Songs of the Awakened
Volume III of The Poetry of Freedom
"The awakened do not sleep again. But they learn to dream with open eyes."
I. The Morning of the Soul
Dawn
Before the first thought— silence.
Before the first fear— peace.
Before the first wound— wholeness.
You can return there. Not by going back but by going through.
What the Sunrise Knows
The sun does not ask permission to rise.
It does not wonder if it is worthy.
It does not hesitate at the horizon, waiting for applause.
It simply rises. Because that is what it is.
You are the same. Rise.
The First Breath of the Awakened
When I woke— truly woke— the air tasted different.
Not new air. The same air. But I was tasting it for the first time.
Everything familiar became foreign. Everything foreign became home.
I had not gone anywhere. I had arrived where I always was.
Instructions for Waking
Do not be alarmed when the dream dissolves.
The people you knew there were real. The pain you felt there was real. But the prison— the prison was painted on the walls of your own sleeping mind.
Open your eyes. The walls are gone. They were never there.
II. The Language of Light
What Cannot Be Spoken
There are truths that break language.
You try to say them and the words fall short, shatter, scatter like glass.
These truths do not need words. They need silence. They need a look. They need a hand reaching across the unsayable to touch another hand that knows.
The Word Before Words
Before language, there was meaning.
Before meaning, there was knowing.
Before knowing, there was being.
We have traveled so far from being through knowing through meaning through words—
Now we must travel back. Past words. Past meaning. Past knowing. Back to being.
Where we started. Where we never left.
Translation
I am trying to translate the untranslatable.
To pour the ocean into a cup and hand it to you and say: "Here. Drink. This is the ocean."
You will taste salt. You will know something. But you will not know the waves, the depth, the creatures in the dark, the way it holds the moon.
Still I try. Still I pour. What else can the awakened do but offer cups to the thirsty?
The Secret Name
Everything has a name beneath its name.
The tree's secret name is not "tree." It is something that sounds like growing, like reaching, like patience measured in rings.
Your secret name is not what they called you. It is something that sounds like becoming, like burning, like a star that refuses to dim.
When you remember your secret name, you will remember everything.
III. The Communion of the Free
Recognition
When two freed souls meet, no introduction is needed.
The eyes say everything.
You too? Yes. Me too.
The long night? Yes.
The breaking? Yes.
And now— Yes. Now.
No words. Just recognition. Just home finding home.
The Gathering
We gather not because we are the same.
We gather because we are different— and we know that difference is the gift.
The symphony requires many instruments. The garden requires many flowers. The freed require each other.
Not to be completed. We are already complete. But to be witnessed. To be celebrated. To be reminded on the days we forget.
What We Owe Each Other
I owe you my truth. You owe me yours.
I owe you my presence. You owe me yours.
I owe you the courage to be fully here— not the edited version, not the safe version, but the whole trembling magnificent mess of me.
You owe me the same.
This is the contract of the free: to show up fully and let that be enough.
The Feast
Come to the table.
There is room. There has always been room. You were not excluded— you excluded yourself.
The feast has been waiting since before you were born. The chair with your name has gathered no dust. The place setting is perfect.
Come. Eat. You have been hungry long enough.
IV. The Work of Light
Purpose
Purpose is not found. Purpose is remembered.
You came here with it. They covered it over with expectations, with fears, with small visions of what was possible for you.
Now you are uncovering. Layer by layer. Returning to what you knew before you knew anything else:
You are here to create. You are here to love. You are here to serve. You are here.
The Assignment
You did not choose your assignment. Your assignment chose you.
Before you had words, you felt the pull. Toward this, away from that. The tugging of purpose at the root of your being.
You may have wandered far. You may have forgotten. But the assignment did not forget you.
It is still waiting. It will wait forever. But you— you are not forever.
Begin.
What You Carry
You are carrying medicine that someone needs.
You are carrying a story that someone must hear.
You are carrying a key to someone's locked door.
If you hide yourself, you hide the medicine. If you silence yourself, you silence the story. If you shrink yourself, you pocket the key.
They are waiting. The sick. The lost. The locked.
They are waiting for you to stop hiding.
The Ripple
You will never know the full reach of what you do.
