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The Present of Presence

January 18, 2022

The Present of Presence

By Amba Gale

You have learned
   your lesson
   in the last while,
   a December like no other,
   when, like an Irish curragh
   on a rough sea
   as you left one pilgrim island
   and rowed to the next,
   the boat capsized
   and there you were
   in the ten – foot waves
   and the rough seas,
   fighting for your soul.

Yes.

You Saw
   what you needed to see:
   the power and necessity of Alertness,
   of Presence,
   without which
   you are asleep,
   without which
   you will flail in the water,
   and could, perhaps, even, crash on the rocks underneath you,
   and drown forever
   in a bad dream of your own making.

Never forget
   the sharp and jagged
   rocks are always there, underneath
   the surface of the sea,
   and the sea is waiting
   to swallow you up
   wholeheartedly
   in its cold and frightening water.

Only
   With Presence
   and Alertness, the bride of Presence,
   can you row your little sturdy, wooden boat
   to your far shores.

Imagine
   that the madness comes upon you once again,
   followed by Fear and Desperation.

Only, this time,
   Presence arrives
   at your door, knocking,
   asking to be let in,
   like a great gift,
   a constant guest,
   a Teacher, a Spirit,
   out of time for all time.

Accept
   this gift gladly.

Presence is your Path to Peace.

Additional Poetry

September 26, 2023

Surrender

Let go and love the way the world turns. Be with it. Allow it. Notice it. Even, embrace it. When you rail against it, you become part of the same energy that stopped the flow at the beginning. Be the holder of it. Know that it, too, has a destination to, finally, merge as one with all. Listen deeply to your heart inside and those things you know are anciently true. Trust in your essential wisdom to lead the way. The world is in flux. You will find your way. “All things must pass.” Let them go. May I be…

September 12, 2023

Presence

Dancing in the water, the bright orange sun winks at me through the branches of the pine. The ceiling falling is nothing, being present to such beauty.

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