Author: cborsello

Jersey Girl, born on the beach.

Sanctuary

If churches had no doors

would the gods come out among the people?

curious to see how that other half lives

having heard so many bizarre tales.

Each of us would know them differently

disbelief never stopped a god…

would the people discover churches

their lean acoustics

the affinity for sound, the hard benches

bouncing it into distortion.

yet even so, the perfect place for anonymous speaking,

for stealth-level sharing.

some might become coffee houses…or libraries

All the prayers, the dreams of hope & glory

— everyday glory that is —

rising up, scenting the fresh air of ideas.

Would the gods visit other churches?

Ringing a familiar steeple bell as calling card

or wander pastures, playgrounds, parklands?

Who among them would you recognize?

Who among us would they know?

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Poems In A Jar

Dedicated to my sister, Teri, who died on her 80th birthday last January – R.I.P.

THIS LITTLE BAG OF SINS

Keeps me from heaven

You see, it will not cross the sill

My feet are sore from walking

My fingers clenched with Will

I’ve left it by the roadside

      Several times, many miles

But it found its way through mirrors

      Devious with wiles

This bag of small wrongdoings

      Heavier than lead

Weary years of travel

      For what?!? These all are dead.

I sat a while longer

      Just watching heaven’s lights

A wretch in rags & sandals

      A refugee of night

A passing angel called me

      I wakened with a start

“I’ve something here to give you.”

      Then he handed me my heart

That movement took a lifetime

      As he stood, he took my hand

I turned to find Forgiveness

      In a pyramid of sand.

~~1/25/22   carol borsello

DINOSAURS WERE A RUSSIAN PLOT

Nah, they just jumped off an asteroid, see?

Or maybe Nibiru

Tough old hides rolling down valleys

Clearing off nature

After glaciers allowed eggs

Bigger was better, they surmised

That they ruled was no surprise

The mystery of their demise

A patchworked web of compromise

Enough for me that they are gone!

Where once they rolled, I make my home.

POEMS ARE SO MUCH FUN!

They climb out one by one

Looking around before coming aboveground

Their bodies well-rounded

Identities impounded

Compounded, surrounded

They shake themselves off

And put on their hats

They walk through the Earth

But yo, I never worry

The kids are all fine

It’s Mom who’s more usually out of her mind.

EACH DAY DECANTED

Of fine spirits

Distilled by masters

Trod upon by maidens with purpled feet

A day rides the border of night

To that same eastern horizon

Then swarms uphill

Touching everything

With fingers trusting life

TOO YOUNG

For a gun

He used his words instead

We prayed

He slayed

His road still made of lead.

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Tabula Rasa to Rosetta Stone

TABULA RASA to ROSETTA STONE

My heart is a water-walker

Knowing fire comes before air or earth

Without knowing how it knows.

All runes writ on inner walls.

I still believe clichés too well.

Worn truths for campfire nights.

So much disappears when ravens must be masked

Rumor has no brakes, careening.

We live history because we are that,

We pass through time in slick shadows

Claiming less & less responsibility.

All those fingers pointing at me…

No way to choose what was mine,

Or clean it up.

I hear they have snow on tap in Hell

But you have to order regret on the side.

We are all still dancing

Long beyond the musicians fallen asleep.

STATIC

Scattered static, poor reception

Stories of emotional electrical storms

All natural & delivered fresh to your door.

Sometimes I’m sitting in that

1950’s Matrix kitchen,

Linoleum & chrome, aprons on a hook

A bowl of cookies on the counter.

They should make churches of kitchens

Each cabinet a chapel.

ALWAYS EARLY

I think I incarnated fifty years too early

I may have rushed it a little

But I know me – even on the Other Side

I was twitching the curtains to see…

I just kept showing up

Till they let me in,

A kind of standby thing.

I didn’t get much advance notice

Just the part I’d be a girl.

I hopped on board,

Folding a note to the wing-footed messenger

“Tell them I’ve left, okay?”

MERCY

All of us breathless from the chase

Set upon like lemmings rounded up & running

For the cliff

Laughing out loud

At the rush of the madding crowd.

