coalescence

lately i sense
something building
out in the ethers --

an extraordinary
jumbling of
improbably gorgeous
clouds....

a net of diamonds
coalescing
in the night sky....

a knitting together
of unspoken hopes
and spoken dreams....

it's happening in the silence
that infuses
acceptance
gratitude

confusion....

it's happening in the
mistakes i make....

the clumsy words that
spill out....

in my deepest unknowing....

•

what is required of me now
is no more
(and no less)
than to continue
living
exactly
as
i
am....

devoted
and sentenced
to learning --

to the irredeemable pain
and joy (like a mist)
that crowd each
conscious moment....

to stumbling through
my truth

and finding a way
to turn stumbling
into
dance

•

a gathering of guides
and angels
meet

to discuss our cases
when we are asleep,
exhausted from our efforts....

for a long time they
must watch us
sending only
dustings of
compassion

to drift over our saddened souls
and soften life's suffering turns....

and as we
hesitantly embark

across that sea
that both buoys us
and threatens our very keels....

as we learn to catch
the breath of love

in our own sails....

steering our lives by it,
allowing it to penetrate
the veils over our hearts....

as we feel ourselves stirred
and wakened
by the great
energies

the uncontrollable
motions
around
and under us....

as we give our lives over
to something we can't understand

and surrender gracefully to its lead --

as we travel bravely on into
the chill, unpromising wind,

the angels take note....

and begin kindling
our next
fire....


__________________

©2011
Beth Anne Boardman

under the western sky

on nights when life seems vast --

filled with space
and chilly

when a frisson of fright
hovers at the edge of
consciousness

like a wraith....

like a held breath....

when i am assailed
with wonder

but not the good kind --

on those nights

words whispered
long ago
well up

through depths of
memory:

walk to the window, daughter --
stand and gaze out
softly
into the
darkness....

you are all that you see
and all that you don't....

warmth suffuses
the silence:

stars and chemistry
are shared....

we are all
passengers
in this darkness

•

sometimes
on our rare
starry nights,

i pad quietly out

lift my face and heart up

to those silent
bluewhite
sparks

and feel the secret we share between us --

we burn
all alone

yet ensouled....

our very cells
atomic furnaces

knocking around in a vast microcosm....

i and the stars
differ not at all really --

sailing together
through infinity....

and that western star that always draws me --
lures my eyes upward and into
endless liquid
twilit depths....

into that elegant, embarrassing profusion
of starry riches....

we wink
and reassure each other....

•

here under the lights of the city

and the loft of the atmosphere

and the crazy zinging of microwaves
that net over my head --

i offer up my attention

to diamond barques in a velvet sea

silently signalling

here we all are --
together....

•

turning away,
a smile widens within....

a resilient glimmer
plays at the edge of my vision --

how those stars dance
down into the western sky!


_____________________
©2011
Beth Anne Boardman

the rose and the pearl

the instructions were:

you will be given a heart --
inside that heart is a rose --
within that rose
lies a pearl

visible only

with your
blossoming....

•

for this to happen,
you must plant your feet firmly
into rich earth....

open your arms
to the caressing sun....

breathe deeply
when the winds race to meet you....

bathe daily
in the warm salty water
of your own tears and sweat....

•

in this way
will you grow enough

and grow
strong enough

to
unfurl....

to discover the pearl
that is only yours
yet not
for you....


__________________
© 2011
Beth Anne Boardman

the golden web

when i was born,
i was given a cloak --
a cape --
knit of radiant feathers
and woven with cords of strongest silk....

at night
my mother wrapped me in this cape
like a blanket --
like the wing of an angel,
she said....

mornings, she folded it carefully away --
a secret protection....

as i grew
i told no one about
my special
feathered cape....

when i threw it around my shoulders,
i filled with clandestine joy....

on days when the
wind rode over the hills like wild horses,
i slipped out with my cape --
and ran to meet it....

running across the grassy fields,
the cape rippled and snapped
from my shoulders,
and i'm pretty sure --
on some level --
i flew....

climbing onto the lap of the earth --
warm round boulders
became the platform
for childish imagination....

but as life loomed and stretched
its looping fingers
around my throat....

and in the hustle
and rush
of saving and being saved --

i left it behind....

•••

the day i felt my daughter
prepare to make her appearance
on this earth,
i remembered that cape....

i imagined those mornings
and afternoons
enveloped in feathered radiance
laughing and leaping
from rocks too big....

and when i held her in my arms,
i saw that tucked in
with her blankets
lay a glowing cape
of her very own....

i wrapped her in it
that first night....

and thought no more of
my own....

•••

until one day she came to me
enrobed
all by herself --
resplendent....
dazzling....

piercing me with a glory of grief....

at that moment
i began the hunt --
to assemble the materials
to reknit my own....

and i did....

after many
many
years....

•••

i have it still....

i have danced with it
and traveled with it....

wrapped myself and
my loves in it....

i have been
to my mother's grave in it....

modeled it for my daughter
to remind her of hers
when she forgets....

and though i want desperately
to keep it --
to feel its soft airy feathers framing
my face and
throat forever....

i see that feather after feather
floats away
from grasping hands....

so i give it up....

the beauty and softness
the graceful blush of it
flow in a slow ebb
to the ones who come behind me....

i show them,
the little ones....
the young ones....
the ones who want to know....
how to weave the feathers
into their capes....

but i am not left empty-armed....

because though once i wept
at the loss of my pretty cape,
after all the hard work of
knitting it again....

i find that the silken cords
underneath
remain....

and those that do not wish
to know,
do not see --

that by moonlight and starlight
i glisten --

and dance

wrapped
in a golden web....

