I Don’t Know You (But I Believe in You)

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I don’t know you
But I believe in you
Not because I’m being flirty
Or because I want you to like me;
My faith in you arises from seeing the you
That you can’t or won’t allow yourself to see.
That you can’t or won’t allow yourself to embrace:
I sense your greater self in your words, your gestures, your eyes
And know that soon you will look in your soul’s mirror.

I don’t know the details of your pain
But I know that you will heal
Not because I can’t deal with your trauma
Or because I am an incurable optimist;
My faith in you comes directly from the you
That has healed so far beyond others who have succumbed
To pains so much lesser than what you have sojourned through.

I don’t know your face
But I know that it will soon own a smile
Not because I want you to be fake or insincere;
My faith in you comes from sensing your child-like innocence and hope
That is alive and vibrant at the innermost core of your soul.

I don’t know your fears
But I know you will render them useless
Not because I have an agenda for you;
My faith in you comes from knowing you through your vibration
And seeing The Angels all around you waiting to give you bliss.

I don’t know your hopes
But I know you will realize them
Not because I dismiss your obstacles;
My faith in you comes from knowing the you
That can survive and thrive and become
Even more open to manifesting miracles.

I don’t know how to teach you
But I know that you will continue to learn
Not because I am bored or uninspired by you;
My faith in you comes from sensing in you
That your wisest teacher is in your mirror
And that your brightest pupil is in your shoes.

© copyright 2016 John David Higham: All Rights Reserved

Photo: Reflections (Poulsbo, WA: 3/16)

Finding the Twelve (Becoming the Thirteen)

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Upon awakening,
Not with my body, but with my soul
When the sunrise not only painted yellow
The gray belly of the clouds but also exposed
That beauty in the darkest of my day.

What miracle must dislodge me from this holding cell
As I live on the edge of one life ready to jump ‘cross a chasm
To the next? What miracle allows me to bid goodbye to so many past lives
Refusing to crossover, their reminders lining my way like polite ghosts
That excuse themselves when I accidentally bump into them?

Finding the twelve, yes, as that will make me the thirteen. I look for them
In the soft eyes of those patient ghosts: I’ve told them that they won’t
Be coming along except in nostalgic memories held in now fading pictures
Of people, places, and things of lives I’ve finished living so long ago.

Rising from my soul’s bed, I set out to find the twelve like jurors
Picked to judge all my life up to this point: See them sitting on their chairs?
The Father, The Son, The Mother, The Fool? See them given absolute
Judgment of all I was as they alone determine all I will ever be
From their daily verdicts onward?

Twelve I need walking into my life in perfect order,
A most rewarding combination to unlock all my potential
And free me from my darkest delusions of self-doubt and worry:
I need them to march in as six perfectly-matched couples
Though I know that all will be as it must be I pray, indeed,
That they will be exactly as I know, exactly as I predicted,
Exactly as they should march down that aisle in the chapel
To be wed on a special day that only the twelve and I know about,
Making me the thirteen.

Do you know those perfect twelve pairing into a perfect six,
Making me the thirteen? Such worlds beyond math transmutating
With chanting: I find such solace here upon awakening building
In hope that such an evolution would ripple through my consciousness
As it upends my corporeal world on this day that must be the day when
Miracle of miracles takes place and I am accelerated even faster
The rocket that I am and have been and will always be.

See, thirteen is the number of death, of change, of revolution, of moving on,
Of moving beyond all that was and is no longer but has still managed to find its way
Around my soul like tenacious vines intertwined and permeating my being.
Death to this time, to this waiting life will come and is coming though will not
Announce itself until I have found those twelve and have myself become the thirteen.
Then the endings will end, the beginnings will begin, and the waiting life
Will become nothing more than another hovering ghost offering polite excuses.

© 2017 by John David Higham: All Rights Reserved
Photo: Curve in Winter Rain (Liberty, PA 1/12/17)

On This Road I Walk

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On this road I walk,
I saw a mountain
That was such a mountain
That was a barrier
That was a wall,
It
Stopping me from moving
Stopping me from living
Stopping me from being.

On this road I walk
I saw a cloud
That was such a cloud
That was a darkened crown
That was a Night Angel,
It
Stopping me from breathing
And filling my mind
With thoughts of retreating
With thoughts of failing
With thoughts of surrender.

