Do You Know Just How Loved (Amidst COVID-19)

As we approach May with no answers as to when we’ll return to working order amidst the pandemic, a new poem sprouts....

Do You Know Just How Loved

©2020 Karla Johnston, InnerConstellation.com

Eyes and hands of compassion

always roaming…always reaching out—

Remember Master Daowu, that Zen master who said, 

“It’s like adjusting a pillow in the night.”

Arriving at the surgery center during COVID,

balancing the mask,
elastic behind the ears, hearing aids,
long hair.

Dang it, forgot the hair tie!

Step out the car and feel something beneath my shoe

Lift my sole to discover—a hairband,
and, it matches my outfit, get out!

Smiling at this gift,
I wash it good, along with my hands,
and secure my locks in pure wonderment.

A few days later I head out into the wild,

no music, no earbuds, just a heart open to the signs—

I’m mountain biking on the down

and ride through a puddle,

turn back around

to look upon

a mud-hole-elongated-heart,

reflecting the sky

as if to say, 

“Don’t ever forget,
I love you.”

I smile at Creator’s sense of humor,

the intimate knowledge of my personal motto—
you got to learn to sling mud

to grow lotuses.

It seems a theme
COVID-19–

those hands, those eyes,

there’s so little

that I actually need.

Shocked Into Presence ~ COVID 19

Shocked Into Presence

COVID-19

April 9, 2020

©2020 Karla Johnston, InnerConstellation.com

It has taken three weeks

to bring myself to the page,

attempt this weak

expression of our strange new world.

Here in America predictions are—

numbers will peek Easter Sunday 

and hopefully then, the curve will flatten.

Worldwide cases: over 1.6 million

Deaths: 97,237

USA: 451,491

Deaths: 15,938

USA jobs lost: well over 16 million 

As we wait this out, 

quarantined and socially distanced.

I include the numbers in a search for perspective,

think back in history to the ancestors 

who perhaps like me felt entirely Incapable

of recording the depths, 

lives impacted,

So in mind-numb did not.

I know one True North—compassion:

health care providers, grocery clerks, 

businesses that have retooled production

for ventilators, hand sanitizer, PPE. 

When asked about the many eyes and hands of compassion, 

Master Daowu said, 

“It’s like reaching back in search of a pillow in the night.”

There are two parts of me, one who watches:

numbers climb, economy crash,

And another, Master Daowu, 

who reaches in the dark—

natural,

effortless,

innate,

fearless.

Tattoos Will Save Us!

I’m slowly coming back into the blog scene, my loves, and it feels good. I have a loved one who is in recovery and my writings since March 2019 have been generating love poems for him. My personal North Star as many may know is—Compassion as the number #1 condition. A motto that helps me practice to this capacity and Chart My Course is—pay attention to what is needed and offer something useful.

Recovery is a messy, muddy road and what I can offer is a perspective of gratitude along the way—a lotus in the mud, so to speak. Here is a latest offering for my loved one who personifies Inner Constellation Truth #3– Everything, no matter how challenging, has the ability to be transformed.

Body the Canvas

©2020 Karla Johnston, InnerConstellation.com

“Guess what?” 

I breath, smile and type, “What?”

while practicing relaxing my body and mind,

thinking positive when a potential loaded text comes through.

In the moments it takes to receive an answer,

I look out the window

on a cold and brisk afternoon.

Sun low, rides gold across pine boughs.

A few lines from an India Arie song filter in,

stuck in my head almost nonstop these days,

I begin to hum, “I am Light…I am Light…um hmm.” 

Picture of a tattoo on your thigh comes through:

triangle, eye in the middle, pupil open like a deep pool,

all around the peripheral, sun rays emanate.

Skin’s a little irritated, red and glossy so it looks somewhat alive,

shimmering,

nice effect.

“So, I’ve always been interested in tattooing, 

bought a tattoo gun and kit on Amazon for 38 bucks,

watched a YouTube video

and did my first tattoo on myself.”

What?!? No way!

I try imagining sitting still through that kind of pain. 

“Awesome! Takes trust to tattoo yourself!”

I feel you smile.

“Well I figured thighs good practice skin,

till I get good enough to do it somewhere visible. 

I really like it and expected my first to turn out horrible.”

“Looks professional! What’s it represent?”

Song gets cranking in my head, can’t keep it in,
I’m singing out loud, “I am light…I am light…um hmm,”

and looking at your shiny, radiating tattoo.