NEW MEXICO

My friend declares she’s done her “goathead yoga” for the day

Bending from the hips since knees have to consult on standing.

I found it a grand description!

My flipflops are spiked like golf shoes

Along with rattlers, the reason for all those Tony Lamas.

FORWARD

The kaleidoscopes have clicked, another paisley scene

Passes for reality in one eye only

SERIOUS CAMOFLAGE

Central Control never got to center

Tho I passed for rational at the time.

Barriers retreat: Clarity flips on the spotlights

Finding there’s no going back anymore

And probably never was despite the muddy reviews.

There was another opening line I had

But by the time I found paper ‘twas

Fled, like a deer to a bark

While I turn in circles on silvered toes.

TENTHS

It’s the tenth of the month: time to

Start its liquefaction.

Months march in on single digits

Upright & meaningful

But this is where they pick up speed.

Days can drizzle or pour, some

Snapping shut to disappear entirely.

I am busily escaping this meme of Time

Wherein clock hands feel around for my fate

I am busily unfolding DNA,

Making room for the light coming in.

HMM

I can pinch that last nerve of yours

Like a new mosquito bite announcing itch

I’m hell-bent on being who I am

Clear enough for transparent to lean in

I grasp that slippery slab of dawn

Two-handed, and a yank

Brings it to my face

Smelling morning up close

Mine is the Last Word

The very last.

YESTERDAYS

I walked the beach at this hour, turning up

Shells & sandcrabs

Hiding my shoes under the pier for later.

The morning bypassed curtains altogether,

Entering my room without knocking

Breathless in its message: Get up! Get up!

Into my suit & out the door I fled

The two of us, giggling at daybreak

Opening doors in the house of silence

Out the door, down the steps

Snagging a towel from the rail en route.

Sweep the kickstand back, mount up

Five blocks from the sea

I hear the shush & boom

Only a dune away.

WHATEVER IT IS, IT’S INTENSE

Dipped in morning

Held by one heel from total immersion

Nonetheless, redolent of early

Standing in my tiny kingdom yard

Playing peekaboo with the risen sun.

IT’S USELESS!

I cannot write everything!

Not the curl of air along my cheek

The ant I brush from my arm,

The clouds fitted into the puzzle-blue sky

How good it feels to breathe.

The pacing of the cat by the door.

Things before important

No longer apply

Lives of brown mountains &

Fairy-tale seaspray

An aloha of life.

The fabulous bouquet of memory & mercies

A seven-decade life to recall & restate

Well-written refinements of

Monasteries & memories.

SANDALS & BALL GOWNS

I’ve talked myself off cliffs

Out of foolish love affairs

My own counsel was wise

If ignored.

Saving change for the next time

I pass a gumball machine

Heading to where morning is enough

To satisfy the day.

SIMPLIFY

Embarked upon the most complex of journeys

Making my way through good & evil

Trapped in conundrum, peeling away heartbreak

For more speed

Entranced & endlessly so.

The invisible ongoing a most elusive route

Let alone a destination to be had

I would be a ridge runner

If I could climb mountains.

MORNING

God’s second chance or ten millionth

Embellished in daylight

Fringed in shadows

The soul skipping along,

A basket over its arm to collect magic.

AGAIN: THE WIZARD’S LIGHT

I watch the plants

Turning east to beginnings

Coming into view

Refining darkness

Silhouettes becoming solid

Profligate in green

The trees assume definition.

I have too much terminology

Little enough experience

A liquid comfort zone to float upon.

Once a neighbor, walking our common yard

Looked at me in the lawn chair, still-sitting.

“Are  you watching the laundry dry?”

He asked incredulously.

I smile now as then,

All these years later to think

I may have glimpsed my Life’s Purpose in that minute.

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Calendar Times

My friend gave me Seven Calendars

Added to the four from her last month,

Gives me 12 years to live – a life a month

Both a cram & a vivid adventure

January sees me as The Beginner

A six energy after the tests of the five,

Building the stability of four

February will see me shucking shackles

Finding my Fearless Suit, amen.

