Heartbeat

This poem was written to be spoken aloud to drumbeat rhythms. Listen here.


~*~


When I hum the pulse of my heartbeat -

Hm-hmm, hm-hmm,

hm-hmm, hm-hmm -

I transcend time to the jungle heat

of Haiti, where children danced and spun

on joyful feet, drums sung the part

of the ancient story of community,

and chimes of laughter entranced me.

Hm-hmm, hm-hmm,

hm-hmm, hm-hmm.

Mother Earth turns toward light from light;

Her dark is a soft bed of mirth,

for night is space to harken new days

when hands can play, head can rest

heart is steady as it grows in the chest

making a place...for another chance.

Hm-hmm, hm-hmm,

hm-hmm, hm-hmm.

The city's tone is cold, stark.

I'm busy, my eyes look down.

I'm told, profit is priority.

Each passerby, a mystery,

Don't look too close - it's scary.

What jewel is missing from my crown?

Your eyes look weary like mine.

Is the treasure we seek in each other?

If I knew you, what could I find?

Hm-hmm, hm-hmm,

hm-hmm, hm-hmm.

Round and round, the world, it goes,

leading us back to the source of hope

that comes as we twirl at the end of a rope

we must let go to reach out. We fear,

who will catch us? what is it for?

Pilgrim, listen.

Hear. You know.

Hm-hmm, hm-hmm,

hm-hmm, hm-hmm.

Our sisters gather to form a net

with arms of love, and hums of song

that remind us: we each belong

to each other. Our common course

is a humble path to greater truth,

grounding us deeper with every breath

to the trees, to the bees, to the seas, all these,

a blissful-biosphere-family.

Hm-hmm, hm-hmm,

Hm-hmm, hm-hmm.

Place your hand on your heart.

Feel your being's vibration.

Breathe, sister, breathe.

Know there is nothing apart.

Give thanks - you're alive!

You hold all possibility.

This world needs you and me.

Grounding

After hours of being awake and restless, my frustration with myself is mounting. My head is spinning with frivolous details of the day; I can't focus on the interesting and important points. Try as I might to press the edges of my awareness outward, the confining bedroom is the limit of my tired imagination.

Maybe I'll try to write something, I think - that usually helps. Opening the channel and letting it flow puts my being to rest. But I feel disconnected. The words don't start and my spirit feels stagnant. I have snippets of something meaningful, I think: yesterday was the day in history that we landed on the moon. I'm pondering what it means to be grounded, how our distance from Earth gave us some courage to walk our planet more humbly. I am wondering how we engage this critical time of environmental crises. But these strands that could become a compelling tapestry are a tangled mess of thought.

Normally, in these dark and quiet spaces, it is easy for me to tune into the blackness beyond and reach a deeper place. Tonight, however, the stars seem silent. Such cloudiness of consciousness feels disconcerting and leaves restful sleep further away.

Suddenly: "Mama." His voice strikes my heart like the ping of a chime, a call to attention. I go. I fumble in the dark until I feel his little arms connect to mine. His head finds its spot on my shoulder and his hands reach around my neck. I rock, rock, rock to the armchair where we reflexively enact the regular ritual of our days. Muscle memory leads us to that still place of mutually-nurturing connection.

Suddenly...there it is. A deep breath - the clouds part - I sense the pinpoints of light in the fog. I can't see, but I feel my son connected to me in the most primal form of comfort between a mother and child. As I sit upright in the chair, roots of intention grow downward from my sacrum. I can feel my alignment returning. My heart pulses with fresher, oxygenated blood. My mind calms as my body responds to my child.

Suddenly, the directive is clear. Is this what the men on the moon felt when they looked back at our home planet? Gazing at Earth from a distance allowed us to see it as it really was and helped us put our lives in context. Holding my son close to the core of my being reminds me what I am here to do. Only such deep, reorienting love can save us from ourselves because it reveals how crucially grounded we are in responsibility to one another. This is the soil on which we must stand.

Suddenly, I see my personal preoccupations as merely human inconveniences to be handled lightly, then graciously let go. When there is such great work to do, who has time to fret that she isn't sleeping? Who cares that my mind was a little wonky tonight? There are far greater horrors and wonders to tend to on this planet.

The task at hand is to move beyond distraction or indifference, beyond fixation or judgment, to the space in which I feel near to the source of things. Sometimes, we can find that in grandiose moments, like watching the first footsteps on a foreign satellite. Sometimes, it finds us in the most common moments of connection. There is no greater awe, no more beautiful grounding.

As I hold my little boy near, I feel I am cradled by our Mother Earth. I sense her wide path around our Sun, Source of Light. My boy and I, all of us, are carried on the journey to Tomorrow, an illusion of dark and light we make real with our belief in its promise. Past the gray clouds of the early morning, the moon spins in its arc toward the new horizon.

A Life That Can Save You

Pieces of a life that can save you:

Waking and knowing there is something for you to do, someone who needs you, whom you need

Going to your small son, who is calling for you in the dark

Noticing by his slight movements and intuitive familiarity that he needs to be rocked and held after nursing

Carrying him to the chair in the living room with tentative steps, carefully letting your eyes adjust to navigate the strewn remnants of the day

Settling into a reflexive space of attention

Looking through the short distance of the semi-dark into his eyes, sparkling with sleep, which are fixated on yours

Breathing in unison

Tracing his soft mouth with your gaze, remembering who he has been since he came to you, and kissing his forehead with tears in your throat

Looking up and out the window to the streetlamps made hazy by rain, your brow soothed by the breeze

Feeling a small hand touch you so lightly on the cheek, he might be wondering if you're awake, and letting his fingers guide your glance back down to his searching face as you marvel at the simple beauty of this moment - a sweet microcosm of heaven, his desire to be with you

Looking at each other until he rubs his eyes

Whispering, "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always - as long as I'm living, my baby you will be"

Letting him settle and resettle until, at last, he finds the place that he needed, that you would do anything to help him find again and again

Returning through the house to his room, a sacred space you share, and taking your time before laying him down

Aching as he easily sinks into comfort and rest away from you, your sighs in tune with his heavy breath of slumber

Risking waking him to touch his cheek gently before slipping away

Remembering the full moon behind the clouds and darkness, and sitting a while longer alone, contemplative and wistful, but fulfilled

Returning to the warm bed of silence, washed by rain, and releasing memory and consciousness to the stars.