On this road I walk
I saw the sun lighting
That was such glowing lights
Breaking through the gray veil,
It
Melting away my fear
Melting away my surrender
Melting away my failure
Until this mountain
Until this cloud
Until this road
Was
Once again
Mine.

On this road I walk
Mountain,
Cloud,
And sun
Guide me this day
Guide me this path
Guide me this life.

© 2016 by John David Higham: All Rights Reserved
Photo: White Christmas 2016 (Thunder Mountain, Sedona, 12/25/16)

I (The Artist)

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I (The Artist)
Know this world
Inside my head
Fueled by dreams
That ignite my soul.

I (The Artist)
Live in worlds
Handed me in bits
And pieces
And dreams
And scents
And distractions
And sounds
And wide-eyed faces
Caught in the passing smiles
And muted giggles
Of joy
I join into
With each flutter
Of my fingers
On this keyboard
On this literary dance floor
From which all my glories
Wash over
All those damned distractions
I must call life.

I (The Artist)
Laugh at my follies
And silly pursuits
As decades pass
And allow me to
Know living
Know connection
Beyond ambition
In those moments when
Word and I and Reader are one
As all those readers know
The union of reader and word
Render all else insignificant.

© 2016 by John David Higham: All Rights Reserved
Photo: Writer’s Paradise (Windfall, 12/18/16)

These Wings

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These wings
That carry me
Are not mine
Though they are of
My body,
My mind,
My soul.

Those pains
That ached
Are no longer mine,
Now just shedding skins
Creating rainbows
As they fall to the ground
With every magical wave
Of my feathery appendages.

Mother
Father
Sister
Brother;
I am all
I am more;
I am none
I am less
And no one, too.

Footprints four
Footprints two
No longer in sand
No longer chiseled
On Earth’s bedrock;
They made a path
Of my past,
But not my present,
But not my future.

These wings
Instead make prints
Across endless sky,
Through glowing rays,
And calming ascendance…

 

© Copyright 2016 by John David Higham

Picture: Windfall Sunset August 22, 2016

The Universe Told Me (The Droplet)

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The Universe told me
To contemplate
The numerous miracles
Of the droplet.

Though it can fall for infinity
And land with a splat,
It is not destroyed.
It can be absorbed
Or, if rejected
Finds its way across a surface
While simultaneously
Gently wearing it away.

Heat does not destroy it,
Instead transforming it into steam, into vapor
So that it may become airborne
And carried about by the winds,
Its evolution creating the beauty of mist rising,
Rainbows and clouds.
Indeed, it can become fog

Cold turns it into an expanded substance
That breaks through all confining prisons.

It has the power to suffocate fire
While being necessary for all life;
Partnering with air and sun
To help make things grow.

Under pressure it flows, its strength
Gathering with each additional drop around it,
Having the power to gouge great channels
In solid rock.

It gracefully accepts the shape of its container
Though always finds its way through
Even the smallest of openings.

It flows naturally toward other droplets
To help create creeks, streams,
Rivers, bays, and oceans possible only
When they are in the same exact spot.
The Universe taught me
To become the droplet;
To splat,
To flow,
To transform,
To break through,
To suffocate flames that harm,
To nurture,
To partner,
To be,
To accept,
To find my way,
To merge.

 

© Copyright 2016 by John David Higham

Photo: Anniversary View at Niagara Falls (May 10, 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)

 

 

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

Last Night (I Asked the Angels)

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Last night
Before slumber
Calmed my body and soul,
I asked
The Angels
To
Please grant me
More strength
Than I need,
Please grant me
More love
Than I deserve,
Please grant me
More patience
Than I’ve ever known,
And
Please grant me the persistence
Of the ocean,
The gentleness
Of the deer,
The power
Of the horse,
The spirit
Of the eagle,
And
The secrets
Of the lynx.

Angels, I said,
In this way
I will know and follow
My path
Through the sunniest day
And the darkest night,
Through love and war,
Celebration and grief,
Immersion and detachment,
Commotion and silence.

I then slept so
Soundly,
Awakening
To find all the gifts
I had needed:
Nothing more,
Nothing less.

 

 

© copyright 2016 John David Higham