Tag: awakening
This is It
The cat purring in my lap
while the birds sing their morning song…
My heartbeat,
strong and regular,
sending the vibration of vitality everywhere –
to my very fingertips and toes,
opening my eyes,
and lighting up my taste buds.
It travels past
all the aches and pains,
those spots that distract and annoy.
The pain cannot stop its movement,
but is touched by its energy –
kissed by the whispers of hope.
One day you won’t need this pain…
The promise of a new day
is the reliable reboot given every morning.
Perhaps this is the day
I will finally see,
not only with my eyes,
but with my whole being,
that
this is it.
No more will I wait
for my turn,
holding back and waiting
for that perfect moment
that never comes.
Life is here now,
and ever so fleeting.
It passes before me,
it beats within me,
it connects me
to all that matters.
Life lives on through me
even when I am pressing the brakes.
It moves forward,
with or without me.
This is it –
the blessings are here.
Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018
Then Sings My Soul
When wanting meets realization
and dis-ease catches a glimpse
of healing,
my eyes spring open –
and I can see, once again,
how You are right here,
right here.
Life is a beautiful dance.
The music always plays,
with You leading my steps,
and I, in faith, following,
sometimes tripping along-
crying or laughing my way forward –
humbled by my missteps,
and blessed when I move
with grace.
Nevertheless,
and more and more,
I realize,
when I look up
from my preoccupation with
my own feet,
You are here,
You are here.
The dance we share
is as reliable as Life itself.
and its music
floats my heart skyward
as my soul
breaks into song.
Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018
Pure Presence
You look at me with eyes of love
and complete attention.
You gracefully place your body
next to mine,
molding into me
for complete contact.
There is no space between us –
only pure presence.
As you relax and soften,
so do I.
Your purr
motors my heart to joy.
Your headbutts
nudge me firmly to awaken
to the affection in this moment.
Your eyes,
your eyes…
invite me to deepen
and embrace the music
hidden in my heart.
You bring God to me
and I am blessed.
I love you for that.
Eventually, you move away
to what is next for you.
Your work is done.
Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018
Your Whispers Heal My Soul
Slow down.
Take it easy.
Listen.
You are trying too hard.
Open your eyes – notice.
Relax and breathe.
Trust and receive.
Allow me to help.
Get out of the way.
Be kind to yourself.
Don’t worry!
I’ve got this;
I’ve got you.
Freedom is yours.
Choose it!
This is a new day.
I love you completely.
Blossom with joy.
Be Love.
I have shown you how.
Remember me.
We are One.
Copyright@ Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018
Bit by Bit
Her vision widens a bit
this time
as she enters her day
in the same old way.
Perhaps something new will dawn.
His heart dares to stretch
and open a bit wider.
A new kind of surrender
peeks through the song of pain
on constant rewind.
Life itself can open us
to what is real and true,
if allowed.
We discover this
when we trust enough
to peek
from under the many covers
we have pulled over our head.
With each new glimpse,
we allow the Creator
to fashion us more artfully
beyond the many ways
we have allowed our clay
to harden.
Soften or harden?
Open or close?
Yield or tighten the grip?
Ignore or listen?
These are the daily choices
in finding the path
to Grace.
Pay attention.
Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2017
God in Me
Like the sun
waiting for the earth
to turn towards you,
you wait.
Like roots
thirsty for water,
you reach for me.
Like an audience,
waiting for the story to come together,
for that aha moment
as the meaning sets into mind
and heart,
you long to explode
into hearty applause.
You are the ultimate respecter
of my boundaries
and my journey.
I am amazed at your patience,
as I get so distracted.
Yet you remain,
loving me into
my own dawning.
I can sense your faith in me.
I know you long
for me to give birth to you
in my actions.
The moments when I get it right,
when I can step aside
and allow you through me,
enable you to be visible…
Well, those are the best!
I pray for more of them.
We are in this together.
Copyright © Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2017
Noticing
The way it feels
when I dare to step away from patterns
long held onto
with a tight knuckle grip
as a way to hold me up,
glue me together.
The look in your eyes
when I am really paying attention,
allowing my heart to open to you.
The soaring freedom that sends me
to new depths and heights
all at the same time
when I get out of my own way.
How pain disappears
when my attention turns in a divine direction
instead of towards my navel,
so clogged with repetitive angst.
How a long walk by the sea washes me
of all the garbage
I have allowed to enter my soul –
a baptism of surf and sound,
wind and grace.