________________
© 2011
Beth Anne Boardman

another six months....

it's been shown to me that i must wait....
i must wait longer than i can even imagine waiting....

i am learning a new vocabulary of waiting....

i have been told that time is completely meaningless in the other world....
they dance and sing while we wait....
they forget what it's like to be human --
to feel the bindings of gravity....
the churnings of the hours and minutes....

by the time they finish their favorite song,
and take a breath,
and turn around,
six months have gone by, and
we are lying on the bottom of the valley of the shadow of death again....
to their great surprise....

just when our last ragged breath shatters our aching lungs,
they laugh and flow back in through golden threads....
scooping us up in their light, loving arms....
reassuring us of the simultaneity of perfection and imperfection....

while we writhe and moan, they hum and knit....

and another six months go by....

it's nice to know that there is dancing and singing in the other world,
while we flail around here with our plans and our will....

until we understand the grace of loving....
we can fight and fall down all we want....

the dancing and singing do not stop
just because we're caught in the webs of desire....

some days i skip down this sticky web, pausing, balancing,
massaging a sore toe, then skipping on....

equipoise.... for a while....

other days i find that sore toe has caught somewhere and
the more i struggle to extract myself,
the more intractably i am wrapped....

trapped, a fat fly in a gossamer coffin....

release comes when i cease those frantic efforts and become still....
dehydrated and red-faced, waiting....

silence descends....

and far too late, but absolutely on time,
angels come tripping in....

and another six months has gone by....

closer and closer to whatever's next,
i am learning to dance and sing....
to laugh,
to love radically,
and without explanation or excuse....

it's easier to do all this waiting
while in love with everyone....

anguishing....
languishing....
embracing....

another six months....

and once in a while,
in the silence....

laughter --

like golden bells through summer windows....

_________________
© 2011
Beth Anne Boardman

the path at the edge of the sea

there is a path

at the edge

of the sea

on the southwestern shore....

it leads not over the tawny hills

burnished with golden crackling grass

and dotted with cockle burrs....

it doesn't wander the sandy dunes

flirting and playful, chasing

the inconstant breeze....

or seek for shade under the eaves of

crumbled greying bluffs....

and it's not always there....

it shifts and moves --

it rides the tides,

lifting and falling

through crystal night

on sparkling silver waves.....

when the planet aligns

so that moon and fog and earth and sea

are all in agreement....

and with no fanfare --

this rolling fountain of diamonds appears....

to any who come to the shore

and brave their inner silence....

free enchantment....

riches....

secrets revealed....

to those who look....

•

often the moon lies hidden for months on end....

muffled under wooly layers of

marine fog....

wandering the beach,

longing for your appearance....

i wonder....

when my gaze will find

your magic

your glimmering promise....

•

we stand here

all alone,

we think....

encapsulated in our skin....

our thoughts....

yet filled with

whirling energy....

electrons and protons zinging

constantly through our charged bodies....

we glow with hidden life....

we teem with what we cannot see....

like the waters....

the grasslands....

the secret standing woods....

all, even the air

is replete with life

watching us

heads tilted

curious....

but indifferent....

the merest rocky outcropping

propels a thousand lives along their days....

and every moment,

a million possibilities

swirl in our direction....

and still --

there is

longing....

•

have you once looked on

that shifting silver path?

those white-hot sparks

leaping and grouping,

dancing on the cold black liquid below?

have you never pined for it?

and for at least a moment imagined

walking out upon it....

to some undreamt-of future?

standing in the between

of earth and sea and sky....

do you never catch your breath

with the sudden knowledge

that we are as alone

as this glimmering path?

....and as full of dancing sparks....

______________

© 2010

Beth Anne Boardman

(image courtesy andrew.gd)

leaving/the riptide

each leaving
resurrects
all separations….

secret
painful
twinges riffle
our dancing spirits….

coming apart,
we know fear
and we know doubt….

with exactly the intensity
of the sweet whispers we shared….

it’s as though, sometimes,
a riptide
carries us farther and
farther apart….

and though we swim and swim for shore….
we lose sight of one another….

and so
we must float….

we must turn
and swim parallel,
softly….

•

it’s been months since you were here….

but i feel you in your absence….

mostly in the darkest hours
when the silence is touchable
and a great horned owl calls
only to me….

i feel the great love of the universe
waiting just outside my walls
waiting to rush in,
fill me where
it used to fill me….

i’ve been playing with it,
like the tide –
chasing it,
then running away….

it’s waiting for that sigh it knows so well,
that sigh of surrender,
of ‘yes’
of ‘yes and yes’….

•

right now,
floating in this gentle
undertow,
sun warming my face….

i know
that breathing
and swimming
i will find my way
to my own shore again….

•

life crashes over me
with a terrible kind of beauty….

i live and love this present….

but sometimes pictures
of our last soft morning
drift into my mind....

like gauzy curtains,
blowing on a breeze –
flickering
across my memory –

taking my breath away
with their innocent unformed promise….

igniting in me a tiny soft glow:

i am vital, alive,
i am living the mystery….

•

and so i swim softly,
breathing,
grateful,

humming a tune of love—
to this great ocean that birthed me….

finding my way to yes....

____

©2010
Beth Anne Boardman