Willin’ (to feel)

by Nicholas Andrea

Late and vulnerable
I asked you, yes I did,
to break this heart and mind
knowing the best lyrics come
from a soul who is lost and
wandering, for a light that ever shines;

yes, the shadows are the place
from which we can create
a longing for something that we must have left
long ago, that
left a scar inside,
when we chose to go;

the feeling of being alone
despite all around me, trees,
their faces showin’

but, alone or not’s an inside game
a movie projected onto the world -
what we see outside and inside are the same;

these cracks in me
God will come and fill them
with a light I can see
so, it was told to me, for real
but such things we do not believe
until them we feel;

that’s just it, isn’t it?
Each person must, their own cross, bear
reveal their heart’s true song
and hope that life, or something, cares;

like a child who took off his acorn shell
one walks this unpaved road
into heaven, or hell;

not to know, that is real
and one can only hope
it’s a good deal.

As I sit and look through these eyes
this face and body don’t lie
there’s still a soft and tender child, inside
who, at some point, tried to run and hide;

far away to go he tried
driven by shame for the vulnerability inside;

but, the truth cannot be denied:
you’re still here, Nicholas
you’re still the same one looking through these eyes;

so, as I walk, today
I’ll regress to a 2-year old state
where wonder filled my perception
and every experience felt
like a life or death proposition;

yea, pure, raw emotion
unquenchable save by complete immersion and devotion
to being who and what I am
a lion and a lamb;

phew, little one, how I’ve left you
hoping you’d just get over it, too,
oh , soft and precious child
you never felt anything mild;

generations of intensity filled
your DNA and spilled
out from the pot of control and onto you
finally, a one born to this lineage who
couldn’t run from the truth,

that there’s work to be done
there’s feelings to be felt
can’t run, can’t run, no
can’t hide in work or stimulation
can’t live life as a simulation;

got to be here, now, true
got to cry for the lord, around you
got to feel hurt when people hurt you
got to show elation when they feed you;

oh child, child in the cave
I know you are brave
and you’re also afraid
come, come forth,
come forth and be saved;

child, this may not mean much
but I love you
like a desert that finally tastes the rain
it’s been missin’ all these years, and needs, again,

I love you, child
I know you feel deep
a gift, truly a gift to keep
I can’t make you do anything
and, I’ll never try
but, I want you to know
you don’t, any longer, have to hide;

I love you, child
the one deep, deep inside.

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The Heartdrop

by Nicholas Andrea

What changes me is that heart drop, that
sinking feeling that leaves my chest vacuous with an emptiness so intense
that it grips my very life, saying, “Wake up, man, you gotta change!”

It is only when that wounded little boy leaves his comfortable abode, his idle sitting place deep within
and screams his name for all to hear
that I see his gold
and what I most dearly need;

Oh, love, as Rumi you wrote once, “The wound is where the light enters you,” and
God, if I don’t expose my stigmata to the world like Jesus,
if I never reveal the truth of my vulnerability, even to my own self,
how can I ever truly be happy?

How can any one
be happy
to safety?

I watch those pundits on TV, you know,
the Dick, Cheney,
and the Boehner (Boner), John,
and the Bush, George, etc.,
how those mislead children take themselves so seriously -
(I guess, they never read the Little Prince);

But they, like my father, and his mother before him,
play the game of self-protection and self-preservation
their craft – the iron shield of bullshit,
and bullshit is made of words
and words are made of thoughts
and thoughts are what we use to avoid our own crucifixion,
to avoid the cutting away of the false self
to reveal the one within, who cannot die;

and so, we cut ourselves off from true life -
for, remember, whosoever would give up his life for the sake of love and truth would find it;

Sadness -
I am that Dick, Cheney,
I am that Boehner (Boner), John,
I am that Bush, George,
that raging liar-to-cover-my-own-ego because the truth is
to admit to myself

and I am that dying grandmother on my deathbed,
suffering so much from ego that any sane onlooker would have to ask, “where, woman, do you still get the strength to fight life?”

and I am that post middle-aged father
drafted into the military as a young man only to witness tragedy dying in my arms,
to later tell myself, “Hey, that’s life,”
(the 5-second cope, you know)
’cause I gotta go
gotta build a life, there’s no
time to slow

down and feel, ’cause I
just might let the raging torrent-of-tears I’ve been holding back since my first breath
come up and drown me;

to, forty years later, still be so
disconnected from that soft spot in the middle of my chest that I’d rather
go up north on Christmas
(for business, you know)
than be with my four-year old
who is doing cartwheels in the living room as she asks, “When’s grandpa comin’ to town?!?!?”