The thunder of the surf rocking me,
holding me with an eternal embrace.
Oh, how healing that is!
How the voice of a great singer
sends my spirit soaring
and beckons me to use my voice
with full expression and power,
freeing it
and healing me from the multitude of ways
I have held it back.
How Love is present,
when I am present
whether with the dying,
my love,
or my cat.
Turning away from the moment
robs me,
robs us –
of God’s company.
Waking up is a beautiful thing –
a peeling of the layers –
that so strangle and constrict.
We think these layers are important
but they are all false construction.
I love the release as they fall away
allowing a deeper joy
to be found.
I am noticing
two openings:
my eyes with inspired vision,
my heart with a tender softening.
Both are wrapped up in deep peace.
Copyright © Cynthia Cady Stanton 2017
Breathing Rare Air
“I don’t think you can see it,”
said my love one day
during one of our connecting moments
when he gently dared
to pull away my self-imposed blinders.
“You are too close to it.”
He may be right.
Maybe I don’t see it,
this reality that few get to be in.
I work in a strange land,
a land of life
and a land of death.
The terrain is sometimes rocky and treacherous,
sometimes peaceful,
always momentous.
Every day I am in the midst
of the end
and the beginning,
all wrapped up in the movement of breath
and the wrenching of hearts.
I get to witness this,
over and over.
And my love does not see
how I can do this.
I breathe rare air.
It is the air of final breaths,
filled with spaces, longing, regrets,
love and letting go.
On a daily basis,
I am next to bodies as they sputter to a stop.
I take in the worn faces and the withered forms
barely taking up space.
I breathe this rare air.
The air of souls bursting to be free.
I hear the sounds
and smell the smells.
I breathe rare air.
You may wonder what this does to me,
this rarified experience.
I wonder, too.
Is this death I witness contagious?
Will my disappearing act be hastened
because I am seemingly comfortable
in this strange land?
I think not.
If anything,
entering this territory on a daily basis
is an invitation.
A chance to truly see.
With eyes wide open to what lies ahead,
there is no pretending.
No glossing over or dodging the truth.
I will end one day,
or, at least my body will.
There is no covering this over
with any effort to avert it,
whether it is in being as healthy as I can be,
or in avoiding what needs attending
before it is too late.
No.
Working with the dying
and breathing this rare air,
has opened me up in ways
beyond my comprehension.
I am being changed.
How could I not be?
All I know now
is that with each inhale of this experience,
my tightly bound heart
unwraps a little more.
I am softening.
And here is the nub of it:
I am getting a head start
on letting go
of all that does not matter.
I am being schooled in death bed academics
and I intend to be a straight A student.
So, maybe working with the dying
and breathing this rare air
IS contagious
because in learning to let go now,
and do the work before me,
my death can be more beautiful
when my time comes,
and my loved ones
more at peace.
Copyright@2017 Cynthia Cady Stanton
I Am Not My Body
I am not my body.
I am not the wrinkles around my eyes,
nor am I the deep lines forming under my nose.
I am not the softening of my belly that is thickening my waist and
now spilling over my waistbands.
I am not the annoying chin hairs cropping up.
Every time I look in the mirror,
I notice the things I am not.
My eye goes right to anything that screams aging at me,
especially my now droopy neck.
Or the brown spots forming on my face and hands.
“Damn it!” I say to myself.
“I am getting old.”
And I turn away in disgust.
But I am not even the parts of my body that I like.
I am not my pretty blue eyes.
I am not my fit arms or my perky ass.
I am not my feminine hands
nor am I my white teeth
and nice color treated hair.
I am not the bad,
I am not the good.
I am not my body.
I am much more than what I see in a mirror.
I am more than how my clothes feel on me.
I am more than any pain, any tension or ache.
I am more.
I go deeper than all that.
I am larger and more expansive than any image I see as I walk past a mirror,
or window.
I am above and below the skin
I am not the skin.
I am the spirit that gives my body life.
I am the sparkle in my eyes,
the warmth in my voice.
I am the tenderness in my touch.
I am the deep tones of my hearty giggle.
I am the strength behind a sincere embrace.
I am made of stardust.
I am connected deeply to all living beings.
I am energy.
And most of all,
I am divine love expressed.
I am not my body but
I live in my body.
My body may be weathering on the outside
just like any home would.
The paint may be flaking
but a warm light burns within.
A house is not a home
without that inward glow.
Shine on.
Copyright© 2017 Cynthia Cady Stanton
Becoming and Beholding 