Too Much Hatred (Goin’ On)

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Too much hatred
Goin’ on,
Too many fingers
Being pointed,
Too few mirrors
Being looked into:
Too much hatred
Goin’ on.

Too much of this you and me,
Too much of this us and them.
Too much fear,
Too much loathin’
Dirtying up the sunrises
Messing with the rainbows.

Too much dogma
Being spouted,
Too much minds
Being closed
And locked away
By our own keys.

Too much evil
Goin’ on,
Being given
Too much power.

Too many walls
Being built,
Blocking our evolution
As instead we crouch
In fear and hatred and blame.

Too much reacting
Instead of being,
Too much judging
Instead of loving.
Too much excluding
Instead of evolving:
Too much hatred
Goin’ on.

The Angels
Weep for us
With our false thirst for rage
And self-righteous indignation
Fueling these empty wars
We wage against long ago brothers
Who are suddenly our enemies.

Listen!
The Angels are singing:
Stop!
Be!
Love!

Let their song
Be your song.
Let their song fill
Your troubled heart,
Let it nurture
Your fragile soul,
Melt your fear
And erase this hatred
Goin’ on.

Namaste.

© Copyright 2016 by John David Higham

Picture: Windfall Sunset (July 2016)

When I Am the Rainbow

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When I am the rainbow
And the colors are mine,
And my colorblindness means nothing,
And my failure
And my achievements
Mean nothing.

When I am the multiple light rays
Moving united across the universe,
Showing its spectrum
For all to know,
For all to see,
For all to pause.

When I am more
Than my body,
When I am more
Than my debts,
When I am more
Than my anxieties,
When I am more
Than my definitions:
Then my soul is again vibrant.

See how this
Glistening ray of color
Bursts from my third eye
Across the sky
Behind the thunderous storms
Above it,
Above the churning waters
Beneath it,
Beneath the heavens
Blessing this union of sun and water.

Find this union, this rainbow
Within you
And live its colors
As they line your path,
As they enliven your journey,
As they enlighten your soul.

You are then the rainbow…

 

© Copyright 2016 by John David Higham

Photo: Being the Rainbow (Niagara Falls, May 2016)

 

 

Can You Receive Your Gifts?

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In the morning
When your fears wake you,
Can you instead
Hear the sunrise
Call your name?
Can you listen to the morning birds
And know their song
Is your song too?

Can you see
Your gifts all around you
Before the mundane
World throws obstacles
In your path?

Can you see
The tree and know
How you
Are that tree,
Strong and proud,
Connecting to both
Ground and sky?

Can you see
The wind and know
That you are moving
As it is moving,
The both of you
Gliding over,
Gliding around obstacles?

Can you see
The deer and know
That you are gentle,
That you can be gentle
To yourself and
STOP
Polluting your moments
With worry,
Polluting your moments
With fear?

Can you see
The grass growing
On the hillside
And know that
Such simple beauty
Is your beauty
In both
The here and now
And
For an eternity?

Can you touch
Your heart
And send yourself
Love and comfort
The way you
Would a hurt child?

Can you receive the gifts
You are being given;
Can you know your gifts?

Accept your gifts
For even the simplest one
Is a great blessing
And will help you
See The Angels.

Namaste.

 

© copyright 2016 John David Higham

I Get to Fly (I Get to Love… Again)

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On the Empire Builder at Edmonds, Washington (October, 2015)

 

I get to fly,
Like a bird of a feather.
I get to walk
Through crowded
And
Deserted terminals
And
Watch people
Running, walking,
Riding
On their way
To,
On their way
From:
Too, I get to walk,
Run, and ride
With them
For at least a bit.
I get to fly
Somewhere;
I get to love… again.

I get to watch
Them sleep on planes
And sofas
And against each other,
And stand with them
Outside of airplane lavs
And make small talk
And feel how
They respond
To the bumpity, bump,
Bump of turbulence
At 39k feet.

