A poem for you

Please come home. Please come home.
Find the place where your feet know where to walk
And follow your own trail home.

Please come home. Please come home into your own body,
Your own vessel, your own earth.
Please come home into each and every cell,
And fully into the space that surrounds you.

Please come home. Please come home to trusting yourself,
And your instincts and your ways and your knowings,
And even the particular quirks of your personality.
Please come home. Please come home and once you are
firmly there,
Please stay awhile and come to a deep rest within.
Please treasure your home. Please love and embrace your home.
Please get a deep, deep sense of what it’s like to be truly home.

Please come home. Please come home.
And when you’re really, really ready,
And there’s a detectable urge on the outbreath, then please
come out.
Please come home and please come forward.
Please express who you are to us, and please trust us
To see you and hear you and touch you
And recognize you as best we can.

Please come home. Please come home and let us know
All the nooks and crannies that are calling to be seen.
Please come home, and let us know the More
That is there that wants to come out.

Please come home. Please come home.
For you belong here now. You belong among us.
Please inhabit your place fully so we can learn from you,
From your voice and your ways and your presence.

Please come home. Please come home.
And when you feel yourself home, please welcome us too,
For we too forget that we belong and are welcome,
And that we are called to express fully who we are.

Please come home. Please come home.
You and you and you and me.

Please come home. Please come home.
Thank you, Earth, for welcoming us.
And thank you touch of eyes and ears and skin,
Touch of love for welcoming us.

May we wake up and remember who we truly are.

Please come home.
Please come home.
Please come home.
by Jane Hooper, printed in The Wisdom Way of Knowing, by Cynthia Bourgeault

(check out my NEW book, releasing Mother’s Day 2013: Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy, co-written with Dr. Dena Cabrera, HERE.)

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the edited edition of myself (a poem by Starla)

Have the faith to love simply in your heart; do what needs doing in a loving way; notice one’s own folly; smile at the human situation. We are all weak. we are all human. If we were not, love would be unnecessary. In effect, we change when we realize our weakness without losing sight of the love that enfolds us.
by David Brazier

 

oh yes ..my folly

my weaknesses

part of being human

a love of sweets

and potatoes

the downfall of my belly guts

gaining me pounds

that no one sees but me

because “Oh your so tiny!”

and yet this insecurity a pot belly can give you is real

I have an aversion to exercise

and a love of all reading material

magazines

books

blogs

and eye candy like pinterest

This aversion doesn’t help my “so tiny feel”

But this isn’t only about frame and pounds

more about weak moments that creep

like worry and fear

of being useless

and invaluable

and generally overlooked

its more about shifted perspectives

to meet people pleasing

and then anger at those people

and then realizing they aren’t the one who moved

So I go to my center place of balance again

to the loving GOD  and seeing the me he  created 

and sharing that instead of the “ME” I think you want me to be

the edited edition of myself

Here’s to walking the rest of today in my own shoes !

(Starla blogs regularly here at Poet’s Prose)
*to purchase a copy of Emily’s new book, Chasing Silhouettes: How to help a loved one battling an eating disorder, please click here.

Thin Birthday (Poem by ManicDDaily)

On one birthday when she was very thin,
he brought out, after much whispering,
a half-grapefruit set upon a platter.

It was their birthday cake platter–wooden,
painted with blue ribbon swirl, holes put in
careful spaces along its perimeter.

The lone half grapefruit balanced in the place
for cake; a pink candle centering its face
like a faded, twisted cherry, stretched out tall.

He looked at her with such worry, not
(she thought) for her condition, but to please.  What
to give a child stuck in rigid refusal?

She’d disdain cake, she’d groan (he knew), oh Dad.
So, for her to weep, to get so very sad,
was quite unfair.  I wanted to give you

something you would take, he said, as they sat
out in the car and he awkwardly pat
her arm, reaching for something flesh and true.

 A little about me – My real name is Karin Gustafson, and this poem is from my book Going on Somewhere.  I blog as Manicddaily at http://Manicddaily.wordpress.com.  I have three very different books out.  One is a children’s counting book called 1 Mississippi which was written and illustrated by me (with tons of elephants); one is a book of poetry, Going on Somewhere; and the other is a very fun novel called Nose Dive.  Nose Dive actually also deals with issues of appearance and self-esteem, but from a comedic perspective.  The books are published by BackStroke Books and are all on Amazon.