The Meadows of the Dead

Image: from fabandfru.com

The Meadows of the Dead are carpeted
brandished with flashing neon lights
and cluttered with slot machines -

some of which declare 
"Wheel of Fortune"
endlessly. 

Oases exist in this desert-of-the-Soul: 

Human bodies congregate around
large concrete pools
of imported and toxified water. 

In the vacuous flesh is evidenced
the processing of Life's poorly
digested obscenities into obesity 

or cadaverousness. 

Here the sensitive skin,
our means of touching and being touched
by all else that lives,
is transformed into thick, tanned leather 

and a relationship with Spirit
is sought in iced, twelve inch tumblers
of spirits. 

On display on tables in pyramids, castles, and towers
are gyrating women who will never be Witnessed
by the empty-eyed men who
brandish stacks of This Time's most worshiped icto
and tuck it feverishly into
things stitched by children in China. 

If you are lucky,
the dice will roll snake eyes
in the very moment that you have harshly
judged it all,

and the entire landscape will flip 90 degrees, 
like a Cirque du Soleil stage,
becoming a full length mirror. 

What agony!

What incredible nausea the ego exudes 
as it resist owning the images of 
the wounded ones within. 

What ecstacy!

But the Soul
who befriends their Shadow
has no qualms vomiting
into the shrubbery by the taxi cab stand
becomes it knows 

this is an invitation to purge
what no longer Serves.

Jackpot. 

When you again lift your head hight
with the courage to See more,
a stroke of magic
substitutes The Sacred for The Profane
and suddenly 
it becomes evident that these mirrored
people of the desert are
the most dedicated of Life's Deciples.

Tourist, 

You must cash this winning in and take it Home. 

But,

before you do, 

Be curious as to the slight of hand,
and inquire of the angle disguised
as a large-eared bartender.

He'll write on your napkin
something like: 

"Two parts compassion to
one part gratitude." 

(c) 2010-2013/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Note to Self: Poems for Changing the World from the Inside Out (www.hiraethpress.com)

Sweet Passage

Image: origin unknown

Sweet passing glance

of a stranger.

Were you a lifetime,

once upon a time?

How do I best bestow hospitality

upon the dog-tracked-in-soil

that is of ancestral body and breath?

The stars above have had their stories told

and could tell you mine.

Would I recognize it?

Time’s passage blesses truth with

an ever-thinning veil of mystery.

Some day we will See…

Nothing ever goes unfound by Love

if you invite

its presence

into you…

the Source.

© 2010/ Jamie K. Reaser

Be-loved Gaia

Image: origin unknown

Intimacy is the fingerprint

of a the fully present witness,

and I know Her body

well enough to read

the pigeon-feather spray of a

Cooper’s Hawk hit,

the rise of a toad’s gastric

passing in garden mulch,

the Monarch caterpillar's inscription

on late-season milkweed leaf.

Oh but the grief.

Someone has been here

before me.

All these wounds…

I leave no such mark

on my Lover’s body.

(c) 2010-2012/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Note to Self: Poems for Changing the World from the Inside Out" (http://www.hiraethpress.com)

Purging Anger

Photo: Jamie K. Reaser

Witnessing Sin,

the forgotten Sacred Truth

of Self and Other.

Toxins in the water supply

and coursing the blood

of humanity

embodied and spilled.

A turning back.

Failure to see,

listen,

touch.

Suffering as an addiction

or currency.

Ego’s insatiable consumption.

Waste.

Insecurity of any kind.

The man,

woman,

child,

who takes dictation

and acts upon it.

The man,

woman,

child,

who dictates

and sacrifices

others at the altar

of his or her own neediness.

War as a pathway to Peace

or anywhere else.

Conditional

humanitarianism.

Love withheld.

Color sightedness.

Mimicry.

Gas prices

as a measure of

the quality of Life.

Numbness.

TV: a companion.

Judgment.

The concepts of

possession,

disposability,

and disobedience.

Friend-Stranger-Enemy.

Fear as the basis

for decision-making

in any context.

Hate crimes.

Heart crimes.

Criminality.

Caging.

Death and Life as penalties.

Unforgivable.

Shameful.

Impatience.

The lack of apology.

A lacking apology.

Apology for lacking.

Lack of acceptance.

No choice.

“No.”

“Can’t” and “Won’t.”

“Should” and “Must”

and their opposites.

“Please” as a grovel.

The wealth of poverty

and

the poverty of wealth.

Aloneness in

a world of six billion

and counting.

A perception that isolation

and solitude are one

the same.

The domestication of Spirit.

The silenced voice of Soul.

My own hypocrisy.

Bless me with a heart

big enough to

love my way through.

(c) 2003-2018/Jamie K. Reaser

Published in "Note to Self: Poems for Changing the World from the Inside Out"

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