I get to see
The excitement
In their souls
As they approach
Their vacations,
Their loved ones,
Their homes
And I get to embrace
My anticipation
That comes
With standing
At the arrival area
At PHX
In the dry heat,
Texting Kathy
As I walk toward
The street
On which she will arrive,
Knowing that
Her warm touch,
Our crazy loving moments,
And champagne bubbles
Await.

I get the red eye,
The short hop,
The puddle-jump,
The upgrade,
The check-in,
The baggage check
(And the fate it brings!),
The shuttle,
The economy lot,
The Lyft,
The ferry,
The train,
The valet,
The lounge,
The priority lane,
The frequent flier miles,
And the recited take-off
Instructions:
I get it all in 2200 mile commutes.

I get to talk
To strangers
About their passions,
About their families,
About their dreams.
I get to listen
To their words
And feel their hopes,
And share myself
As I click pictures
Of my views,
Write poetry,
And edit my works.

I get to wait
Outside
The terminal
And
Watch people
Hugging and smiling
As
I text my wife
At the end
Of my
Cross-country commute
And
We navigate
Around all those
Frickin’ idiots who parked
In the loading zones,
Laughing at them
Becoming impatient
At
Having been blocked in!

I get to love… again.
I get the pillow talks,
The facetimes,
The “coolness,”
The Olans,
The tooth things,
The “Bitches,”
The selfies,
The passion and the romance,
The bliss,
The abundance and the miracles;
I get it all:
We are The Lovers.

I get to fly
Out of the cage
That was once my life,
That felt like my death
But was really
Just my incubation.

At times,
I float like a butterfly,
Fluttering in
Love and light
Flowing over my wings.

Other times,
I soar like an Eagle
As the spirits
Of love, possibility, and hope
Of faith and surrender
Lift me
Far above
Who I once was.

Still, at other times,
I am the owl
Perched above
The darkened world
And seeing everything.
Or,
I am the crow
Shifting shape, time
Shifting place
From the here and now
To
The there and then.

I get to watch
The sun set,
The sun rise
Above the country
I had taken a train across,
I had driven across
So many lifetimes ago.

I get to love
Again; this time for keeps
With no returns
Or intermissions.
Forty thousand miles
Into this love
And I’m even more excited
About loving,
About flying,
About life’s
Endless miracles.

I am bliss now;
I get to fly.
I get to love… again.

Even TSA routines
Makes me smile,
As
Does the airport food
And
The little DH-8s,
The 757s sans WiFi,
The cramped A321s and A330s,
And
Taxicab drivers
Scaring the shit
Out of me as they race
A crappy yellow mini-van
To the Bainbridge Ferry
On a chilly Seattle night,
Or speaking in some language
Unknown to my tongue
In a Philly rush hour.

Hell, it all makes me smile:
I get to love again
After having known
That experience for so long
In only bits and pieces,
Living voluntarily in
Intimate relationships
Where I rescued
And lived lives
I thought others wanted.
My own co-dependent fool
I was then,
Grounded
And caged by my fear
Of being me,
Struggling to be
Someone else’s
Idea of the man
I could never be.

I get to fly
In this love
Like I’ve never flown before,
Like I’ve never loved before.
What a sacred journey I am on
With the self-awareness to match.
I get to grove on the feeling
Of fifty thousand pounds
Of thrust as machinery
As large as a house
Rises into the air,
Yanks me off the ground,
And allows me
To once again embrace
The Angels’ view.

I get to smile
And laugh with glee
At those moments
When the plane and I are racing
With all the universe’s might
Along the runway
And into the infinite sky,
And into our infinite love.

I get to fly,
I get to love… again,
Each moment of both
Warming my soul,
Freeing me from the ground
That I once stood on
And the past me
Who once held me down.

 

© copyright 2016 John David Higham

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Wheels down at sunset: Chemung County, New York (April, 2016)

Yes, I Know (The Badass)

 

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Sunset Rainbow: Sedona, July 2015

 

Yes, I know
With my soul
The pain, the hurt,
The trauma inflicted
On you
By you
On your path.

Yes, I know
How the Shadow of Valley of Death
Feels, looks, and smells:
I’ve traveled through it several times
In both the waking and dream worlds.

