Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Word Provider

 

Often when I sit to write,

the decision is spontaneous.

I may be in my usual routine,

and then the urge bubbles up.

A thought comes…

        Maybe I will write.

Then I simply position my fingers on the keyboard

and out it flows.

My head, heart, and fingers

are connected to that larger reality

that usually slips through the fingers.

It is an act of faith –

to put myself in the position

to be available

and receive.

I trust the words will come.

And when they do,

I am one with Inspiration

and being 

me.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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Poem · Poetry

In the Right Light

My Love points the camera

towards me

and I playfully resist…

“Take my picture outside

and from that preferred angle, my dear.

It makes a more flattering picture.”

I look in the mirror

and the bathroom light is on dimmer…

All I can see are wrinkles!

I change the brightness in the room

and my image improves.

I find my smile.

My Love, the Artist, 

paints a lovely picture.

He uses reflective paints that

need the right angle and intensity

of illumination.

He tilts his creation my way –

in the right light –

its beauty deepens.

All these are glimpses

of an important lesson:

How we see things

is shaped by 

the type of light we shine on 

what is before us.

To see clearly,

be aware of your beam.

For life is dimmed

and perception is affected

by gloom.

To brighten,

simply flick the switch

and tilt towards it.

Observe the changes.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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Poem · Poetry

Pearls

Oh, the precious lessons

along the way!

They seem so hidden

at first –

but when they arrive,

or get uncovered,

they shine with brilliance.

We trudge and troll –

weary of the path,

tripping in the same old ways…

but when our eyes 

dare to look anew,

we may spot a pearl.

Its presence

is grace revealed.

Its beauty

releasing us

of our misdirected ways.

A pocket full of pearls

is the treasure of

transcendence.

Keep your pearls close you.

They whisper and lift

as you continue on.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Be Lifted

I sometimes like to watch

the float of a feather.

It can show up unannounced

and bless me

with fresh lightness.

Watching its flowing movement

with no steering wheel

to direct 

or engine powering it –

Well, it looks like freedom.

Most of us 

tend to be weighted

by our day to day.

We load up our minds

with fiction

that keeps us from

the float of grace

intended for us.

Watch the feather,

I tell myself.

It has no need to 

drive or direct,

no agenda to meet,

no cares to protect.

It simply rests

on the unseen flow of life.

It rises above beautifully.

The feather’s lift

is a wonder to behold –

the mystery and gift

of grace realized.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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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

Each One, A Mountain

Everyone has something

It is a mantra that is inwardly voiced

more and more

as I get older.

We each have our own brand of challenge.

As life progresses,

these challenges unfold

and introduce themselves.

Sometimes they swallow us up

with the force of a big ocean wave…

Or, they might creep upon us

like a spreading mold.

We get to choose 

how to respond

when our personal mountain

shows up.

For some,

the mountain may be too vast

to climb alone –

so we bring loving souls with us.

For others,

the mountain may be a series of hills

which warrants a solo journey –

each vista building strength within.

We may fool ourselves, thinking

that our mountain 

is bigger than anyone else’s –

that somehow,

our mountain warrants

special attention…

But as we mature,

and build our climbing muscles,

our compassionate heart opens,

our personal nature fades,

and our vision widens

to see what others endure.

Our climbing becomes

the road to awakening

to what this life 

is all about.

Yes, we each have a mountain –

especially designed for our own unfolding…

but as we meet it,

with grace and courage,

the vista that comes,

connects us to the 

suffering of others.

This is the stuff of

a life well-lived.

So, I bow to my mountain –

giving thanks for its lessons…

for without its presence,

I would walk with blinders on,

tripping on my own feet,

and all alone.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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