Tuesday, March 10, 2015

My Part

I do what is mine to do.
I live true to what is right for me.
I know courage sets me free to be.
I live my life in the highest and best way I know.

What Can I Do?

What is my part to play?
How can I participate?
Where do I fit in?
How can I serve?

What is for the Highest Good?
How do I know what to do?
Where can I join to be helpful?
Why am I here?

Some are here to be helpful.
Some are here to serve others.
Some are here to heal their past.
Some are here to find love that lasts.

For each one of us there is a unique and special reason.
For each one there is a calling to experience what is ours to be and do.
For everyone there is a time and a season.
For everyone there is a right place and way to live and see.

When we go to sleep, hiding under the covers, we cannot see and know.
When we do what everyone else seems to be doing, we forget our selves.
When we sit waiting for an alarm to awaken us, we may never wake up.
When we follow and copy someone else’s path , we may never know our own.

We learn by watching and even studying someone we admire.
We encourage ourselves by imitation and emulating other’s choice.
We free ourselves by being rebellious and even with oppositional defiance.
We explore our own path with freedom to try our other possibilities.

Actors learn to act.
Healers learn to heal.
Parents learn to parent.
Humans learn by acting human.

We all copy others journeys through reading, pretending, admiring and trying it out.
Try out what you want to be.
See if it fits for you.
Explore by volunteering, taking on a project, learning by observing.

Be honest with yourself is all aspects.
Give yourself a big dose and see if it works.
Be honest about what feels happy and right for you.
Step away and choose again when it is unhappy and wrong.

Encouraging our freedom to play the part that is ours.
Betty Lue

Trapped she was in the globe that she'd built for herself
Glass, cool and unrelenting against her palms
Her calls were muted before the infinite blackness.
Inside, her voice grew cold and hollow
As she cried, "What can I do? What can I do?"
She was a solitary passenger hurling around a distant sun,
Orbit upon dizzying orbit,
Dried vomit at her feet,
The panel of stars glowed cold and remote,
And she cried, "What can I do? What can I do?"
Below her the waste of her life piled layer upon layer
Of shattered dreams, cracked hopes, and shit.
She cried and watched as her heart too was flung upon the pile,
Tattered fragments, some still pulsating though void of rhythm,
While she cried, "What can I do? What can I do?"
Somewhere, about eight light minutes away, a star glowed.
And she remembered that she knew something about plants.
She reached into her pockets, and began scattering seeds
Amidst the detrital wasteland that threatened to bury her.
Any seed she could find, she cast like a net
That called, "What can I do? What can I do?"
Fingers of the sun outstretched a ray of warmth on this mound or that,
And her tears moistened the parched earth.
Tiny lives emerged and reached out their hopeful tendrils,
Unfurled themselves into gossamer leaves
And into the light of the naked sun they grew.
And spending themselves, they withered, they withered, they failed.
As they called, in their last breaths, "What can I do? What can I do?"
The girl observed that nothing would survive.
Tears rained onto the mess and she flung her wasted body on top of the mountain of her own decay.
Weeping, she drowned, she drowned, moaning, "What can I do? What can I do?"
And somewhere throughout the decomposition, one tiny green something persisted.
Shaded by the corpse of the girl, its root extended.
Frayed leaves reached outwards
Like tiny hands
That asked, rotating towards the golden light,
"What can I do? What can I do?"
The sun's rays glowed in the incipient leaves.
As the glass orb shone, a halo filled with morning light.
And the new life breathed in and then out,
"What can I do? What can I do?"
To which all the stars twinkled and flashed
Shedding their soft glow in the black night.
Incipient root hairs reached through the soft soil
Guided by the heavenly song of, "What can I do? What can I do?"
On this morning a tender plant stretches into the glass orb
Where the girl once wailed,
And it bathes in the golden dawn that dances upon blessed soil.
And the universe, Ever-present, Ever-emergent, sings,
"What can I do? What can I do?"
Keli Rutan-Jorgensen
March 7, 2015

Inspired by dawn meditation around the Full Moon, and a certain bracelet with the phrase stenciled on it, "What can I do?"