation
of following the design
which says we must be confined
to simply falling in line

If it doesn’t work out
You can always go back
Get all ’em ducks en route
And listen to ’em quack