Unless I make a different choice;

Oh and I did, last night, phew! Did I
feel that wound, boy, and found – again -
it’s the only thing that changes a man;

another fella was better at giving my love the presence, the attention, the focus she really desired in that moment;
as she said when asked, “I felt a twinge of attraction when he looked at me so presently”
(a twinge the size of Texas to a bleeding heart, that be);

ooooooooh ahhhhhhh eeeeeeee
the burn!
the heart had an out-of-chest experience and
stopped doing its job of
damming the ocean that normally lives in the belly of this body;

and all that water rushed to fill the chest and the throat, drowning “me,” anyway;

but a fish out of water is like drowning, too
and I was that fish
caught for the killing;

it’s a thrill to be filleted, you know -
to see how inauthentically you’ve been telling yourself, “I got this. I’m NOT just another fish in that sea. God (and a woman, for that matter) love me, especially; I’ll never be caught;”

it’s a thrill -
though not one I particularly care for -
but energy
energy moves through the system, teaching along the way,
is the only thing that learns a man,
for words mean little;

but energy grips us by the balls -
Mother Kali with her fangs -
and oh Boy do we listen
(because we want to keep those balls)

we listen to that father fucker
because becoming a man is initiation into humility, see
accepting that I AM just another fish in the sea,
to God and to the woman beside me;

that is, until I accept that, unconditionally;

then, I become not just another fish in the sea
then, do I rise from my death table, a Lazarus-fish,
and put my guts back into the cavernous
space left empty by the willingness to feel, authentically;

I’ve got my heart back, now
yea, crucified and humbled
but, an arisen Christ
a truer reflection of the one who put it there
than yesterday;

I am

into your eyes, resting
my hand on yours

undistractedly present
with you

your face light up like the Sun as you
share your piece of God with the world –


doing my job as the Man-Christ to support that;

I am

my inner body as I

running through my feet, legs, and spine, and
down into my hands
and into yours, our
the dance of a single energy
playing with forms of “you” and “I,”
like toys;

I am

at you from across the room
our eyes meet at the same time
as if we were
with One Mind
“you” and “I,” symbols for something greater
that underlies us both;

I am
for you.

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This Insane Brain

by Nicholas Andrea

This brain has gone insane
so, I must abandon it for a deeper plane
where an unreasonable peace ensues
and good, bad, right, and wrong collapse into the same;

The relationship has gone bad
with an abundance of mad and sad
and a notable lack of glad,

cause we related only from that brain
that insane brain that seeks only to control, claim;

Can we run, can we hide
can we pretend these problems are not, of us, inside,
that it’s not our own responsibility to
that deep and abiding peace, find?

Egos clash, unceasingly, see
looking for righteousness in one’s own self, relentlessly,
proclaiming, “You should see things my way, because
my pain is greater that yours, I say.”

Yea…who doesn’t have pain
the day they realized they were
separate and alone, again
no longer basking in the blissful warmth of mother’s womb, but
reincarnated, here, onto this plane?

No, ego will never solve these problems,
“I’m right and you’re wrong,” can never
pave the way for relationship harmony to stay, for long
for, how can we sing together when, “I, my, me,” is our only song?

But, to relate from the place of non-duality
finding ourselves standing on the same ground, interconnectedly
where right and wrong cease to be…
is this not the only way to create true connectivity?
Is not trust in this deeper plane where
we are indivisibly connected
the only way to stay sane?

And, how do we access, my friend,
this deep place of grace
where shines our most beautiful face?
How do we live from that
even when conflict beckons our egos to spat
negativities in another’s direction,
futile attempts to change their inner complexion?
How do we plant our tree
in the deepest part of the sea
where, at the bottom, things never change
even while on the surface
they may never stay the same?

I sat quietly, and this is what came:
(Enter your own spontaneous expression of presence, here, OR read on…)

Sitting here, breathing
pausing with each exhale, suspending
thought, awaiting
the next breathe to breathe “me”

and allowing it to, when it comes, naturally;

always suspended, waiting for the next call from
like hanging off the edge of a cliff
holding on with my teeth, to a branch, thin;

Now, the sound of a crow calling, *caw* *caw* (crosses the mirror of mind),
and then silence;

and then another call, *caw* *caw*
and then silence;

and then another call,*caw* *cawwwwwwwwwwww*
but still silence, underneath;

feeling the inner body, now
sinking back, like falling, into Self – how?
A sinking, yes a sinking,
getting low, not high in feeling;

into the lower back, now,
where the hips meet the body, and the breath,
there is an ocean in my belly
tingling, chi pulsing;

feeling it now in my hands and legs and feet,
energy dancing with sweet
delight, animating this vessel of spirit,
so happy to have a body to play with;

Now, opening these eyes
the world looks clearer than before
“I” am more detached, and yet more connected;
“I” am more who I am, therefore,

we have now come to the end
of this, so, let’s self transcend:
how can we be one, friend?
how can we be one?

