Trust

Come to your own brand of quiet and stay there.
That is the work for today.
Trust that showing up is the only vote you need.
Have faith in the one small step taken now.
You are your own guidance.
Be willing to hear it.

Living Off Center

Where is it said that when you move from what has been the center to a few degrees out, that life will fall into place?  Remarkably, the opposite is true. An unquestioned belief and set of principles can keep you in one place for years. But we are not in charge of the great unfolding. So when some idea comes into question and dissolves, it is like an earthquake. Everyone feels it, there is a sense of insecurity and urgency at the same time. Some things fall to the ground, smashed. Our very groundedness is in question.

What is uncovered in this time may be distasteful, like what we find under an old piece of furniture when it is finally moved after many years. Treasures and trash. Anger and resentment for having carried it, for the person we perceive initiated it.  Perhaps even more unsettling that this anger is the great deep quiet after such a rumble. The quiet seeps into the edges and merely watches. Welcome this too, for it is a seed of more to come.

It is a mistake to think that holy work is done only in times of spiritual gathering or ritual. The holy work of transformation is the work of erosion. Holy sculpting. Bit by bit shreds of you fall to the floor under the master's hand.

Never Left Standing

Have you doctored this moment enough to tire even you?
What fantasies, what epics, we have brought to sensationalize this day.
Do we never stop noticing something missing, so that
the ever present allowance can be spent?

You have never been left standing, in all your life.
Though it may please you to tell it.
What would you be without that delicious tale?
Not standing outside the tribe, not cast aside.


Slip under the fence into someone else's pasture.
Stand knee deep in their hay and be glad.
What is neither here nor there is it.
Is it so complicated?

Why Wait

Why wait until the world comes to quiet?
When there is no more believing in streams of words.
When what comes unbidden into view is what frightens you.
Your nemesis will arrive to take you home,
prayers or no prayers.

When matter doesn't matter,
and contact is given from momentum,
stop looking out every window, into every face,
every screen, and calling for your source.

If a train whistle makes you think that
someone else's life has momentum.
If you quietly suffer the ministrations of
your own inexpert self help,
then you are in the waiting place.

Are you always sliding toward more ?
Relating better? Living more generously?
At such times, minor triumphs can give comfort.
So obvious, but strangely, not significant.

Are you sidestepping the sinkholes?
The ones you should be leaping into.
Embrace the ones that bring you into play
instead of being sidelined.

Thoughts may be weaving a mantel of woe.
So what. The world loves drama.
Each thought strung together might sound like a plight.
But don't take it home.

To string the words and make an odyssey,
is a family trait not worth handing down.
No benefit derives from this kind of hoarding.
Feelings will come in abundance.
That is your treasure.

Fire Up Light

This poem was inspired by the work of Bruce Lipton, Ph.D., whose work in cell biology is not only evolutionary, but transformational.

Fired up light streams through to my fingertips.
The cells move from Love's outstretched hand.

Many broadcasts, streams of information all descending.
Not leaving out song, ordinary actions, or mind movement.
I am is revealed, and me, puttering about, but not consulted.

Concede yourself to be merely an informed probability.
Slender energies downloaded and woven into notice.
Unstoppable awareness. Awe inspiring.

Nothing comes from anything called you.
Be glad. That news is your undoing and your reclamation.
Though the cosmos on the march, it is not self directed.

You are among the everything that is adored in this way.
Life and death reincarnated, like waves tumbling.
The streaming welcomed by organic receivers.

Yet, by this recognition volition seems to fade.

Take some quiet joy in that composition.
The sages, psychics, and mystics were right.
The heavens can return as mystery.

New Life

Come walk with me to the breaking place.
Bring nothing to please yourself.
You are already overburdened.
Better still,
Leave a trail of discarded parts wherever you go.

Have you finally seen that no one else has the answers you seek?
No path has your universe decoded?
Though hidden, answers have your name alone on them.
Receive yourself if only you can.

Send Gratitude out to bring firewood home .
Light up the sky with the outpouring sparks.
Be warmed by this gift.
If all things are given, foremost is simple being.

Your present fears are only tired questions.
When the world wakes up, you shall be the first.
Don't let imagined absence block the light.
Nothing is what you imagine.

Outside, snow falls silently.
Its first light blankets the winter grey and gives hope.
New life trembles below ground.
Take refuge in the silent, muffled living.

This is only one kind of invitation.
Tune in to the beckoning. More to come.

Writing The Entrouvert Blog

M. Corsiva is a pen name that comes from a love for the Monotype Corsiva font frequently used in my work. This blog is written as a series of reminders, reinterpretations of sages,  as well as to put into words the teachings, joys, sufferings, and struggles of my own, and those of my fellow travelers.

Sometimes when I write, I just ask: "What do I want to know?"  and the answers come. At other times, I simply narrate the transformations of those I know, in poetry form. This is not my everyday language and the word formations sometimes surprise me. They can be clipped, and abbreviated. Often more heartfelt than the way my ordinary life shows up. 
The words seem to send their own care - especially if you are fond of language. I studied many spiritual paths along the way – and have felt most at home with Advaita Vedanta. When looking for a title for the blog  I came across the French word for ajar, "Entrouvert,"  which expressed this life pretty well. Feel free to comment or email. dagallisone@gmail.com.  I love to hear from readers. Joy to you and best wishes of the season.     

Metamorphosis

This human thing has its own way of informing metamorphosis.
First, an idea appears and takes root.
Then there is an innocent inquiry:
"What is this thing?"
After that, damage is done.
You become the changing force.

Emotions rise, but the ship sails on.
The day's chores are infused with new questions.
Longing is no longer submerged.
You live the answer even while looking for it.
What does it take to further this thing?

You cannot work harder to process it.
You cannot manage, or imagine it.
Danger says: "This cannot be the right way."
But there is no plan for this human thing.
All the necessary forces will come to work today.

Abide

There is but one thread of truth ready to be woven into the fabric of your life. You are.
Take that thread and pull gently through the arisings, and behold.
All formulated matter unravel instead of bind.
Thoughts are not the way.
Reasoning is not as solid as it seems.
Let go of this confounded reliance on whispers from the generations.

Let the driving force prevail without any help from you.
Mourn this loss of control. This fantasy.
Notice the defenselessness of every appearance.
This space that you are allows it, welcomes it, bids it fairwell.
There is no suffering in this truth. Yet, pain may come.
But the ever-present abidingness holds the whole world.
This is salvation, if such was ever needed.

Vine Life

Under emotional transport, find pure being like the trunk of a tree.
Conditioned probabilities circle round this steadiness.
Impetuous vines, wave in the breeze, bringing tumult and reckless energy.
We are quick to forget from what solidity the appearance springs.
Tree consciousness with mercurial adornments.

Steady yourself and focus on the vibrations, the spooling.
Steady yourself to notice the undoing.
Pull those sticky tendrils off and breathe.
You are still enveloped in the naturalness of what remains.
If vines challenge the wind, let them slip through your hands.
They have no agenda, you only imagined these distractions.

Whether vines encircle you or not,
you can stay at home in that loving stability.
Whatever meme comes to visit,
welcome the whole show, fearlessly.
Yet, you know where the roots are.