The written word,
My fingers,
Across a page,

Creating a circle of
Conscious energy
Out of inner wandering.

Moving in spontaneity,
Springing from
Unseen worlds,
Giving my mysteries a voice.

Sometimes of pain,
Sometimes of Joy,

And always moving,
Needing to rush
Upon the page

With mind
Drenched in
A Well of feeling,

Connected,
Even in all separate angles
Of the circle.

Visiting hours
As many voices
Gather around
The edges of self.

Slowly releasing the limits of
A life in hiding,
Walking into day
With all who wish
To live.

Writing a dance
With partners
Who leap
And twirl
And roll
And twist
With me,

Who yield
And cry
And long
And love
And roar
And wish to end everything
And wish to begin everything.

Who have been starved
For a voice,
For light,
For someone to hear them.
Who dream of rejoicing,

I hold out my pages
As a prayer,
An invocation.
My words search for trust,
Always trust,

To be held so dearly
In deep consideration
And heart response.

It is a great gift
That changes everything.

I hold these pages
Out to you
But mostly
To myself.

So I may recognize
The Peace of acceptance,

A soul that belongs,
And finally embraces
A deep and open Life.