Harvest poem from our check in
This is Chris' harvest poem, capturing the essence of our personal reasons for coming.
Why it matters that I am here…
My key chain helps me remain at balance
especially when the day ends and my friends have not heard the roar
that takes us to a more extended friendship more intentional impressions
that reveal our centres, show us our mentors, tune attitudes to gratitude
bring us into relationship with earth, God, easy others,
that which mothers a sense of what matters.
We are tuned into what charges us up, plugs us in, powers us on,
illuminates wellness, the deep well that flowers within us, a flame
that flickers with the energy of acceleration, brings the magic of the real
flitting into being.
My grandfather's teachings point to the conditions that force us
to honourable resourcefulness, trading fuel for milk, feeding our need
for a spectacle, a show, but what really flows is a slow growing,
a diverse knowing of our totemic going.
Small and simple tools, carried in a small and simple bag,
hope that comes from small rules, tagged with a gem of a life
held in a global web, a noble dying in the service of trying
to find resonance in a gee, a cool insight coming from a coming discovery.
We are held together by threads loosely connected streaming wisdom
through the weaving of our believing in each other and our paradoxical wizardry,
poetry and hip-hoppery and contemplative ministry.
I am encircled by a nine pointed star, a unity that brings us into community
that which brings us into proximity, a blending of energy, a brown belted gi
something that links our facets towards a centred pattern,
more beautiful in the middle than at any one edge,
reminded not to hedge my bets
on what I have already done, for I stand on those shoulders
nearer the sun, close to the sons of those who seek connection
a nexus of generation, talismanic recreation.
We are actually together all the time, precious treasures from the deep
held in the heart space, measured by the grace of transformation
played by the aces of examination, imagination community and creativity,
honouring the broken chalice that calls us
to hold what we can, even if we don't know how to gracefully face whatever
flows when we are broken open.
What are you grateful for? Food that comes to me when someone has something to say
or connects in a different way, insight that longs to be gathered and worn
that gives us options for those that are born to us who inspire and tire us
and invite us to become someone we never knew we could be.
Time to sound the conch shell, to hear what is contained in the deeply wound
channels of space, the messages that come around and around
calling us to a glistening listening, to a sweet life of buzzing and
dancing, that grieves when the beauty is cut out, but which has
the foresight to save it for a story.
There is no sweeter place to grow
than hanging from a rock or being unsowed seeds
pure potential coming home to the om that knows
creation and collaboration and the opening that is forever held when
a single breath creates a delicate bulb of glass.
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