Now Is The Time To Be Led

Last night was my first appearance as an author with an opportunity to share poetry from my new book That Which Arises. I saw it going down so differently than it did last night. I expected to make love with everyone in the room. Instead I attempted to prevail over the Noise……not heeding the delicious vibrational prompt in my soalr plexus as I stepped on the stage that said, “Step back off Now.” Instead, I attempted a hostile takeover of the room with my voice. It’s time to read this autopoietic poem again…

Now Is The Time To Be Led

Does the river know what lies beyond its bend? Can we know when our life on earth will end? Does the migrant bird know the way from here to there? Only right now. Now is not the time for knowing. Now is the time to be led.

Is it wrong or right? Is it black or white? Oh this need to know oppresses my soul. I can only know the way that I’m to go, Only right Now. Now is not the time for knowing. Now is the time to be led.

When I’ve lost my way, when from the path I stray. When I am confused and don’t know what to choose…I can see the light, the next step for me that’s right…only right now. Now is not the time for knowing. Now is the time to be led.

From That Which Arises: The Autopoietic Poetry of Ani Ahavah. 

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The shape shifting One

Today I found myself in my kitchen wishing I had a search engine to find my fly swatter. I don’t know how to find it except by rummaging through all the cabinets and cubby holes in the kitchen…with a flash light.

The frickin’ computer is smarter than me. It could find it in two seconds if it were inside a computer. What do you think that does to my self esteem? The bottom drops out of it . . . and when it does, I find something amazing happens.

I enter an infinite field of a grand organic design where Grace arises within me…and picks me up…from the bottom of my self esteem and lifts me to see I to I with GOD. What a privilege.

So meanwhile back in the kitchen, I’ve still lookin’ that fly swatter…


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“Outposts” on a journey

I am a pioneer…staying a while at outposts I create…along a journey of transformation.  None of the outposts I build are my destination – inspired wonderful work perhaps, or hitting bottom, or publishing a book, or bringing “the” answer to the world – all of these are just outposts I create . . . on a journey to who I am as love in this now moment of life exactly as it is. 

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Autopoietic Friends 

I need a friend, friends, I can speak with – more than one – for I wear out any one friend…with the power, the calling, the passion, that is emerging from my soul that SEES my/our Becoming happening, like the rest of Nature – by constant approximations, partial realizations and temporary successes. I can only follow my own “autopoietic” dynamics of “self-creation” with courage, clarity and grace for my stumbling manner, and hope to be consciously entangled with many others along the way doing the same. Life desires to be outrageously, empathetically, joyfully, creative in Its expression as us.

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My Reality

Imagination is future tense – true north

Awareness is present tense – now

Conditioning is past tense – former

As witness and creator, I focus true north now and let the former go.

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Natural Organic Wonder

I will set my clock
to awaken to Holy Morn

in the morn as an embryo

then crawl on my belly ike a baby

then be a Bridge . . . then

Stand tall in my amazing Body

on purpose . . .

with unlimited potential . . .

and limitless possibilities . . .

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Easter in the Desert, 2015

I sat in his tomb of resurrection . . .

I stood at the opening to Lazarus, Mary and Martha’s dwelling . . .

I recognized the hill of Golgotha in the background over the bus station in Jerusalem . . .

I swam in the water on which he walked . . .

I’ve felt the devastation of man’s inhumanity to man, disrespect of Nature and disregard of God. I know the agony of abandonment.

I am yoked with him in every burden and impossible situation.

Every dark night of my soul, fades in the light of the risen Son.

In that light, I live today and always.

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