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...
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 AwakenedFor those who have opened their eyesAnd those about to open
"The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me."
— Meister Eckhart