First Flight

The clear bead at the center changes everything.

There are no edges to my loving now.

-Rumi, Tr. C. Barks & J. Moyne, “Open Secret”

*

There were edges to my loving—

places where countries clashed along borders,

where lovers were not admitted,

where the thicket grew thick and impenetrable

to keep out savage creatures ambling

about in the dark, smelling of musk.

*

There were edges to my loving~

places to guard, gardens to endlessly tend~

the project of myself that took such devotion~

voices in my head I did not want heard

by another who might lean over in the night

and kiss away such tender uncertainties.

*

There were edges to my loving~

there was the wild one of me

who did not want taming,

the one who believed someone else held

the keys to my freedom, the primal roar

of the lioness who said: I will belong to no one

but myself, so I cannot belong to you.

 *

There were edges to my loving.

But then came the tearing wind,

and the sheets of rain, the storms

on the high seas, the sunlight on bare skin,

and the eyes of god blazing through my heart

at dawn. Then came the beasts crashing

through the thickets, despite my best laid plans.

Yes, then came life softening

the edges again and again.

*

And one night I woke up from a dream

to my own laughter, to a knowing of my love

rippling out in endless circles. And in my bones

I felt what has always been free,

this sovereignty that does not require

guarding or liberating. And from here~

belonging to everything~ I walked out of the cage

of my own making, unfurled these gossamer wings

and tasted true flight for the first time.

©Laura Weaver

LauraWeaver.org

first published on soulpassages.wordpress.com

 

 

The Feast

 

 

 

It is green and teeming again,

the soils supple after years of drought—

after the parched places

called like a lover for rain,

after empty reservoirs

filled overnight, and the earth

offered her great generosity

so that everything is opening,

blooming, gleaming

with sweet golden light.

*

There is so much

we could resist in this life—

drought and famine and flood,

the turning of every season,

the arrival of each decade,

the falling away of a beloved,

our own aging bodies, every betrayal

or hurt we have ever held close.

We could spend every moment resisting.

*

For this mammalian heart aches—

we attach, hold on, scan the field

for potential loss. We love so intensely,

we push love away—lest it break us.

And yet to inhabit this body

in every cell, with no holding back,

we cannot avoid touching those

trembling notes of our impermanence—

those strands in our lives which

arrive for a time, but cannot stay.

We cannot avoid risking everything.

*

For in this exquisite love affair

the world will court us again and again—

and in this awakening of spring,

we will forget the other seasons of lack—

as we are reborn, renewed, unwrapped.

And the heat of earth’s wild eros

will rise through us—the poppies bursting

their seams, the fillies cantering

in the just born grasses,

the creeks racing high and fast.

And we think—yes, perhaps it will

always be like this—now that I have

emerged from this final winter of my soul.

*

But all of our seasons will come around again—

grief and passion and fear

loneliness and ecstasy—

they will all knock on the door.

And perhaps, in our forgetting,

we will be surprised by these 

familiar strangers who come

in the dark hollow of the night—

or perhaps we will remember this feast

we were invited to long ago—

and we will lay the table with devotion,

pour the wine, and laugh with delight

with all that is offered,

here, now, for all time.

©Laura Weaver

LauraWeaver.org

first published on soulpassages.wordpress.com

 

The Feast

 

It is green and teeming again,

the soils supple after years of drought—

after the parched places

called like a lover for rain,

after empty reservoirs

filled overnight, and the earth

offered her great generosity

so that everything is opening,

blooming, gleaming

with sweet golden light.

*

There is so much

we could resist in this life—

drought and famine and flood,

the turning of every season,

the arrival of each decade,

the falling away of a beloved,

our own aging bodies, every betrayal

or hurt we have ever held close.

We could spend every moment resisting.

*

For this mammalian heart aches—

we attach, hold on, scan the field

for potential loss. We love so intensely,

we push love away—lest it break us.

And yet to inhabit this body

in every cell, with no holding back,

we cannot avoid touching those

trembling notes of our impermanence—

those strands in our lives which

arrive for a time, but cannot stay.

We cannot avoid risking everything.

*

Our resistance is like a bouquet

of feathers in a fierce wind—

and whether we struggle against

the current or simply align with it and fly—

the wind remains—scattering

the dandelion seeds, bringing storm fronts,

clearing clouds for crystalline mornings

ripe with summer’s fruited ecstasies.

*

For in this exquisite love affair

the world will court us again and again—

and in this awakening of spring,

we will forget the other seasons of lack—

as we are reborn, renewed, unwrapped.

And the heat of earth’s wild eros

will rise through us—the poppies bursting

their seams, the fillies cantering

in the just born grasses,

the creeks racing high and fast.

And we think—yes, perhaps it will

always be like this—now that I have

emerged from this final winter of my soul.

*

But all of our seasons will come around again—

grief and passion and fear

loneliness and ecstasy—

they will all knock on the door.

And perhaps, in our forgetting,

we will be surprised by these 

familiar strangers who come

in the dark hollow of the night—

or perhaps we will remember this feast

we were invited to long ago—

and we will lay the table with devotion,

pour the wine, and laugh with delight

with all that is offered,

here, now, for all time.

©Laura Weaver

first published on soulpassages.wordpress.com

LauraWeaver.org

Luminous

There is a place within

that cannot be destroyed

by flood or fire

by bloodthirsty armies

or devastating illness—

it is this untouchable essence of us

that quakes with irrepressible light

and bears the intolerable weight

of all we must feel to awaken.

 

When I first remembered myself

after surgery, my own name strange,

both of my breasts removed—

I did not feel loss nor grief,

but a love so ferocious it rolled 

through me like thunder,

bringing healing rain.

 

After that, came a knowing

of my own wholeness

beyond any story, beyond

any dismemberment—

this revelation of our luminous body

that remains intact in spite

of all of our sacred shatterings.

