Ever Ripening Me

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Can you tell me, please,

where does the human heart go

when the mind wanders?

 

And what do the eyes look upon

when the world becomes a beggar’s stage

of flashing desire and chaos?

 

I’ve spent my life as a blind man

with hands over eyes and not on my heart;

too busy hiding from feelings,

 

instead of holding onto the rhythm

nestled within my hands like a new born,

to cradle its bold tenderness

 

till I lose track of time

and lose sight of this fickle world

and all the propaganda

 

that tries to replace this

sweet romance. Today I placed an open hand

on my heart, as a cheek upon cheek,

 

and made dancers of us.

Together, we can turn this world into a paradise

Together, we can turn this life into joy.

 

And yes, there will be times

 

When I will grow a marvelous belly

Full and round with a feast of over abundance

And yet my heart will still teach me acceptance.

 

Or times when I grow a long straggly beard

Of bushy, curly brown and grey strands of rebellion

Manifesting self-acceptance to the many strange stares.

 

or there will be months on end

When I wear the same pajamas everyday

And watch the neighbors,

 

as they grow disturbed in

doubt as to whether I wash them clean

or let daily dirt gather on its cloth.

 

To this I grow untouched

as mockery and judgment consumes them

I will grow bright bold wings

 

falling away from this conditioning

that society uses to keep me under control;

coming unglued I will learn to fly.

 

Or even if I

 

Fall down, crashing into obsessions

I wait for love to pull me out of each wreck,

or leave me there until I search for her.

 

And when we meet each other

oh how I will be like a young school kid

making secret hiding places

 

for the shame and guilt

of all of my many mischievous ways

as Love uncovers them one by one.

 

And when I awaken from each place

 

where this heart has tucked me in,

as we dance through these beautiful imperfections,

with clarity I begin to see

 

Everything in its perfection.

Slowly, I am starting to uncover these eyes.

Slowly, I am letting go of each sour fruit.

 

Oh humble heart of mine

I feel the sweetness of what remains

In the bushel of want, unpicked.

 

Oh humble heart of mine

I am learning to hold your rhythm–

Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump,

 

I am learning to feel,

 

the pulse of your ancient roots,

as they reach up through my core

ever ripening me.

 

 

  • Jeffrey Vionito

 

Picture by: Marina Cano

Call of the Heart

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You deserve a love
enduring and sweet,
always in growing
honor and reverence.
You deserve a love
that radiates,
from the inside out.
When the heart is felt,
open up.  This message,
a flower in its season,
to behold completely.
You deserve the sun’s
warm drops of nectar,
glazed upon each petal,
and the breath
of ripened release,
scented with the pollen
of this star’s affection.
Every whim that brings
lasting inner joy, a golden
voice calling out,
from the One
that brought
us here.

jeffrey vionito

Painting by Lenoid Afremov)

Of Land and Sea

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The Boat moves quickly
through the early morning harbor
Trying to catch the bridge

Drawing up into the sky.
Moving along side everything
in an illusive blur,

The ship hand stretches
The nets out across the dock
Thinking of the catch.

Looking to the left and right
He says, “the city line looks like a blur”
Of life passing me by”.

Later that day, schools of fish
Feel the quickening pull of a net, swallowing
Up their world in a rush.

Evening draws the boat to harbor.
Fish heads cut. body fileted. packed in ice,
they are Fresh meat for the market.

At dusk, the mates gather
Around a pint of cold beer and wonder
where the day has gone,

Wonder how softly
the boardwalk lights play
against the water,

Wonder their day away
as tired arms and raw hands greet
the numbing salve of their cup.

****

Poem:      jeffrey vionito
Picture:   File:Thai fishing boat 02.jpg – Wikimedia Commons

Garden Window

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Garden Window

I wanted to see the world.
The world, it left me wanting.
I longed for an honest view,
but saw the horizon of mood,
changing from sun to moon.
I followed the scent of hope,
to find myself lost in despair.
Searching in books for answers,
I watched as questions appear.

Sowing seeds of new thought,
gives way for roots to grow,
as soil of self-love can nurture
the many expressions of our soul.
To thread this divine intention,
grows a garden in window’s view.
Our true nature, so airy and free.
Of Source, to where we stand,
it is all in the way we choose to see.

