In This Way

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

The pudgy voles must be

nestled deeper now,

the meadow grasses damp

with the weeping of

half-hearted snow flurries,

And the fox and owl

tucked in by morning light,

stomachs robust and satiated

or burning with a hunger

strong enough to feed fear

into the hours ahead.

This is how I awaken.

Life on earth is a written language

that is read through the

living of it.

What is most tempting of

this day is everything that

I don’t know about its

unfolding.

My Beloved is like this,

fully present yet always

out of reach of anything

intent on the possession

of answers that would shorten

the moment’s extended hand.

To be betrothed to

the Great Mystery

is to say “yes” to everything

that cannot be planned:

The next breath,

The next lover,

Death,

And how each will

take you in their arms,

with, or without,

mercy.

The vole knows only the

last pinch of the talon,

and the tongue-pressing

swallow of the fox,

but even in this,

there is time enough to

breathe out these words,

“So that was my life.

I am so very grateful.”

And in passing this way,

so many times,

you place your own

punctuation marks

in the Great Story,

Stops,

starts,

and the kind of exclamations

that can only come

from embodied feeling.

In this way,

You live and die,

in the way all

exhausted

lovers do.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" 

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By Birthright

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

The tongues that could tell

the story of my childhood

all departed before

reciting it to me.

I’ve had to listen so very carefully

to my own voice

in order to discern the truth.

Blessings come in this way,

quietly, without fanfare

creeping up on you

all the moments

of your life,

until you realize they

are already there in the council

of day dreams and night prayers,

waiting patiently for your

eyes to be peeled open.

“Good morning Mary Sunshine!”

Mother used to chortle

as she jerked the bottom of

the white plastic shades,

making them jump and spin

and me bolt upright into

a belief that love is always

coupled with cruel acts

of kindness.

That one’s been keeping me

from waking up for a

long time now,

and it could explain why

I never put shades on

my windows,

oddly enough.

Of course there are other

examples,

and I raised myself in

the bouncy infant chair

of all of them.

Growing up has been a process

of severance from

what I never knew,

and a claiming of what has

always been my

inheritance.

We are worthy

by birthright.

Cast off the hand that attempts

to both slap and sooth,

whether it be yours

or someone else’s.

The Beloved speaks only in verses

that celebrate your

innermost beauty;

it knows from experience

that ugliness

can hide out in popular

places.

Refrain from reading

love letters written

with invisible ink.

Do not dance with someone

who intentionally

steps on your toes.

Admit that you know

when silence is being

used as a weapon

and walk out the proverbial door,

some of you - the real one,

into the presence of

singing birds.

I will make no apologies

for urging you to love yourself

enough to wait in the

vast open spaces of

uncertainty until

the true generosity

of spirit alights

upon your every cell.

No, I will not place

expectations as to the

form in which it

will come.

But it will come.

If you believe,

we are all worthy

by birthright.

© 2012-2020/Jamie K. Reaser

Published in "Coming Home: Learning to Actively Love this World"

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