Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Artist: Unknown, This idyllic setting is where we'll someday retire.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Poetry: Untitled

Amidst the Stygian sky
I see a silhouette of a branch; one of several gnarled fingers
extending furthest into the inky opaque - upward.
An ambitious appendage.
Two feet beneath its niggardly fingertip
is the southernmost point within which a leaf cluster is bound.
The leaves,
you can tell their tops from bottoms;
it is as if they are illuminated from beneath.
Their belly's are pale and infrequent,
amidst the several that are cloaked and entwined.
Here, two feet from the top,
and just beneath the cluster,
there is a bright shape that seems the size of a leaf;
it looks like a leaf.
When the branch from which all others in the cluster stem
is steadiest;

When the wind rests;
I am almost convinced that the shape is in fact a leaf
affixed to a branch;

Monday, February 24, 2014

On Interior Space (Sanctuary)

Words can hurt. However, only to the extent that we allow them to. If someone says something critical or hurtful, ask yourself: Is it true? If so, acknowledge & address this. If not, pay it no mind. In both instances you'll grow.

Sometimes we obsess over what's been said, whether it's true or not. When someone cuts us with words our thoughts might be: "How can they say such things? They haven't the right to do so! How inconsiderate of them to do so! They are a [this] or [that]! They'll get what's coming to them." In this instance we have amplified the effect of their hurtful words.

When we recall and replay such mind chatter we allow the incident to happen over-and-over again within ourselves; we give it a home in our head & heart - the cut deepens and the wound festers. However, if what is being said is not true, let it go. Evict it from both head & heart, and you will not be ruled by it - the cut proves superficial and the wound heals.

Short Story: 'The Lovely Langolier'

I’d grown irritated – perhaps jealous even – by how everyone would always compliment her on her open-mindedness. I asked her, "How can these people think you’re open-minded when you refuse to consider the possibility of any of their ideations being the only true road to their Gods, Goddesses, Sacred, or Source? To this possibility you've clearly remained closed."

She paused, as if to gather her thoughts, and replied, "I have listened to and watched them. I have lived with and learned from them. I've asked and was allowed to do so, and they asked for nothing in return. My openness was welcomed by their openness, and we all benefited from the experience of this openness."

She continued, “As different as people's thoughts and practices might be - as divided as their labels, names, or boundaries might convince you of their being - their spirits are unmistakably adjoined. They love, they suffer, and they live. We all love, suffer, and live...together."

On Spirituality

One's journey through or to The Sacred is intimate. For me, it cannot be categorized, contained, supervised, or systematized. It is as it is, for each to experience as it occurs—a truly personal event. I am not here to persuade (proselytize, recruit, or reform), but to absorb, appreciate, experience and reflect. For me, all are Love and Loved. It is to this that I ascribe the utmost importance. It is the attitude that I've assumed, and as such the reality that I am amidst and inextricably a part of. So, I am grateful for Life, and for the opportunity to experience it as human 'being', brimming with Love.

Be Well, Loved Ones...

Albert

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Poetry: 'Womban'

Two years and three months ago Life conspired in an unimaginable way, bringing me back together with my biological mother, five brothers & sisters, and ten nieces & nephews. I was adopted at just four days old. Yesterday was my Mother's birthday. Today I was inspired (by many things, to include RasLumbre Jeremy), and wrote the following. Love your Mother(s). Love each other.

To my wonderful Mother:
You are Womban. You are Queen.
You are a sacred vessel - 

A channel through which Life was made,
A consecrated trestle.
You were chosen, as were we.

You are temple within which
The Sacred, Truth, and God exist.
You are gift. You are Love. And, this...
without you, as we do, six lives would not persist.
God's favor rests upon you, all born-of-you: fortunate.
Life's fiat you did not ignore or selfishly resist.
You could have chosen differently.
You could have just declined.
Yet because of who you've been, here I write you to remind...
that had you not the heart & mind,
your offspring's lives, to include mine,
could have been yours to rescind;
potential scattered in the wind,
but instead here we stand, alive to realize...
that breath, not death, is what you've been.
A blessing in our eyes - A sun admist our skies!


I love you, Queen Lourdes. I acknowledge God's presence within you with each breath I take. My hope is that you will Love yourself as much as we Love You. Thank you for my Life (our Lives). Happy Birthday, Mother!

Your Robert G. Lumiano