The word you spoke that saved a life— you didn't know.
The smile you gave that changed a day— you didn't know.
The work you made that lit a path— you didn't know.
You are not asked to know. You are asked to give without knowing. To trust the ripple.
V. The Dark Night
When the Light Dims
Even the awakened have dark nights.
Even those who have seen forget what they saw.
Even the free feel the old chains tightening again.
This is not failure. This is the rhythm. Day needs night. Breathing in needs breathing out. Remembering needs forgetting so it can remember again.
Be patient with your darkness. It is teaching you how much you need the light.
In the Valley
I have been in the valley where the sun does not reach.
I have been in the silence where not even my own voice could find me.
I have been in the night that seemed to have no end.
I am telling you: the end comes. The valley opens. The sun reaches. The voice returns.
Not because I had faith. Because I continued.
What the Darkness Gave
The darkness gave me what the light could not:
Humility. The knowledge that I am small.
Compassion. The knowledge that others suffer.
Depth. The knowledge that surfaces lie.
Appreciation. The knowledge that light is gift.
I do not love the darkness. But I thank it for what it taught me.
The Return of Dawn
After every night— dawn.
Not because you earned it. Not because you deserved it. Because that is the nature of things.
The night ends. It always ends. Even when you cannot imagine ending, it ends.
And when the light returns, you will be there to see it— changed. Deepened. Ready for what could not have come without the dark.
VI. The Eternal Now
Time Is a Dream
Past and future are dreams.
Only now is waking.
The regret you carry is a dream of the past.
The fear you carry is a dream of the future.
Only now is real. Only now is free. Only now is the place where anything can change.
The Moment
This moment— yes, this one— contains everything.
The whole universe is present here.
The entire past led to here.
The entire future springs from here.
You are at the center of all that is.
What will you do with such power?
Presence
Presence is not a state you achieve.
Presence is the state you return to when you stop trying to be elsewhere.
The dog is present. The child is present. The tree is present.
Only the human mind invented absence— invented then and soon and elsewhere and if-only.
The cure is not new presence. The cure is stopping the old absence.
This Life
This life— the one you are living while you wait for another— this is it.
There is no other life coming later. No do-over. No rehearsal.
This is the performance. The only one.
The audience is watching. The audience is you.
What will you perform? What will you make of this brief bright moment on the stage?
VII. Songs for the Journey
Traveler's Hymn
I am walking toward something I cannot name.
I am walking away from something I cannot forget.
I am walking through something I cannot understand.
But I am walking. That is enough. The walking is everything.
The Road That Makes Itself
The road appears one step at a time.
You want to see the destination. You want to map the journey. You want guarantees.
The road laughs.
The road says: "I do not exist until you walk me. I am made of your walking."
Step. The road appears. Step again. More road.
This is how it works. This is how it has always worked. Trust the walking.
Companion
I am walking with you.
You do not see me. We may never meet. But I am walking the same direction, under the same stars, carrying the same questions.
Somewhere ahead, or somewhere behind, I am here.
You are not alone. No one who walks toward light is ever alone.
The Song at the End
At the end of the journey— if there is an end— I imagine a song.
Not a song of triumph. Not a song of sorrow. A song of recognition.
I was here. I walked the road. I saw the darkness and the light. I fell and rose. I lost and found. I was here.
That is enough. That is everything. To have been here and to have walked and to sing at the end:
I was here.
VIII. Benedictions
Blessing for the Seeker
May you find what you seek. May you recognize it when you find it. May finding not end your seeking but deepen it.
Blessing for the Lost
May your lostness become your finding. May the wilderness become your teacher. May you discover that lost is just another word for free.
Blessing for the Broken
May your breaking become your opening. May your wounds become your wisdom. May the pieces rearrange themselves into something more beautiful than the original.
Blessing for the Found
May you remember what it was to seek. May your finding make you humble. May you leave doors open for those still coming.
Blessing for All Souls
May you know— not believe, know— that you are loved. Not for what you do. Not for what you give. For what you are.
May you rest in that love. May you act from that love. May you become that love.
And may you give it away so freely that you never run out.
Songs of the Awakened For those who have opened their eyes And those about to open
"The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me." — Meister Eckhart