John

Curled against the "dark friend," you fled the body.
Absent the King, the Lover did only what he knew.

With great courage, you faced this outsider, unwinding centuries of rotting "protection."
Finding, not the damaged priest, but the loving monk: your true guide.

for Bill

The artist stands frozen in his studio, held by the cords of unworthiness. "So much beauty to capture, how dare I put brush to canvas," he asks.

His heart answers: "Turn, turn dear friend. In the spinning comes the Beloved through your eyes, painting the world in each breath."

Soul fire

Your soul fire cannot be contained by past promises.

Throat, skin, fingers, burn with trapped intention.

Dip those hands in the healing stream.
All that you touch is eager to bloom.


Helen Klebesadel, "Poppy Field"

for Ann

Dear friend, once you made that loving sacrifice as the cannons shook the trenches, diving through the dust to shield your comrades.

No need today to jump once more on those sharp shards: in-drawing to the birthing place so much sadness.

Hold your light. Now that spirit can grow wise, stepping into that power cut short long ago.

for Wade

A young man walks the land. His gaze unwraps the colors, moves the wind, dissolves the clouds.

Freely gathering blessings, he manifests beauty and confidence in young and old.

for Matt

Your intensity is like a hawk's vision -- finding the crystal of light even in the darkest night.

Swooping and rising. Turning and riding the wind -- what do you seek with such focus?

Know dear friend that your wings dwarf any sky creature's. They are the sun and moon and stars we shall dance under!

Vivian #2

Sitting at the Center, guardian of the subtle realms. Tuning the harmonics. Watching the formation of galaxies, concepts and thought. Resonance through the traditions of the rabbis and scholar-priests.
But the lover calls!

Rushing into embodiment: mother, pirate, slave and master; African rhythms. The old knowledge made alive in song, revealing itself in the painter’s touch, the passions of the city’s streets.
But the scholar calls!

Translator, reclaim your library. Pick up the old texts scattered on the floor. Your heart is woven of many texts, and in your center the harmony forms.
The musician always calls!

It is your container that holds all that arises.
In your peace, the Beloved calls.

Raqiba

Tight-fitting clerical garb.
Your blessing force channeled through ordained ritual.

Now, dancing free. Your field a mirror of the clear night sky.
Yet, anchored in the core. We all gather in the depth of your gaze.

Pamela - Fazl

Walking across the red coals, you turn and smile at the gathered crowd.
All eyes on your feet, few see your furrowed brow.

You hold the karmic lattice steady, allowing blessing to flow forward, down the generations.

In this world, dissonance yields its place as your breath reforms that ancient structure, and those calloused feet dance this time on the soft grass.

for Vivian

Sitting at the cave's mouth, the stream emerges at your feet in mists of sweet harmonies.
Old elementals dance in the reflected sunlight, blessing us from water, earth, fire and air.

Deep pool. The "hu" from which all manifests.
This too is your crowning.
Your breath grounding us in the Now, before all the forms.

I know that your light is already turning the sailor-adventurer, sculptor-poet, back to port once again.

for Jamila

So many lives as a candle -- your light warming the fearful in the quiet intimacy of family life.

This time so bright – a fire, a plume of purple rays, whose sparks move us to dance.


And, under your gentle guidance, our circle too finds its harmony in the universal “hu” flowing through your fingers and loving glance.

Matreia/Jon

Painter, sculptor, potter, carpenter –- the form dances incomplete, awaiting your gaze.

Dancing, your music draws us to the gate.
Turning, all is the Beloved.
Trusting, we will cross into that still shimmering vision!

A temple, not of men or women, gods or religion, is your yet-unopened gift.

Marjorie-Karima

Deeper, the root filament bores its way to the moist place whose sweet song echoes through the hard clay.

Unwinding, the leaves lap the sun, swaying with the wind. Casting shimmering shadows, cooling the dancers gathered below.

That dance, yet to be, draws us closer.

Our hearts, knowing no future or past, bless root and leaf as one.

Raffia

Sitting in rags, silently you watched the crowds at the temple door.
Each received a mazoub's true blessing.
Unaware and ungrateful, as they rushed by...

Now, in clean and sweet-smelling robes, every doorway bows and opens to your light.
No structure can hold your heart's desire.
Your worship has no roof or walls.
The holy of holies resting safely in the truth of your gaze.

Darakshan

You walked the old battlefields, watched the transport trains arrive, smelled the burning flesh.

And now, the fire once again!

This time, you are the kiln, without whose flames, the potter's vessel is but decorated dust.

Karima

Old dervish, Tzadik Nistar, one of the quiet ones performing Tikkun Olam.
What a surprise to be born as a girl -- as a California flower child, no less!

Mistress of deflection, knowing that if we gaze too deeply, we'd be knocked to the ground.
Blinded by that holy fire, your bride that waits in the Other Place.

She, seeing you lead the women into the holy tent, smiles.
As an ancient tear is finally mended.

To M&M

Outwardly so staid -
Mahjong for her, Sheepshead for you.
But to those who listen closely, the wild wedding drumming never faltered.

Whirling, the star flakes form a comet's tail.
Singing your love to galaxies yet discovered.

Tomorrow

Oh sailor! You've faced these rough waters before. Looking into your heart, we are reminded that the sun never falters. In your eyes, that the abundant sea is already manifesting in tomorrow's dawn.

A friend's son-in-law

The forester knows the seasons of his work. Planting and pruning, then the burning of the leaves and dead branches.

Blow fiercely on that fire. No smoldering smoke here!
Hot and bright, the way is cleared for the dancing to follow.

to a Friend's Mother

Fierce soldier, who held your team together under screaming attack. All that old power tapped again as you, in this body, near the gates of the Divine.

"Follow me, this is the only safe way," you insist. One last mission to complete.

Tear off that tattered old uniform, dear friend. Like a naked child you will go to the Loving One. And, as that child already knows, all dance under the Forgiver's blessing, whatever their path.

for Susan

Once you walked the old battlefields, bending with despair and grief.
A guardian tree, you shaded those graves, sheltering songbirds that greeted each new day with hope.

This life: blessing those souls on their return.
Shading and nurturing the tender sprouts as they turn to the sun once again.

For a papermaker far from her home

Dancing from room to room, you blessed every corner, every piece of furniture had your expansive glance.

Generosity radiating from each object, spilling out the windows.

Now, a turning inward.

Contraction to small spaces, microfibers, art-making. Hardly room to turn. Yet, turning is all.

Inside the spinning, carrying you far from those earlier homes. Tearing, matting and compressing -- your journey written on the dappled pages you've formed, through many new hands.

Home still visible in every crease.

for Joel

Bright star pinwheeling at the edge of this galaxy, pulled to the Center with old invisible cords.

You want to beat them, swear you'll rip them out of every chakra.

But without their pull, you'd sail beyond our sight. So sing her, she who knows not the words, to the arms of her Beloved, holder of universes. Turning the cords to music.

For a Friend Feeling Pushed to the Edge

Locked into a pressing vise, old stories like harpies fly just outside your reach.

Finding the courage to breathe from your core, your heart flickers once again.

This old tree offers refuge. The walls safe and ancient become your new skin, and you find those roots once again, flush with abundant stillness. Draw up that peace and spin a new beginning, your wounds home for the forest's song.

For My Brother

Companion from many lives. I recall you dancing before the altar with so much joy.

This time, your dance is one of service and equanimity. And oh, the same smile!

Enjoy your birthday throne, offering blessings to the future embodied in those giggling girls.

Yes, we love you. Just as you held us with your love galaxies ago.