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Gentle Crescent

by Nicholas Andrea

Gentle golden crescent
Hanging low in the nocturnal canopy, this eve
Reclining like a hammock strung between two trees

How you steal me, tonight
How you pull a broken man from his shell
I asked the Lord to break this heart
and you appeared, a most unexpected savior,
my friend of the ages;

when have you ever let men down
In all these long aeons?

Your golden hue reflects the one that gives light
to all these things, seen
just as the one deep inside this heart
reflects that which that created it;

what does it mean to be created in the image and likeness of the One
and what is the way home to that
if not upon your vessel, mother
the light that travails the
mysteries of the dark?

How can a man such as I
look upon your beauty
and not see his salvation
a sure guarantee?

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by Nicholas Andrea

Today, I will start out, darkening
for I have seen the greatest of joys
to suffering, portending;

see, cause, to “know” is a sin
for, then the cycle begins
’cause all things “known”
have a beginning and an end;

does that sound bleak, does that
on your heart, leave a streak
does it, on your happiness, havoc wreak?

But, you must see it is the thirst
for some outside meaning, that, like the Buddha said,
leads us to the worst;

God is, indeed, a problem, isn’t he
that something exists outside our own I-feeling
gracing or punishing us,
as far as we can see
to which, holy clergy
ascribe so much human meaning;

but, does that mean
there is no truth
upon which we are standing?

What was Neo’s purpose in “The Matrix”
were the Oracle’s words true for him, or just tricks;

and yet, she spoke to him the greatest prophetics, to end all the conflicts:
You’re just going to have to make up your own damn mind, kid, that’s the fix.

How do we make a choice?
Do we need a reason, like Agent Smith thought,
to find our true voice?

One day I made a choice
to follow a blissful voice
a tingling at the base of this spine (I call mine);

it was unreasonable, that is to say
for no other reason than itself, did it tingle, okay -

and I just picked up the guitar and sang all day;

what else can I say?

I have come to watch children play
those wide-eyed little starseeds, doing as they may
with joy, fascination, and unreasonability -
which doth produce no dismay, if so I may say;

thus, I have started to believe in
what a great man had once spoken
to a group of lost men -
that you must become like one of these
to enter the kingdom of heaven;

that same man touched me, once, eight years ago
with his cosmic finger to my brow
and this is what, for it, I had to show:

a peace that surpassethed understanding,
for weeks without my own efforting, because
I simply said yes to unreasonability, unremitting;

and what he spoke to my sobbing soul that day
was these words: “You’re already okay.
There is nothing more the world needs today
than to do what you love and serve others without delay.”

“Go, my son, your liberation is a sure guarantee
to this, I will surely see;

so, with reckless abandon, drop
all thoughts of ‘I, my, me,’
there is nothing else to enlighten to
than this, what you already are, completely.”

And so,
that’s why, this, I write
to myself remind
of that bliss deeper than reason, I did find.

Come, my friend, come
let’s dance with the stars, tonight
let’s you and me, this fire deep within, a-light
let’s paint this town with a love so bright

for no other reason

than to let our hearts take flight;
let us, unreasonably, let our hearts take flight.

Posted in Children & Youth Spirituality, Encounters With Spirit, Expansive Blog, Fun Poems, Inspiration, Intuition, Journal, Love Chronicles, Metaphysics, Poetry, Relationships and Self, Unitarian Universalism, Wisdom from Meditation | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A Message from God

I will never let you fall, don’t worry.

When you find that warm, fuzzy piece of me inside you, then you will know happy relationship with the outside of you. That inner light is already whole, perfect, and complete, and to commune with that is not to depend on the outside world for your happiness. Then instead of ask, “What can I get,” you ask, “What can I give?” What a joyous gift it is, my child, to be so full of me that all you want is to serve others. That is my promise to you.

I yearn for you to become one with that innermost part of you, which is me, in you; for a parent wants nothing more than to be reunited with her children.

Do not worry about where you are. You will never be left and forlorn in a desert of the Spirit. I will speak to you, always, ever beckoning you forth, “Come, take of me and never hunger, nor thirst, again.” And, do not fear about the conditions of your life, about making mistakes. Ever the warm, fuzzy ball of light inside you, that place of perfect completion within and yet deeper than you, will find a way to call you forth to Itself. This is my covenant with you, my child.