“Clarity, I guess,

Seeing things on a deeper level.

Higher power.”

Over the next few days

pics of more self-ink:
ankle tattoo, more triangles,

a sweet skull on the back of your calf—
my personal favorite so far, for as I took it in

I realized beneath our face skin 

our skulls are always grinning, always.

Maybe it’s a constant reminder to smile, 

everything is OK,

and our nose bones are upside down hearts,

how about that.

I text you back, “Guess what?”

“What?” comes the reply.

“I think you found your calling.”

You’re so in the moment, “With what?” 

I laugh out loud, “Doing what you enjoy that makes bodies beautiful.”

Courage grows and by the weekend,

You inked a dog, wine glass, baby Yoda reaching for a nipple squeeze

and…your best so far, but it gave me pause…

Is it what I think it is? How did you catch the angle, just right?

I pass the pic to my husband, who laughs,

“Oh geez, consult the sign language interpreters in the family!”

I text you back,

“Whose thigh did you tattoo the sign ‘ass-hole?’”

It looks like the leg of my nephew-in-law.

I see you both, laughing and having a good time.

“Yes, it’s his thigh.         

It’s the sign you make, and if somebody looks, you get to punch them.” 

Earlier, you had text me a picture from instagram or someplace,

it’s in the middle of a conversation about hygiene (it’s the auntie in me),

and learning how to grow your obvious skill.

I type, “Well you’ve got your connections and you could do it.”

Before I hit send, another pic comes through, 

“I think I found my next one.”

When I see it, I know tattooing is your body poetry,
your story’s canvas… 

Forces that Shape

Hello, darling dears. I had the most wonderful experience a few weeks ago of falling in love, yet again. I was talking to my husband (who is my greatest love:) about people (and critters) you just happen to meet and immediately feel some kind of connection—strong and unexplainable. We’ve all experienced it and don’t really know why as we’re drawn heart-to-heart like magnets. My husband gave it a word— “imprinting.” Now, at first his choice gave me pause, I worked at a wildlife center for years and imprinting was something to avoid at all cost, otherwise you might have a 500# pound bear thinking you’re his mama! But upon closer inspection of the word, my husband may be onto something:

To impress or stamp upon, to come to recognize in another habitual trust

Hmmm, um, yah, could meet the definition. My newest love is the dear, sweet girlfriend of my nephew (another one I’ve imprinted on). Somehow I know, whatever may come, this girl is a keeper for me. I also owe her tremendous gratitude  because in analyzing the precious ones whom have imprinted upon me, they all share something in common—Grit (with a capitol G).

I realized too, those spiritual ancestors that I have imprinted upon: Martin Luther King, Jr (happy MLK day, ya’ll), Joan of Arc*, Rumi, Jesus, Hafiz, Malala Yousafzai, Thich Nhat Hanh, Nadia Murad, Sister Chan Khong, ...the list goes on and on and on....they also have Grit with a capitol G. Perhaps Grit is a telling North Star?

So what are the forces within a person that intermingle and shape who we become? Have you ever considered that whenever you are with someone—a dearly beloved imprinted one, or the bagger at the grocery store—those 90 seconds you spend together are your opportunity to make connection—to be a bright light on the path of life, to reach out and let them know they are a treasure. When a person is met who impresses in another deep trust—that is a tremendous gift, perhaps the greatest gift one can give.

Who are the ones who open your heart? Be with them, love them deeply and reflect back their qualities of open hearted presence. Awww, it’s time for this Sappy McSappy Pants to go fall in love again, and again, and again....


* Karla’s full length ebook novel: Child of God: The Humble Beginnings of Joan of Arc

Higher Power Year 2020

I spend time these days with wonderful tender hearts recovering from addiction—so much beauty, and awakening beginning to be realized. I think often of the great desire within the human being for connection to a deeper purpose and meaning in life and this search, that can take us seemingly off track for a time. This is a poem, written new year’s eve 2020, with much gratitude for a year of blessings and wisdom in the Recovery community, thank you:

Higher Power

December 31, 2019

You have taught me,

that my addiction is Spirit, 

not some old bearded guy in the clouds

but the bodily experience of

flow,

space, 

freedom.

Sunshine, clouds building to storm,

smell of rain and meadow flowers,

lightning impact of the perfect string of words,

singing Christmas hymns at a holy roller church,

surrounded by congregation’s candlelight flames,

ten mallets striking the sacred drum,

lying beneath the stars at 3:00am,

a genuine open-hearted smile,

the graced notes of a violin.

