Archive
Tuesday following Memorial Day; a Poem
I wrote this as part of my Morning Pages yesterday, Memorial Day here in the US. It came out as a “prose-poem” but as I keyed it in it feels better in verse form. It is about remembering. It is about freedom. It is about sacrifice but more about living.
Memorial Day
Have the fallen died in vain?
Are we no longer free?
Have we ever been truly free?
Is the “home of the brave and the land of the free”
Just a relic of the past?
Brave or foolhardy?
Free or continuing under the yoke of tyranny?
Here we are again;
Did we ever leave?
Or are these concepts, words, deeds, creeds
Just so much chaff blowing in the winds of change?
The only realm of freedom
Is the inner realm.
If we cannot be free of our tyrannical minds
We can never be free.
Free countries are an illusion.
The outer can throw up a mirage of freedom;
The spoken or sung words can create a sense
Of belonging, power, courage, pride.
None of it is real; none of it is lasting.
It is all fake news.
I am at the threshold of letting it all go.
I choose to focus my mind inward:
The only view of some deeper reality
Hidden from most of us,
Often hidden from me as well.
I know it is there.
I have witnessed it;
I can sometimes catch a glimpse of it.
When I do I am convinced it is
The only “thing” that matters.
This “thing” is the only true Reality
Beyond all other senses of reality.
It is the spark of Light,
Not born,
Never dying,
Here before the beginning,
There after the ending
Which can never come.
It is forever free.
And I hold that spark within me,
As all beings of Light do.
We can never be bound;
We are forever free within this Light.
Memorial Day is this knowing;
It is remembering who we are.
May we all awaken
To this reality
And set ourselves free.
©2025 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
A Happy Friday poem: Fear and Flow
It feels easy to fall into fear these days. In my daily pursuits with people I sense many have fallen, succumbed to the “Mind Killer” as Frank Herbert would name it! I get it: there is a lot out there to drag us kicking and screaming into fear. The corruption, degradation, depravity and lawlessness seem rampant in this “land of the free.”
Approaching Memorial Day weekend and Monday, what are we to “memorialize”? What have the “fallen” sacrificed for? For me I’ll remember to remain free of fear!
Fear and Flow
The river flowing
Has no fear of the sea.
The Moon glowing
Has no fear of the Sun.
He will lose himself
As the sea engulfs him.
She will sink into Him
As she wanes to emptiness.
Hold on to the flow
As it meanders, ebbs floods.
Let go of the fear
It has no power to embrace.
The expansion of Love
Can never be dammed.
The brilliance of Light
Can never be dimmed.
©2025 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
A Friday Poem: My Prayer
A few weeks ago I enjoyed several offerings by the Shift Network during their Global Summit. One of the most profound talks was by Andrew Harvey, a “modern mystic” for our times. His talk was an impassioned call to address the five crises humanity faces, and the five responses that are required to bring about a new paradigm for our survival on the planet.
I’ve been working on my responses. One of them is a prayer to bring about the new paradigm, the new way for humans to evolve and thrive on Mother Earth, a New Vision for Humanity. Here is my prayer:
My Prayer
Sitting in the midst of chaos,
Anger bubbling beneath the waves,
I practice: Forgiveness!
Wondering at the edge of time,
Anxiety rising to the surface,
I practice: Patience!
Feeling the loss of all that’s dear,
Grief hanging heavy all around,
I practice: Praise!
Witnessing the suffering everywhere,
Greed holding power in the world,
I practice: Compassion!
Knowing humanity is evolving now, with
Ignorance still shading the light,
I practice: Wisdom!
Realizing there is a greater good at work,
Trust breaking through to ignite souls,
I practice: Gratitude!
Awakening to a New World together,
Love shattering these old patterns,
I practice: Love!
©2020 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
A mid-week poem: Falling
I have been absent from this blog for too long. I’ve missed the writing. I still write my “morning pages” almost every day but the poetry isn’t coming; lots of titles and ideas but little inspiration. There is so much chaos out there right now; it’s difficult to make sense of it!
So, I am falling!
Falling
Equinox behind, beyond balance,
Nights grow longer, shadows deepen.
Already inside, isolating, avoiding;
The waiting for darkness somehow soothes.
Breathing slows, drops, lengthens;
Eyes close, focus softens, turns inward.
