~
small rusted tacks 
holding my toughened skin
to bone
to muscle
like pictures cut from a magazine
pinned to the wall
~
I’ve given up looking for saviors,
no messengers with bright news.
~
I see only inside
this heart
cocooned
deep
in the warm darkness
listening to the words spun
from the silk of the stories
we’ve given wings.
“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/striatic/133146861/”>striatic</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>cc</a>
Poetry of Light 
Leaving oneself open to the world enables one to experience the abundance that is present for all, no one needs a savior, but one needs what one seeks. The rusted tacks are being applied to the largest sense organ; I quote a true poet who knows: ” We are our skin. Skin is experiential in every sense. It is our largest sensing organ.” 🙂
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Poems are like messages in a bottle on an ocean, sometimes a darker one, washing up to shore…resurrected so to speak…to be added to, altered or understood with new insight. When they show up again I pay attention since they have something to teach despite what I think they mean.
Leaving ourselves open to the world, I see, as the marriage of self and other…a daily practice. But it is open ended without expectation of the nature of abundance.
The “rusted tacks” is an allusion to my own wrestling with the dichotomy of the savior myth. Not only is there the duality between the “need to be saved” and the “need to save” but, in a larger sense, the separateness implied allows for the savior or the “messenger with bright news” to be obliterated if challenging the
status quo. This is the darker, far ranging flip side of the myth we are all familiar with in wars and prejudice but it has it’s tentacles in personal relationship as well.
I so appreciate that this particular piece warranted your comments. And for reminding me that our bodies understand more than our minds will ever know.
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and may that precious heart, so deserving its cocoon, find sufficient salvation, sufficient warmth, from finely woven phrases. i am certainly finding some here.
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I share this beautiful prayer with you !
for this heart is the World Heart
we all share.
Fragile but ever resilient
Cocooned in transformation
As we remember
who we are
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the beauty
in surrender
a compassion
that unites
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Yes….surrender of my own persuasions. The journey between the mind and the heart.
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Very nice indeed.Poems are bottles washed ashore – that is such a wonderful thought. hmmm… 🙂
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Keep giving your stories wings, please.
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Lovely. I appreciate the vulnerable, but true and deep, sense of hope. As well as the stark, vivid imagery “rusted tacks” and “toughened skin” and cutouts from magazines pinned to the wall vs, the deep warmth of the cocooned heart. Very cool to read this in conjunction with today’s poem observing “oddly melodious phrasings”…. Peace to all
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It’s a gift to revisit these older posts, from the “deep” of January, with you now that it’s April and the season is turning. Thanks Sirena, as always, for reading these posts and for your encouragement.
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