Taking it out to check it over.

March will find me serving the wind

Standing, as webs are wick’d away

Arms up, as in a test pattern for flight.

April puts me on the chocks

Feet already poised to run downhill

Arms braced to push forth into speed.

May is Permission Month, I face the mirrors

Checking each reflection for any flinch

Seeing none, I shall start divesting.

June sets the flight pattern

Ablaze across a hemisphere

My breath exhales to explore it.

July sets a backpack of heat

Across my cool plans, these meld

Like good peppermint bark with red sprinkles.

August shares me with the moon

Introductions all around

Handshakes, offers of maps.

September sets an 11 upon me:

I’ve lived thru the ten: rebirth permits

Starting over in Spirit Time as a One.

October farewells all that went before

“Sayonara,” she calls

Syllables on the wind.

November flexes haunches to spring

To leap the now-familiar moon

To launch beyond it to the stars.

December sips wassail in the sleigh

Where overhead beams Heaven

Our sole road Home.

The Next World

In the last 30 seconds of the bifurcated moment,

the ones ticking down as I exhale

I forget there may be meaning in this life

I float to the rafters where ever-afters

Have lodged themselves as breathed-out dreams.

I realize the mine of my life is up to me:

I built this pier I stand upon

Plank by plank.

I watch the night

Where darkness never happens

For starbursts pulsing over

I sent my mind in questing

But my heart leaped free instead.

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We No Longer Live in Lack

WE NO LONGER LIVE IN LACK

but in the fullness of love & a loving presence within ourselves & hovering just beyond. Our Higher Self is plugged in, checking the connection, watching the feed.

Anything good coming up? Something I can toehold onto here, & lift us up more? Get a glimpse of what my Higher Self is up to?

(I see her doing the same as me, yeh? Only on a classier level, like in white rooms. In fact, the Higher Selves? They’re hooked in together all the way to Source (think of all the plugs coming out of that Throne! 😊)

They’re all listening in this open channel. It’s what’s shaking Over There right now, I hear.

Who among you remembers a Party Line? I do.

Joe Dispenza says a heart in coherence thinks in pictures. Have you read the last dozen blogs where I write of someone going through my memories? Of the vivid pictures appearing – these are almost 3D – just add the energy of attention: watch it expand to re-experience. Many other resolutions can present themselves for consideration, but you need to blow right by these & arrive at the conclusion which took place in the reality where you currently reside (body & soul) (Later, & if so inclined, you can peruse these in detail.)

Let me borrow your mind a moment:

We are walking through Mordor. Each of us carries & uses a Ring of Power.

Where did your mind just go?

Over what would I yield – or wield – power? Only over the realms I now ‘control.’ I’m careful about acquisitions right now.

(Even after years, this thought sets off a tiny chime that rings the universe and sets my brain alert – ‘Let go.’  That old cosmic tug of war between yield & wield with its one letter switched & its “I” moved about.)

Does this make me a dumbbell? I mean, just to stay in balance, something must give. What am I willing to give for balance? Isn’t homeostasis where it’s all happening anyway? It’s where I aim to get to & be.

I know this is all [distastefully?] egoic. But please consider I only am focused on this avatar – oops – even as I type that, I know it not to be true. Perhaps 80/20? And even that shifts. For the purposes of this blog, it’s this me working it.

For some (SoMe!?) the pen is a magical wand. Tho not found in a toolkit, how many minds has it charged, how many thrones overthrown? The power in the pen is in both its use & user because, like any good tool that morphs to the shape of the hand, the use of all muscles, so does this tiny WMD.

I need to let go of the pen & see the people I am speaking to by faces, by gestures, by the energy exchange of universe giving in to giving us ourselves because we are finally allowing & acknowledging it.

“Nothing but nothingness” a seer says.

“Nothing unreal lasts” ACIM says

“Maya” a cultural belief

If you have an idea where this might go, please share it!

