how boring to be human

i am glad that,
as it turns out

i live a life
bedazzled by mystery….

•

sometimes
walking the beach
my imagination swirls out
over diamond-touched
waves….

sometimes
tangerine
miniature roses
outside my front door
seem to give me three tiny smiles
as i walk by….

and i love them so for blooming….

is this not normal?

•

i am one of many….

one part of a vast web of feelers….
people who anchor love onto the earth
and can’t stop themselves doing it….

•

i am glad
that someone else’s suffering can keep me awake at night….
glad to care –

glad to try to learn....

these are the things that make me pray in the black night:
love,
love,
and love….

•

and whatever else
these whispered blessings do –

you can at least know,
on the next night that you turn and toss
with your human worries,

that somewhere
people are sending out good wishes –
even though it’s three a.m.,
and most likely they wish they were asleep…..

•••

even if i appear crazed,
even if i sob and can’t see myself through another moment,
because i’ve had to say goodbye to some goodness
or other….

even if suffering threatens to pound me into
a thin veil of myself,

i am glad….

because somehow
this makes me see
more deeply
into the great mystery that i live –

•

i admit, i can’t understand
what causes a child to be born….

or a seed to sprout forth a tiny rootling….

even science hasn’t found those exact neuro-bio-chemicals….

yet i know that science and i at last
must stop measuring –

must resort to metaphor
to explain the inexplicable….

•

really, nothing is completely, neatly explainable,
fun as it is to try….

seeing this, i can revel in the miracle
that suffuses and comprises this world….

even if that miracle is death….
or freewill….
or other things that hurt me….

•

because,
in the end,

each moment connects me to the greatness that is you,
my friend….

as we lie here
completely exposed to the universe….

•

on quiet evenings
i can hear the world
turning underneath its bustle –

its sweet music quivers faintly
through windows thrown open
to warm autumn air….

on evenings
when it seems
like anguish
may etch itself into my face forever….

i remember the thousand miracles,
and i am glad to see the mystery --

how boring, otherwise,
to miss all of this grandness….

________________
©2010
Beth Anne Boardman

the great conversation

yes, oh yes….
i know there is great magic in the world….

call it god,
call it science….

there are a thousand names for
this force….

and a thousand ways to deny it….

so many ways we become smaller than we need to be,
so many ways to muffle our talents and gifts….

in a thousand ways
we throw our gifts back
in the face of god….
of the world….

•••

sometimes, i need a meadow,
it is true…..

a place to lie down in the green grass
and renew myself….

a place to look up at the sky
while lying on the earth
and only be
a connection….

a place where the conversation goes on….
between god and earth,
sky and gaia,
magic and science….

•••

i am not hiding
that i am a crazy
frightened planet-walker…..

but i cannot hide
that i am crazed with love as well
for life in this
huge black void
through which we spin….

•••

at night, in my meadow, counting stars in
the sparkling black sky,
i tell myself the story of my success:

today,
i got up….

•••

let me be the place, god…..
where your conversation grows….

the place where great love lives,
reveals itself in every leaf and storm….

let me be the living result of this great
science experiment
you have set up here on earth….

let me find the way between the living and the dead,
between ardor and heartache,
courage and surrender….

let me follow in the footsteps of
saints and students
lovers and thinkers….

of those who got up each day
in the face of their own nightmares

and ran across chasms
with only faith underneath them….

beside my fear,
let me walk into the gap between the known and
the unknown…..

let me stay a part of
your great conversation....

________
© 2010
Beth Anne Boardman