~~FlowingOm~~

I am not
Dalai lama

I am
Buddha
With a lampshade on my head

I cannot
give to you
My emptiness
Until I dance it into my joy

Then I will hold you


The lampshade
Is
And grows dusty


So I try


Moving in stillness
From my core

Then I sneeze

The lampshade is dusty
I fall over

When I rise
The sun shines into my eyes

The lamp shade has fallen into the soil
My forest of ghosts

I can breathe now
So I give you my breathe

It is not mine to hold

Though I have no arms
I am determined
To reach out

to hand you

My shadows
My heart
My blindness
My sight

Are they mine to give?

Can I forgive my falling
When in a moment of fear
I reach for the lampshade?


Will you hold me then?

1

In the throws of languor

I am covered in seawater

Sea turtle heavy against my chest

And cannot feel

My mother’s embrace



2

In my suit of torpor

I grow large

With protection

That leaves me

Raw



3

In the craving of release

I am the gardener

Growing “I’s”

And watching them

Fall away

Shattered masks



4

In a moment of vision

I can feel

Each small feather

Of change

Brushing my skin

Before sinking in



5

In Cultivating now

Now

I am swimming to the surface

Of my depths

And smiling in the mirror

Of every one





6

In the comfort and discomfort of attention

I can breathe

Gliding on the turtles back

Towards the sea’s

Mothering embrace



7

in the wind of today

I am a riddle

With ever changing answers

And only one truth



8

in the captivation of laughter

I can dance on fishes

Swirling into the places

Language has no need to reach



9

In the mundane

Everything is sacred

And becoming

Is merging

With everything

And no thing



10

In the seat of my palm

My heart

I stare into this stranger

And she courses through me



11

In the quiet of quiet

Silence embraces

A deep breathe of thunder

When sinking is floating



12

In the contemplation

Of the journeyed path

I am traveling the arteries and vessels

Of the universal body

And my feeling of being lost

Is illusion

Lynn Frances
8/22/04

I used to sit

In bed




Art books piled high

Poetry anthologies

Balanced on my head




Journal and pen at my side




Flipping pages

Diving into

Images



Waiting



For the first line

To jump

From the photographed paint

From the near biographies




Finding it’s way

Onto the soft paper journal

The underside of my wrist




And then words would follow like waterfalls

And in the moonlight

I never knew what words were next



Only that my face was upturned

To the rush

And I knew I could

Breathe underwater



The words formed tapestries

Filled pages

Fed me



I would stay up all night

As if

With

A new lover

Morning clambered into my dreams
---not gently
tossing
---about
the dream

---I abandoned
the underwater folly

where time
---as it wasn’t
mothered my wounds

I thought to flee
to sink again
--- was rooted to the spot

Swaying
---awaken

tangled dream whisps
---scattering children

Day's first home
---An ocean of sheets

each morning I awake
and I am home
new in this day
and in this way

the way
I fit
in your arms
both new and old
after all these years
this is coming home

he sleeps
the seas calm
slight rise
and fall
each breath
a kiss
of elusive memories
sun drenched
skin sure
rippling
in the soft
heat

Wait – the petal whispered as she lay down her powdery skirt and
Drove the willows away in a dream
People no longer
Grass so lush and green against her skin
I feel – I feel - she whispered and fell from the stem
It lifted her
This mother wind, this baby’s breath
No threat to
Feel the loosening embrace
About your neck
She said it again –
Wait -

Exercise

The weight of me
Bending

My salutations
To this temple

Moving
Effortlessly

Struggling to lift
That last burden
From my psyche

Inside out
And again

The weight of me
Running on air

In a storm of heavy
Beats

I can fly

healing

even hidden
ongoing
the hummingbird's return

with every breath
a new moment born
deep stretch

the green lush
reflecting
after days of rain

clouds
moon pierced and
running
with stars

one moment
free
of suffering

and healing
is changing
is ours

even this
we set free

Flowing Om
pen to hand
finger to key
this stream
long dormant
above perception
still flows