Destiny—Do I Have One
The heart’s ears listen to the earned lyrics
move you like a tornado,
eating everything in its path,
while the brain stokes the fires of passion.
That is destiny.
The mind sprints through time and space
shuffle the cards dealt at its table.
The wait for Spirit’s hand
lurks in the dealer’s cut.
That is destiny.
The body walks, skips, runs, tries to avoid
the daily lessons
that flow from the ocean of love and mercy,
often stumble into divine presence.
That is destiny.
But the soul watches and waits
for a balance beam
to ride the waves of the wind.
Checks the status of heart, mind and body,
assesses readiness to make a pact
with harmony
and if the light and sound dance
with passion,
Soul catches a wave,
pulls heart, mind and body along.
And you ask the question,
Do I have a destiny?
Spirit answers,
you are on the way home.
That is destiny.
When I reflect on all the places
my booths have touched this lifetime,
I feel the steam of gratitude
in the dampness of my shirt.
The rain falls in bouquets,
a healing massage against my face.
A howl of wildness invokes my
vocal cords with freedoms cry.
That is destiny.
And when the cranes
scope the landscape
against a turquoise sky
vaulted by muscular clouds,
I know a rhythm greater than myself
leads me on the pathway.
I write down the walls
the story
that is
my destiny.
© Teresa E. Gallion Monday, February 28, 2011
08 Standing at the Feet of Zion.mp3
Standing at the Feet of Zion
(Zion National Park Utah)
The walls of Zion
raise their heads toward eternity,
quietly pulling us into its bosom.
The walls ripple with brown sugar, chocolate heat,
red cinnamon, caramel and orange cream.
Ruby red seeps through amber walls
and mossy greens burst open into floral bouquets
spreading their legs in the sunlight.
Pine needles romp across the foothills
dusting the slick rock with sweet scents.
Tears of the weeping walls nurture colorful posies
hanging and holding tight.
A virgin river works magic in the green valley,
sometimes quietly and sometimes in violent tantrums
that command boulders to leap from cliff sides
and form new communities beside the river.
Rock climbers cling to towering walls
inching their way up like ants with a mission,
marching upward on Zion.
Emerald pools drip one into the other with a melody
that holds memories of a thousand years.
Close your eyes and look into the past.
See the ancient ones and hear ritual drums
Play sacrificial lyrics that float in the wind
blessing the earth on which we stand.
A festival for the eyes, ears, feet, heart and
soul,
Zion beckons us to come in for an intimate experience.
The energy of this space grabs and holds gently.
What a perfect name Zion.
© Teresa E. Gallion 2003
This poem is on my CD: On the Wings of the Wind.
13 Maple Leaf.mp3