I am The Badass
I don’t take evil cosmic crap lightly
And won’t sit still for it.

You may prefer
To call me The Warrior Monk,
But I prefer The Badass
Because I’ve been knocked down
So many fucking times,
Been reduced to ashes,
Dead beyond death,
Abandoned,
Mocked,
Ridiculed,
Judged
Only to spring back up
By yet another miracle
And land again
(Stronger,
So much stronger
Than
The burning Hells
That had taken me down)
On my two feet,
Thankful for The Angels
Who summoned the wind
That gathered my ashes;
Who summoned the rain
That cemented those flakes;
Who summoned the sun
That hardened me into spiritual stone;
Who summoned the moon
That ignited my intuition;
Who summoned the eagle
That awakened my spirit.

I fear not chaos
For it allows me
To let go of control
And surrender to faith;
I fear not evil
For it allows me
To find the good
In all people
In all situations;
I fear not homelessness
For I know my soul
Always has a home;
I fear not pain
For I know
Such intense searing wounds
Bring profound healing;
I fear none of this
For I know the many avenues
Of love
Of faith
Of strength
And trust in The Inner Voice
And The Angels
Who surround
And flow through me.

Death?
I know it will come
And I harbor
No fear of crossing over;
For why should The Angels
Desert me then?
They’ve never left me:
It was I who deserted them
When overwhelmed
By the endless desolation
As the fires of hell
Incinerated my life
And purified my soul.

You
Who have loss,
You
Who have pain,
You
Who have suffering;
Yes, I know
You may want to give up on you
When
Instead you should just
Surrender,
When
Instead you should just
Stay the course,
When
Instead you should just
See Your Angels
All around you,
Embrace your miracles,
And become
Your own Badass.

Yes, I know
It is a struggle.
Yes, I know
It is hell.
Yes, I know
You will evolve.

 

© copyright 2016 John David Higham

The Gift (One Year’s Poems)

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With love
I have given
You, Dear Reader,
Glimpses into my soul;
Perhaps even
Glimpses into yours.
In these poems
I have celebrated
The joys of my path,
The trials of my being,
The depth of my spiritual love,
The evil I have evolved beyond.

What adventures
I have revealed
And
You have known
In these letters growing into words
Into lines into stanzas into poems.

Know, Dear Reader,
That these creations
Flow from The Universe
Though me
Onto to the page
Through you.

Thank you
For your eyes,
Thank you
For your words,
Thank you
For this connection
Via these letters, words, lines, and poems
Between the you and the me
In the waking and dream worlds
On our separate journeys.

Thank you
For the gift
That comes with
This poet having been read,
His poetry having been ingested,
His life having evolved into spiritual art.

I wish for you
The Angels
And the bliss,
And the abundance,
And the strength,
And the wisdom
That they bring.

Namaste.

 

© copyright 2016 John David Higham

Last March, Kathy helped me launch my blog, Empathetic Perspective. It has been a wonderful and crazy year in both my waking and dream worlds, it having been characterized by bliss, abundance, and miracles. To celebrate this part of my path, I was recently directed during a meditation session to give the gift of a brief individualized reading to each person following my blog. If you are following it and are interested in receiving this gift, please email me at johndavidhigham@gmail.com for details.

Thank you.

This Journey of Journeys (Seattle to Bainbridge Island Ferry)

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This journey of journeys
I have just taken
Across highways
Slow and fast,
Across the sky,
High and low;
How I laughed,
How I loved,
How I created,
How I evolved.

This journey of journeys
When I spoke,
When I sat in silence,
When I touched LoverWife,
When I meditated,
As numerous worlds
Passed my windows,
Embraced my consciousness,
And flowed through my soul.

This life beyond those lives
I had previously lived;
Those myriad preparations
Which have brought me here.
This me now way beyond me then
Evolved
Past the me,
Past the who
Once along,
Once were
My path;
Their spirits not forgotten
And their lessons not forsaken
Though the latter are memories
And passionate inspiration for
Evolving wisdom,
Evolving adventures
On my journey of journeys.

 

© copyright 2016 John David Higham