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Dancing Leaves

by Nicholas Andrea

Dancing leaves
dancing leaves on the trees
in a swift, morning, autumn breeze;

possessed like whirling sufis
moving, merrily, to the
commands of Allah, verily.

How are we
like those sufi leaves
dancing our daily lives
to the rhythm of the cosmic vibes,

a force, greater
animating all we do, now and later –

is the unseen seen
as something in the world,
we try to be?

As a consolation
to an ego with frustration
who realizes he doesn’t pull all the strings
doesn’t command all these things –

each leaf now before me
dances so uniquely
even if just one wave of wind moving through them all,
there be;

like a symphony
all move in grand harmony,
even when they can’t, that harmony, see
and without each playing its individual part
no symphony would there be.

Thou are That, deary,
thou art that symphony
as one part, played uniquely –

wilt that truth, thou, not shirk
as thou doth the twerk
today at work;

wilt those remember the breeze
as these things she sees
which may bother or elate her,
as she may please;

wilt thou forget about the self, relationally
and dance with the other leaves, around,

Dancing leaves
dancing leaves on the trees
in a swift, morning autumn breeze;

won’t thou be possessed as a whirling sufi
moving today, merrily,
to the commands of Allah, verily,

won’t thou come dance,
together with me
as the symphony?

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by Nicholas Andrea

Here I am, world
walkin’ naked through this town
unclad of intellect
and there is nothing, for, to frown;

Today is the day that I stopped knowing
and found out I could never know again
what even the next moment would bring
where these steps will carry me;

and that just makes me fall in love with everything -
that gal, that man,
this gingko tree that here doth stand;
and so long have I missed this,
that I beckon you: come here, let me just give you a kiss!

The small me has found its place
in the passenger seat of this chariot
while the deeper, larger, Christly One
has taken complete command of it;

Guided by a deeper authenticity
a raw energy running through this body
tingles through my spine, face, and hands
like electricity, electricity!

These eyes grow brighter
with a warm, fuzzy inner light
illuminating all I see
during the day and even at night;

A fool, a fool
that is all I seek to be
so please, my friend don’t make me
put these clothes back on, O please!

I don’t know what
this life is meant to be
where this next breath will carry me, I am
just fully present and listening
to a knowing deeper than knowing
guided by an embodied truth
that never lies or stops flowing;

Love, love the streets of this world
they need to hear your name, so
I sing my song, O! I sing my song,
Love, I do proclaim!

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Just the Stone

by Nicholas Andrea

I woke up this morning
feeling sad
sitting in a dark place
looking at the cold stone of this world;

and I saw me, and the stone;

Lord, this wound, oh Lord, this wound!
it just never seems to heal,
like a God-shaped piece
missing from the puzzle of my heart
that can only be filled by One,
One, who left it there, indefinitely,
to remind one to never stop longing
for the Presence,
of One;

but, when I sank into that hole,
that whole hole,

when I sank and felt,
a boat of such meaning emerged,
like a gift from that One
beckoning one to come, come home

and I stepped onto that boat
and it carried me, the boatman,
down a river to a Grand Ocean;

and when I got there
I jumped in,
and I, I
just melted, I
just melted
into this;

and I looked up,
and no longer saw me;

just the stone.

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Life and Death

by Nicholas Andrea

Life and death
a cosmic joke,
a spirit comes and
a spirit goes,

pretends for a little while
not to know, and
finds itself in the
throes of woes.

But, if that fact we really know
how, differently, would we choose
what, and how we do, the dance of life -
or how we express the Muse?

This moment
What do we see,
is it timeless and eternal
never beginning and never ending,
or are we, by this, deceived?

A cat once died and a woman cried
a suffering for, perhaps,
believing a lie,
not that she could avoid it;
to have flesh is to see, limited.

But I, I thought about that woman
and I, too, cried
until I saw something
and went from cry to laugh,
did I -
the absurdity of the dream
for which there is so much suffering…

Why do we do it,
forget to intuit
the timeless wholeness
that we are?
Why do we walk this world,
unable and unwilling to see, afar,
asleep like a dead animal, that
long ago, fell into the pits of tar?

I cannot for sure say
anything on the matter
but for this, today:
we fell asleep and dreaming
separation from all this, real, seeming
only that one day
we may again awake
and see it’s all okay;
only that one day we may
do as, today, did I:
go from laugh, to cry.

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