An easy scan, toes to nose, body subsiding;
This is an inside job now; just breathe, be.
The falling isn’t downward but inward,
Into that core of self, being.
The gyro at the base of that core spins;
It stabilizes giving the body purpose.
Rest, be easy, let in the light;
No shadow here, on the inside.
©2020 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
A Monday poem: “Raw”
Happy New Moon! It “fell into the Sun” at 1:33 pm EDT. I am ready for new, something fresh, a new beginning!
I began to think about this poem as I was grieving the loss of a dear friend a few weeks ago. My feelings were raw and I wanted to express them. But they had to simmer, to cook for a bit before I could write this down. And then other titles kept coming up. My thoughts turned into a trilogy; I’ll be publishing them this week, today, Wednesday and Friday. The first is:
Raw
Dough—cookie, bread, Mom’s baking;
Snitch, pinch, tasting, testing;
So delicious—raw. Then add the
Heat, alchemy in the oven. Baked.
Meat—beef, pork, lamb, I’m roasting, grilling;
Blood dripping—raw. Then fire, wood smoking,
Fat sizzling. Aromas arouse olfactory senses:
Gustatory delights cooked, offered.
Feelings—grief, anger, fear—these are raw.
Old age, sickness and death never ending;
Samsara cooks us, yet leaves us undone,
Half-baked, simmering, salty, sour, bitter.
Power—force, control, seizing freedoms,
Unleashing aggression, anger, instilling fear;
Raw emotions open hostility in the Human
Heart—half-baked understanding selves.
Wisdom—presence, open mind dawning,
Leading to a deepening understanding,
Transmuting the raw to a fully baked
Human to rise from the fire into Light.
©2020 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
A Sunday Poem: Don’t Let Their Throes Throw You
It seems needed now…
Don’t Let Their Throes Throw You
Violence feels on the rise; state
Sponsored terror, murder is
At the door, our door!
Will it never end? Will the killing
Stop? The promised “new age”
Seems a distant dream.
Yet there are signs and wonders
We watch for, as planets turn
And Pluto returns with renewal.
Perhaps the step-up in violence is
One of these signs: the final throes
Of a dying age, expiring time—
For the ones losing power, losing
Their grip on the old ways. They
Hold tighter for a moment. But
Their days are numbered; their time
Is running. They have no vision.
Don’t let their throes throw you.
Throw off the burden of violence, hold
The vision of that New Age, and take on
The lighter load of love.
©2020, Richard W. Bredeson, all rights reserved.
Monday’s Poem: Heartwood Doors
Rosemary leads a Sunday morning Celebration on the first and third Sunday’s of every month. (http://CenterforaNewAlliance.org) I gladly support and participate in this gathering of like-minded/hearted spirits where we “celebrate our spirituality without dogma.”
Yesterday Rosemary led a powerful mediation that took us deeply inside to the doors of our hearts. I went there as my initiation continues to lead me further into this heart-centered realm, as I move from thinking to feeling, leading with my heart rather than my head.
Today’s poem, on the eve of this significant election in the US, is an attempt to capture my meditative journey to and through the doors of my heart:
Heartwood Doors
The winding path is neither
Straight nor narrow.
An arrow’s arc, graceful and true,
Is not a wanderer’s way.
One step, half-step aside, back-step,
Turn, pause, a jagged spiral
Tracing ragged sojourns upward
Outward, blocks, lessons learned.
Heartwood doors block the way;
Bright brass fittings, heavy knocker
Lifts and thuds with thunder heard
And felt in the deep awakening chamber.
No key is found, no clock is wound,
The tic-toc sounds loud on the inside.
The calling is an echo, a dream
Of another time, place, All Love.
The doors glide wide, smooth, easy;
No sound now, no groan of hinges.
The light bursts forth from the deep,
Bright sun streaming through parting clouds.
All Love flows from self-love quotes the Sage.
Heavy doors protect and block the two-way
Street. How to greet all passers-bye?
Hold wide those doors, let out the light!
©2018, Richard W. Bredeson, all rights reserved.
VOTE!
Friday’s Poem: Casting No Shadow
[Warning: this poem contains a four-letter word that may offend some people. It is a word for material found in the bottom of a bird cage and rhymes with grit. If this word offends you please read no farther!]