It’s something that embodies, comes and goes but never leaves,

do you know what I mean? 

Treasure

On a quite eve, between Christmas and New Years, lines from an old poem circulated among the stars above as I went for an evening walk. It wishes to be expressed again, to all my treasures, I love you....

Treasure
© 2013 Karla Johnston InnerConstellation.com

You are precious.

Beyond the value of gems, stones, or gold,
and you are not the exception.
Every one, no matter gender, creed or race
is equally worthy.

Every person, animal, thing
that breathes, contracts, expands,
houses the pulse of life
is an absolute miracle.
We are glorious.
Holding the brilliance of creation
or darkening of damnation
in every word we speak.
If we saw, for brief moment, our radiance
we could never commit a harmful act
for the understanding
that we would diminish it.

If we knew our preciousness,
hateful words could not be spoken.
Malice could find no home in us.
No conflict, no battle, no war.
Our one desire, our sole purpose
to tend carefully
this treasured life
and only ever
cherish it.

Advent ~ Embodiment

First Week of Advent

Sometimes in the contemplative writing experience, metaphors and events line up just right to let you know you’re on the right path. Today is December 1, 2019, and in contemplating a theme for the month’s blessing send,* I woke with the idea of “embodiment.” It seemed confirmed as I participated in a morning reading of the The Fourteen Mindfulness Trainings, then headed to a reading of The Five Mindfulness Trainings with Lake Tahoe Mindfulness Community. The trainings reflect very deeply the practice (versus the perfection) of living a life embodying service by practicing the ideals of compassion and gratitude. Then, I arrived home to set a date on my calendar and discovered that today, December 1, 2019, is the first Sunday in Advent. A very old and dear friend has inspired in me the practice of observing each Sunday in Advent together and this poem made its way to me in celebration. I wished to share the poem in a spirit of awe—that sometimes life comes together and almost sings its “yes!” that indeed we have embodied what is good and true. Alas, I am rambling.

Poets often say in far better and more concise ways, what the many words above only hint at. Please enjoy Denise Levertov’s beautiful offering encapsulating December’s writing theme—Embodiment:

Poem: Denise Levertov's "Annunciation" (Full Version)

First appearing in her book "A  Door in the Hive." 

 Annunciation

‘Hail, space for the uncontained God’
From the Agathistos Hymn, 

Greece, VIc 

We know the scene: the room, variously furnished,
almost always a lectern, a book; always
the tall lily.

       Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,
the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,
whom she acknowledges, a guest.

But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions
courage.

       The engendering Spirit
did not enter her without consent.

         God waited.

She was free
to accept or to refuse, choice
integral to humanness.

                  ____________________

Aren’t there annunciations
of one sort or another
in most lives?

         Some unwillingly
undertake great destinies,
enact them in sullen pride,
uncomprehending.

More often
those moments
      when roads of light and storm
      open from darkness in a man or woman,
are turned away from

in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair
and with relief.
Ordinary lives continue.
                                 God does not smite them.
But the gates close, the pathway vanishes.

                  ____________________

She had been a child who played, ate, slept
like any other child–but unlike others,
wept only for pity, laughed
in joy not triumph.
Compassion and intelligence
fused in her, indivisible.

Called to a destiny more momentous
than any in all of Time,
she did not quail,

  only asked

a simple, ‘How can this be?’
and gravely, courteously,
took to heart the angel’s reply,
the astounding ministry she was offered:

to bear in her womb
Infinite weight and lightness; to carry
in hidden, finite inwardness,
nine months of Eternity; to contain
in slender vase of being,
the sum of power–
in narrow flesh,
the sum of light.

                     Then bring to birth,
push out into air, a Man-child
needing, like any other,
milk and love–

but who was God. 

This was the moment no one speaks of,

when she could still refuse.

A breath unbreathed,

                                Spirit,

                                          suspended,

                                                            waiting.

                  ____________________

She did not cry, ‘I cannot. I am not worthy,’

Nor, ‘I have not the strength.’

She did not submit with gritted teeth,

                                                       raging, coerced.

Bravest of all humans,

                                  consent illumined her.

The room filled with its light,

the lily glowed in it,

                               and the iridescent wings.

Consent,

              courage unparalleled,

opened her utterly.