Unspoken Word
February 13, 2022
All I'm Doing Right Now

All I am doing right now is writing these words to you,
small helium-filled balloons
I offer for all your birthdays I missed.
I really don't know where these balloons will take you,
I don't,
it all depends on you,
the way you hold the string
or maybe there is more than just one string.
Well, of course there are --
we're talking about balloons, multiple, not singular
lighter-than-air-transportation devices for you.

They may seem to be words, but they are actually balloons.

Go for the ride!
Wherever you are or end up is the right place to be,
It is!
Always remember that and the way butterflies move in a breeze,
and, please tell me, kind madam or sir,
how in the world did butterflies ever get created in the first place
and am I still expected to pay my taxes?
What if I forget my name and wherever I go
gardenias spring up all around me,
hoping as only gardenias can hope,
that one day the one they call the "Master"
will find his way there for no particular reason,
he being completely "of the moment" or perhaps I should say
(and please forgive me if I mess up the translation,
but it goes a little something like this:)

"You were made in the image of God.
You were, you are,
of that you need not have any doubt.
As you are you are.
How great is that! How simple!
As you are you are.
I may even have to make a t-shirt with those words on it,
an advertisement from our sponsor -- both yours and mine.

Nothing has to change with you.
You don't need to get better
or work smarter or be worthy of anything.
As far as I can tell, you are worthy of EVERYTHING,
though if you recall George Carlin's perspective on it:
"If you had everything, where would you put it?"

And now, one last thing,
the best book I've read in quite a while is
Hear Yourself: How to Find Peace in a Noisy World
by a man, Prem Rawat, who is the most astounding human being I know.

So much love! So, so, so, so much love.
Heaps. Buckets full. Mucho, mucho love.
What Rumi, Hafiz, Mirabai, Kabir, and YOU,
on a good day, are plugged into full-tilt boogy,
hang ten, high five,
walking the high road home to the essence of who you truly are.

Welcome to the fountain of laughter and tears, my friends,
welcome to remembering and forgetting and then remembering again,
opening like a lotus
or a clenched fist.

And with that, dear brothers and sisters,
daughters and sons, wizards, fools, home run hitters,
flash back Frankies, and little Joey from Brooklyn!
Yo, Joey, how did you find your way into this poem, dude?
Wait, don't tell me. I know why. I do. I really do.
This massive, bodacious love and presence is who and what you are.
How could you be anywhere else?
Welcome Joey! Stay as long as you like
and bring your friends.

Praise the Lord! And praise the praisers, too!

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:36 AM | Comments (0)

February 01, 2022
Coleman Barks Reading His Poetry with Some Rumi Sliding In

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:24 PM | Comments (0)

“I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry.”
— John Cage

Welcome to my new blog — brief ruminations on what it is that moves me (and maybe YOU, too). If any of my poems inspire you, please forward them to friends. Good muse travels fast. Or could, with your help.

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