Recipe

I Am not my thoughts

I Am not my emotions

My thoughts and emotions are vehicles for choice

My thoughts and emotions are proof that I Am free to create my life

My thoughts and emotions prove that I Am sovereign

I look to convention.

Why do we allow convention to enslave us?

We can see many versions of convention throughout this planet, these peoples.

Does that not in and of itself prove that convention is not absolute?

I seek the core of me

I seek the part untouched by convention

I Am tired of the me that swats away the unwelcome thoughts and emotions 

Annoy me gnats! 

Buzz in my ear and swarm my space

Create bumps and itchy patches

I will

Learn to celebrate what the pests reveal

Eat my herbs

Take from me what will not wake me

Gnaw me down to my truth, to my marrow

Reveal the bones of me

I do not want to be the clone who ignores the drone of the teacher

I know not where I Am in the process

And wishing does not make it so

But the desire is there

To be free without care

Of the opinion of both friend and of foe

Convention has proven to be boring

Borrowed ideas and thoughts and sad tales

Of how we choose to be sleeping

Never questioning, always judging, using scales

Karen, come out and bask in sunshine

Radiate the light that you are

Fear is a palpable illusion

It stunts the search for the star

That is you, within you, without you

The stuff you are made of is pure

Karen, seek the one asking the questions

She is the One who crafts the recipe, the cure.

And I ask myself again and again and again and again

Who would I be if I were perception free?

My power lies in my ability to gain.

Let go of the conventions, Sweet Karen.

Let go of the thoughts

Let go of the emotions

The grasp of a greedy hand is gangrene for your soul.

The one who I Am keens the song of sixpence

I mourn I am torn, forlorn, now born

Born into an old way to be

I’ve traveled so far

Seen green fields and star

A vague Remembrance of God’s perfect me

Sometimes on the stair I feel I am there

But then stair transforms into slide

I cry to be back

In the world full of lack

And rail and rant at my guides

Quiet, sweet Karen

We are versions of you

Teacher, Wise Woman, Mentor

If it was easy to see the you that is me 

There’d be no power in this cosmic detour

Beauty you say?

I hope for the day

Where suffering feels noble and true

For to me

It seems be

The power of we

Isn’t in this worn mournful tune

But like Jill and Jack

I combat the lack

And I patch up my bucket anew

For when one has the taste

For wisdom and grace

The water is an irresistible brew.

So the gnats circle my head

I allow them to be

And trust that I won’t miss the gift

If it’s here, then it’s so

What do I know?

I am on a vacation from me.