Love,

Carol

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ErROR PRONE – TRUST NO ONE

Just when I think I have made a positive imprint, I find ‘tis not so. A relationship can trigger me, one email set me to firing full throttle. It has been a “scare” at times how much anger rises, an unexpected eructation – forcing gravity up – volcanic – my closest word is tripwire. I’m paying attention as I go. However, I need to power that with a lot more intention.

Tripwire.

(Remember how I said it feels like someone is rifling through my memories?  Experiencing my experiences, tugging now-me along for the revisit? Remember how I thought it might be my life passing by? Studying up for my Life Review?)

I could not be now who I was in any of these snapshots tossed in front of consciousness. I have forged my own memories & ideas I took from them, or maybe with them. The moments when I wanted to be another ride the farther side of the merry-go-round in a tidal lock.

Relationships?

M. batted away ideas like cats do yarn balls… especially if they involved improvement. His standstill propelled me into action. He was enjoying his entropy & I could no longer bear witness to his severe “weltschmerz” (world-weariness).

E. & I paralleled for a time & he gave me [of his] life. A most beautiful & timely surrender on both sides. For all I knew, I knew less then than now.

D. & I met too early & me too bedazzled. We were there for Ellen.

It turned out the one I married is me. Was that why I ate all that cake for a decade?

Going fearless is going stealth. You turn sideways & slip into universe to disappear.

I stand today at the intersection of Ready/OrNot.

I cannot shatter a mirror & not be cut passing through. What I do with the wound is up to me. I bow my head with the responsibility as the radio sings “have mercy.”

Mercy

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NONET

MINE IS YOURS, OR IS IT?

Poets are thieves

Making off with the best words.

Hoarding them for careful distribution.

You cannot tell a poet much

Has not already crossed their mind.

Quarters in a piggybank

Turning into silver dollars

Coming out of the belly –

Runes & reads & roads

Everyone counting every one.

POEMS ARE SKINNED ALIVE

From living language

Arcane & mottled

Visible only to the see-r

The ti-leaf reader

Appearing from the cards

Like images of medieval life

Depicted in peelings

Left in runes in the sink

Gathered for composting minds

Forever nourishing.

POEMS ARE LIKE RAIN SHOWERS

Of words

Skies sweeping by of a patchworked day

Everything having a voice, telling its own story

Some listening: write it down,

Lest it just run off brazen rooftops

Into gutters

Alleys

Streams

Rivers

Oceans

Clouds

Showers.       

DOUBLE HAIKU

Crystalline rainbows

Dappling the stubborn vacuum

I roll across them.

Vain undertakings

This two-step dance of cleaning

Vacuuming rainbows.

PREDAWN

Is the new 7 a.m.

All those mornings I rose before dawn

That light would find me out upon the sunrise.

I now reclaim the nights,

All the stars I did not see

Shining still so patiently.

Now it is not just mornings

When I am

But whole motherships of night

On the other side of the clock.

WHAT IF

What if this life was the preview to the real event?

A prelude, the someone laying the red carpet was me

I liked the feel of it & climbed on up

Following worn & wary dreams to arrive

Where I need no defenses,

I made my own way

To where I shoved my suspicions under the bed

I made my way.

Now can I shine?

DAISY CHAIN DAYS

Suspicious of such good weather, I am.

The tender center of midday

Sealed by the hunkering night;

My heart counts down beats now.

Idly wondering will I be happy in the Hereafter?

CORNERS

Weedy & overgrown

The yards of my childhood

Good to cut across to shorten the way

Blue uniform, cloth coat, Buster Browns

Crushing crunchy growth.

Mind stratospheric: ablaze!

Body trudging home from the schoolbus stop

Lopsided with a leather schoolbag

A Lone Ranger lunchbox (featuring Silver.)

Of two minds about homework

But well-acquainted with inevitability

Consigned to childhood’s compartmentalization

Free as the sky / sand / sea

All my boundaries

Bled out to edges

Of omnipotence.

THAT FAMILIAR CADENCE

Of my heart

On its own riff

Tipped over the lever

Into countdown

As faithfully as it counted up

To here.

Where we are now,

Feeling the world

As a flashlight does the night land.