- jeffrey vionito

The Lion Inside the Wolf

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There was once a pack of wolves that roamed the woods in the middle of winter not too many years ago.  Harsh weather drove them from their collapsed shelter deep in the mountains and they were in search of a new home.

One evening towards the end of their search, the pack heard a sound coming from a mound of snow.  It was a sound of desperation that they felt all too familiar with since they lost their shelter.  Immediately they began to dig at the snow until colorful dry leaves and branches were tossed from under their paws.  When they got to the source of the yelping they discovered a baby mountain lion.  Feeling sorry for the cub being all alone and knowing that he would not last the rest of the season by himself, the pack decided to take him in and care for him.

As the months passed and seasons changed into the early days of autumn the cub grew quickly in the love of its new family.  He learned all the ways of his pack.  How to hunt in groups and sneak up on small animals.  He learned how to pick up the scent of predators that the pack found to be a threat to their way of life.  He also learned how to fight playfully amongst his peers but always knew his place and did his best not to overstep his balance or risk losing his acceptance from the others.

One night the pack decided to climb atop an elevated peak and howl at the harvest moon.  The mountain lion tried as best he could but no matter his intention, his voice never sounded like the others.  It made him feel as if he didn’t belong. The pack would do its best to try and reassure him that he was family and loved.  But still he was unrested by this realization.

Since then the mountain lion would wander off into the forest by himself.  He would spent much time alone trying to put the obvious pieces together of his life.  At this point he couldn’t deny the differences both outside and within that kept him distant all along.  But despite the distance, the love of his family kept him, for the most part, at peace.

His usual path of solitude would often lead him to the creek bed for water and then continue down into the canyon where the creek became a river and from a river became a waterfall.  And right there on the edge of the cliff where the water rushed over the edge, he would sit and lose track of time as the water lulled over and over in his mind.  But on this particular journey he heard a very quiet howl similar to his, coming from inside the waterfall.  Curious he got up and started to walk down when all of a sudden he felt a tug on his tail.  One of the elders from the wolf pack has been following him all this time.

“Let me go,” said the mountain lion, “I need to find out where that noise is coming from.”  The elder looked up at him and cautioned, “If you go down below, nothing will be as it was.  Whether you like what you find or you don’t, your life will change in ways that you will never be able to undo or forget.  If you step down into the mystery behind the waterfall, you may find what you are looking for but you will never see yourself the same way again, either. “

The mountain lion paused and looked down at the ground.  He loved his life and was grateful for all that he was, because of the pack.  But something deep inside was gnawing its way out and he couldn’t bear it any longer.  Turning to the elder he said, “Doubt has always led me to this quiet place by the falls.  Doubt of who I am and the doubt of incompleteness.  I bathed in the sound of the falls almost daily and found peace.  My doubt would subside like the water that beats against the rocks below.  Most of my life I thought that was enough, but look!  The unknown voice of my uncertainties has finally found me in my quietest hour.  How can I deny this voice?  To travel this far and not inquire would make the shelter of this meaningful journey collapse.  Just like the ruined den that you saved me from as a cub.”

The elder replied, “The way down is too harsh these old paws to venture.  I don’t share the same vision as you but I understand what you must do, I only ask that you remember.  Always.  You always have a place in the pack, no matter how far this discovery takes you away.”

“How can I ever forget my family, my friends?  If not for this life, I would not have been able to appreciate this moment right now.  Our time together has led me to this very point.  I take you all with me, in this heart that you all have filled.” replied the mountain lion.  Saying goodbye the wolf elder returned to camp and he descended into the cave behind the falls.

Since that day the mountain lion seems to return about once a year and speaks of the places that he has been and the pride that he had found in the wilderness beyond the falls.  The wolves gather around amazed at the brave journey he made and the stories of places they can only dream of.

In the absence of their brother, the wolves still gather on the hill tops covered in the light of a full moon and howl. They also gather by the falls and howl for their wandering brother in hopes that he will cry out in his own unique way too.  As they howl for him the waterfall drowns their voices, the hollowed canyon devours their echoes, and they quietly retreat from the mystery of what is yet to be discovered.

 

 

 

Story by:    Jeffrey Vionito

Picture by :    http://hdwallpapers.cat/moutain_lion_mountain_hunting_big_cats_rocks_hd-wallpaper-35973/