MY STONE

Washed ashore last Tuesday, Or perhaps an eon of Tuesdays ago, Not there by accident, But sent.   Waiting for me as I clamber down the cliff, Leaving rippled footprints up and down the beach, Catching my eye just as I am about to give up my search      for a special treasure to take home. Lying amidst a hodgepodge of stones and shells, Gray and smooth, A single hole piercing its center. Shot clean through. As precise as if drilled by masoner's bit,   Picking it up for a closer look, I'm delighted to find a shard of brown stone      perfectly bisecting the hole. Naked, imperfect, Unique, improbable. Visible to all,   My stone is proof positive that shards of pain,      pushing out circles of emptiness within us,      cannot fill all the space inside. That a sturdy self surrounds the emptiness      and cradles the pain. My stone teaches me that nothing has to be      hidden, or repaired, or regretted. Pain and empty places are treasures      waiting to be discovered.

Winding down, Asleep before the celebration arrives, Drifting through dreams, New memories as yet unrealized. Slivers of imagination Fluttering away to secret nooks of darkness. Walking through midnight spaces That hibernate until eyelids close and minds dissolve, Then burst awake, Transformed into exotic avenues, Brimming with intrigue. Dreams conjured by a capricious master, Soft dreams, sensual, wild with passion, Interrupted, transfigured into desperate flights On wingless arms, Unseen hands dragging the dreamer down, A vertiginous ride into empty worlds of terror.   By act of will, demons are banished on this eve. Sleep as old as childhood, as new as the next breath, Welcomed. Sanctuary found in unconscious grottos Filled with shimmering pools of blessings. Restored. Energy gathered like golden sheaves, Harvested to feed a new year of tomorrows.

Dreaming Into the New Year