Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

No Matter

 

The ground may shift

and the weather, change

on a daily basis.

It does not matter.

The look in your eye

may have less sparkle

for a day – or more…

It does not matter.

The body might morph

into a vessel of pain

or disease…

It does not matter.

Change is everywhere.

It is not what Life is.

It is simply experience –

the classroom of Life.

Life is within

and it is everlastingly

with us

as the heart of everything –

the place of Love,

of God,

of Peace,

of Truth.

This is where we connect

and get our fuel

to endure our experiences.

Don’t allow

the pull of distraction –

or the disease

of the personal,

hold you to

all that does not matter.

What a precious waste

of Life

that is.

Your ground awaits

and patiently protects

the gifts of 

Joy and Presence

which belong to 

you.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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Poem · Poetry

Making the U Turn

 

When the trip wire

gets touched

and partially healed places

wound again,

take a breath.

Your usual patterns

of blame and retaliation

will not serve you.

In fact,

they will deepen the wound.

The truth is

the world will always

try to trip you up.

And the world

is everything outside of you.

To survive with grace

and even joy,

no matter the obstacles before you,

live from the inside.

That is where truth lives –

the place of your divine self.

Nothing outside of you

can destroy your peace

without your permission.

Turn away from drama.

Go deep.

Look at yourself.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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Poem · Poetry

The Call of the Light

Breaking through the gray

as the darkness begins to enfold me,

it appears:

               Remember me?  I am here.

I barely  hear its message.

I am too caught up in the gloom.

              Remember me?  I am here.

The light persists…

but the darkness holds on.

              Look up, look out.  There is more.

The invitation gets more urgent

for the light can see

more than I can.

It does not want

the darkness to swallow me.

The light begins to reach out

and touch me.

It opens my heart.

As my heart warms and flexes,

my vision gradually blooms –

the shadows retreat

and the glow arrives.

I am healing

and the light

leads me forward.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

Artwork by my sister, Martha Harris:  “Beacon”

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Poem · Poetry

This Golden Crack

Like a canvas

before the artist’s brush,

we get our markings.

Our unique hues

and textures

create the picture 

of what seems to be true

about us.

But sometimes life is lived

more like a ceramic pot –

one that gets cracked

along the way…

shattered, even –

the mending of which

is complicated work.

It takes the artist’s hands

and keen attention to detail

to put the pieces together,

beautifully.

It is a necessary process.

This breaking,

followed by the recognition of the mess,

enables us to be held

and mended.

When we submit to the

Master’s hands,

and allow for the

hard work to be done,

we are fashioned anew.

Our cracks become golden

and essential. 

We are forever changed, and

we shine with humble strength

from our broken places.

Like the Velveteen Rabbit,

we have been loved into

becoming more real.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

Tea bowl Tea bowl
; Japan; 17th century; Stoneware with clear, crackled glaze, stained by ink; gold lacquer repairs.; H x W: 10.5 x 12.2 cm (4 1/8 x 4 13/16 in); Gift of Charles Lang Freer
Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

When Praying

It starts with stopping

and then a deep breath –

the kind that really fills you,

and reaches to the bottom of things.

When you begin to settle

and peace starts to bloom,

you wait.

There is nothing to say.

It is a time to listen.

The longings will arise

and you simply hold them.

With grace and acceptance,

you lift them –

first to your heart,

and then up in surrender.

It is this gesture,

this gathering of yourself

which connects you to

who you are.

For there is no separation

between you and God.

You are a drop of water

in God’s ocean.

You belong –

and all it takes 

is listening and bowing

to remember this

and be healed

of want and need.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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Poem · Poetry

Holy, Holy

Not one of us is perfect.

Not one of us is fully formed.

We are but buds on the stem,

and wobbly saplings,

with thirsty roots –

searching for ground.

Every day,

we come up short in some way.

We offend our intentions, 

allowing the pain within

to attach more deeply.

Our path is littered with

all we have dropped,

despite all the trying

on the way to perfect.

To heal,

we turn around,

and gaze upon the lessons…

We pick them up,

one at a time,

and lift them to our heart.

In the lifting, we proclaim:

Holy, holy.

Holy, holy.

Now touched by grace,

we can turn around, facing forward –

and begin again –

reminded of what it feels like

to be held.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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