Now it starts a little flicker

Pushing out the limits

Of all achieved before.

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Message from my Guardians

Dear R,

Good Godly morning! Are you enjoying our Great Life Adventure these days?

Oh yes indeed, beloved, believing Carol – indeed – word & deed – we help you to enact the Script authored so long ago in festive planning. All your Team is here, present for the ending…this ending – as we were for your first steps into it.

We watched you step forward toward darkness, laughing, singing, waving at us. You were walking into a Void as all-encompassing as the sea & you have been surfacing ever since. We smoothed the parts of the bottom you could not see as blankness & blackness closed over.

We filled your pockets with grace & waybread. We blessed your waterskin. We warned off the predators who would have devoured you, even as we picked off seaweed tangled in your hair. We summoned warmer currents to steer you into. We were not anxious, but more than once, we held hands to send you strength as you faltered or turned blindly about wishing a way either onward or out of it.

We knew how precious your life would become to others; smiled when you were surprised by their recognition. Many cheered quietly on this side of the veil. We pushed through when you suffered from lack. We lit up colors when all went gray. We sent these, plus cards & flowers & clouds & all manner of tokens large & small in acknowledgement of your efforts.

It was never only me, Child, it was always us creating in harmony for you. Look at what you have valued to bring this far: seashells, poems, pictures, stories & memories, feelings, hopes, dreams. We fastened fins to your feet & water wings to your shoulders, all the while transmitting to that tiny point on your head as a prayer antenna tuned to us.

We’ve pulled, pushed, propelled you forward. Now you approach the farther shore. Not for nothing do the old songs call of crossing River Jordan, poling the Styx, parting the waters. You’re not dry yet, but we await with warmed towels & hot coffee!

So, keep it up, dearest, most blessed Child. You are our vanguard to earthly plans there on the earth plane. Stay oriented to the stars you so stubbornly sleep through, being a creature of morning Light so long.

We wait, each time you sleep, to see you once more. You regale us with tales of 3D life & your keen observations thereof. And we so enjoy these. You left Here to discover & record these tales. These are the reason we let you go, to bring them back to us in style & smooth delivery. And, darlin’, you make us laugh!

There’s a bunch of us here who gather for your nightly appearances – we pop popcorn & plot your arrival trajectory, arranging our wings to fashion your stage. Sometimes you bring us sad tales of shipwrecks. Other times – and mostly these of late – you bring jokes & delight & rueful observations. When we laugh, you find feathers.

You salt our wisdom in seasoning & flavor both. You shake off sorrows like a dog does water & your beginnings & endings are only a mystery to you. We trust you to find safe harbors as you wander. We encourage you forward always, always, always.

We’ve watched & encouraged the schools of fish you swim among. When needed, we’ve helped you flee in bereavement & often, joy at new freedoms to explore. You see these situations as endings; we see them as new tides of circumstance & flows of opportunity for strength & well-being.

You’re a surprise & a delight. Your scars glisten in rainbow colors. You break the water frequently now as laughter lifts you from banal 3D with its weather wars & inept attempts to keep you subsurface. Don’t believe in these, Carol, but believe forever in us for you are our brave explorer, dishing up reality as we never expected.

We lift you in such a loving energy – a Gulf Stream of pure grace. You have navigational tools now, a compass & sextant & barrels of fresh water to tap at need.

Don’t ever doubt us! We won’t fail to hold you up. We will never let you go & tho you think it, you can’t even begin to imagine forever, dear one. It is not beyond our skills to keep candles burning underwater, watch for these. Your every laugh lights another match. Your tidal pull is our tidal lock to fix you more firmly upon the way we show you to live.

We wonder at your growth on so many levels of this water world… each a call to be unlimited.

We’re absolutely breathless for the next installment! Popcorn is in the pot, butter on the stovetop, fresh cheese by the grater. You’re a delicious one indeed & our love is what we have to offer in return.

Take this with the delight in which it’s offered & sing Hosanna to everyone in your sea. Permit your thoughts to flourish. You’ve mastered the dark now. The shore awaits as do we.

Love,

R

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