I am fresh from the Christine Kloser event, known simply as “Breakthrough,” for Transformational Authors. I have known Christine and her event for several years; this one was her sixth; it was the first one I attended. And I can honestly say this was the best of all personal growth conferences, retreats and other such meetings I have ever attended! I did come away transformed in several ways. I will write more about this in a later post.
For now I want to offer this poem, dedicating it to Christine and all of the friends and fellow poets I spent three quality days with this week:
Casting No Shadow
Standing in the Center under high Sun,
Casting no shadow
I wonder:
Where has all that shit, my shit gone?
Earth, Mother, accepts it all
Composting it, the shit, into food:
Rooting soil
For the wonder and beauty of the lotus.
Facing East, bowing to the rising Sun,
Shadow stretching West
I wonder:
How far does that trail of shit extend?
Great Bear of the West doesn’t care;
His shadow absorbs all darkness
Sending life
Deep into the root and stem of the lotus.
Facing West, bowing to the setting Sun,
Shadow disappearing into the night
I wonder:
While the Mother sleeps, who stirs the shit?
The Great White Way of the night sky
Carves a graceful turn to churn
Rotting waste
Feeding the growth and awakening the lotus.
Facing North, bowing to the Great White Way,
Soft Moon shadows glowing in the night
I wonder:
How can shit survive this peace and beauty?
Cosmic Energy, creative power
Pumps the life-blood, pure potential
Filling mud
With juice to enliven the lotus bud.
Facing South, bowing to the warming Sun,
Shrunken shadow withering to the North
I wonder:
How can so much shit generate all this beauty?
Earth and Fire, Mother and Sun
Join in Holy Union, merging love and light;
Ascending we
Witness the opening, Jewel in the Lotus!
(Om mani padme hum!)
©2018 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
A Mid-Week Poem: “Light”
One of the many things I love about autumn is the light. We are experiencing absolutely perfect Fall weather here in Maryland and the light streaming down epitomizes that love I have. It must be the angle of the sun well past equinox at this point, the way it casts that golden hue to everything it touches. The view of the light toward the south from my writing chair is the inspiration of today’s poem. Happy mid-week!
Light
Reflections dance, glinting shards of Light winking on and off
Over the nearly still surface of the mirror-like lake.
The flashes could be the under-bellies of leaping fish
Or simply the lightest of breezes playing over reflections of sky.
It’s difficult to block out the Light seeping through cracks in the wall;
Even the shadows cannot hide, cannot exist in the absence of Light.
Squinting through nearly closed eyes at the stream from the crack
Reveals the coat of many colors worn so beautifully by the Light.
There is no escape, no corner to hide, no distance to run from the Light;
It is the first and last of the holy creation that reveals consciousness.
Reflection within reflections, echoes of time, the record of the beginning
Stream down, all around, signs of eternity from the Ancient of Days.
©2017 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
The poem for today: Edge
Our first call this morning was from Mindy. First reaction: oh-oh, what’s wrong? She usually doesn’t call early unless she is in distress. First thing she said was “Charlie is OK.” Our son-in-law was driving to work this morning, going in early about 2:00 AM. As he crossed the Severn River bridge going west he had to rapidly respond to an oncoming, fast moving vehicle going the wrong way, toward him; he managed to swerve away to avoid a head-on! And he had the presence of mind to call 911 and alert authorities.
Just down the way, near Mindy and Charlie’s home the wrong-way car hit another head-on; both drivers were killed. A third car was also hit causing injuries. The police still do not know exactly what happened, how the east-bound car in the west-bound lanes caused this!
We are all so grateful we still have Charlie in our lives! And it is a reminder of just how precious our lives are! This inspired today’s poem:
Edge
Humans are fragile things,
Little more than the gossamer
Of a moth’s wings.
When we dance at the edge of flame
We flirt with oblivion, feeling real,
Believing it’s not a game!
The heat heightens awareness, we feel alive
Remembering each moment is precious.
Flitting too close we die.
An errant draft can set us adrift.
Away from the light we forget,
Wondering why, wandering from the gift.
Then the flame flares, calling like Buddha’s bell,
Reminding who we are and why;
We fly true and well,
And dance again on the ledge,
Conscious of our delicate beauty,
Floating in ecstasy, balanced on the edge.
©2017 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
PS: Mindy called as I was writing this. Thankfully it was a request for a quick ride to medical appointments. While driving to and from I did remember…!
Men and The Goddess 