And yes, now the landscape

is unrecognizable—

yes,now, there is no old path

to go return to—

yes,now there is the quivering

arrow of this moment

piercing the heart—

the illusion of invulnerability

stripped away and laid bare to this truth.

And so it is.

 

Before I came to this life,

I was shown this world

from the distant shores of it—

and in that moment, I saw

the full arc of my days here,

the exquisite range

of this embodied dreaming.

Oh how beautiful, I cried.

Oh how terrible. 

Oh—This terrible beauty.

And the angel who guided me

simply pointed and nodded,

and said—Yes.

©Laura Weaver

LauraWeaver.org

A note about this poem and where it comes from…..

I’m sharing this poem today to celebrate my one-year anniversary of being cancer free—and to share a bit about this last year of my journey. A year ago today, I had the breast cancer surgery that quite likely saved my life.As I write today—the Colorado spring brings her most exquisite magic to the land—there are hummingbirds and a feast of wildflowers; bursting poppies and spiraling hawks, overflowing creeks and sweeping foothills that are so incredibly emerald green that they are singing (yes, it’s true). Yes, life returns. Miraculously. Magnificently. With never before seen delights. And this return seems like a deep mirroring of what I feel in my own being—a kind of springtime in my own soul.

2016 was the most challenging year of my life—and it took everything I had just to meet it, to show up, to travel through the places that felt so impossible, fiery, crazy, intense, I didn’t know if I would survive them. Wave after wave of sudden, radical shifts–at times, barely able to catch my breath between sets. Yes, the teacher of Cancer initiated a fierce and grace-filled reworking of every aspect of my being and life. I was given an eviction notice to my old world—and in no uncertain terms told– let go of everything and move on— claim your new life and don’t look back.

There is no return to the old life—and I am not the same woman I was a year ago. And though there were losses (many difficult losses)—nothing has been truly lost. And within that wild ride of the cancer journey–so much has been given. I have been softened and cracked open and stretched and infused with a new muse. There are exquisite gifts that have emerged from the fire of this cancer passage—jewels in the ash that I am beginning to pull out, polish and lift to the light. I will be sharing more of what I am discovering in upcoming days and months. 

For this moment, I am so so grateful for this never-before-seen-season of re-emergence.  I am relishing the beautiful, potent and edgy time of rebirth– where everything is new and unfamiliar again. I feel a profound respect for both the delicacy and resilience of being human–and for the ways each of us is called to bring our wholeness, to feel and experience such a range, and to know ourselves beyond the bounds of what we imagined possible. This life is so damn precious.

~Laura

The Ocean Inside

 

 

after Hafiz

“That Beloved has gone completely Wild – He has poured Himself into me!
 I am Blissful and Drunk and Overflowing.”

– From: The Great Secret

 The beloved says: there is an ocean inside you—

and all it takes to swim here is to surrender.

And you who have become a master

of delving the depths, shedding skin after skin,

letting go of the old, rising up from

your own phoenix ash—you say oh yes,

I know this wild sea.

 

But the beloved says—wait, there is more.

For still, within you there have been hold outs—

places that braced against the harsh boot

of the world. Tensile webs protecting

intricate chambers from desecration.

Secret caves where hidden jewels shine.

 

And no, it will not be the crack of the hammer,

or the cruel weight of a cruel god,

or the sweltering heat that binds you

into submitting to this ocean. Nor will it be

the will of any other who convinces,

but simply the lion’s roar of an unfettered love

so freely given, you simply remember

the ocean that you are.

 

This is how the heat of the divine within

grows from a flicker to a hot holy fire—

this is how stars bloom from the void

and forests grow from broken open husks.

This is the way the beloved woos you

into tasting your own nectar, into entering

the very blossom of the milky way. Yes,

this is how the beloved points you home.

 

©Laura Weaver

LauraWeaver.org

 

 

One Drop

In the soft hills of Calistoga,

I walk over ancient lava flows–

the secret to good red wine–I hear—

this buried ash. Beneath the shadow

of the mountain, vineyards flash

stark crosses—dark

before the resurrection

of summer’s first grapes.  

 

Lingering near a stream—just made

by two days and six inches of rain–

she flashes across the path before me.

Oh, to watch the ecstatic thrum

of her humming wings as she hovers

for a long breath, then drops her body

into the rainwater pool,

dipping her jeweled belly

again and again, sipping

on this first nectar of liquid light.

 

She drinks just long enough,

and then she is gone—

she stays just long enough

to remind me—

how little is needed.

How it only takes one drop

to taste the whole of the ocean.

 

©Laura Weaver

*first published on soulpassages.wordpress.com

Laura Weaver.org

Fire & Water

For so many years, I only knew the way of lightning—

the explosion of heat that bursts the husks of seeds within,

the fierce piercing that releases dormant longing into ecstatic flight.

*

These seeds—opened by fire—crack granite, thrive on sheer mountainsides, 

find impossible crevasses to call home. I still bear the scars 

from the places where this lightning entered, breaking me open to endless sky.

 *

But now there is another way that calls.  In this way, there is a a welling up of light 

from the dark depths,  the return of ancient rivers after long periods of heat and drought. 

In this way, the waters seep through the hard places,  soften and dissolve the pod—

 *

so that the life inside simply emerges, revealed. These seeds require a slow approach—

a long drenching rain, the coaxing of sunlight—until delicate petals unfurl one by one—

and the whole hungry world slows down to take a single breath.

*

And these two~the fire and the water~are like two arrows in the bow 

of the divine archer—who knows just where the bullseye is and how to touch 

the center of the center where our most intimate secrets dwell.

©Laura Weaver

*first published on soulpassages.wordpress.com

Laura Weaver.org