by Michael Shorb

Struck, the arteries lose eloquence.
Even the hooded man shudders.
Tributaries of power and change
Spill from the vented block
To the stage of statehood.
Ignorance in brown fields abides.
Disrupted elements congeal
Across the silent morning.

Tell me how your God works, scholar.
If he were the snow alone,

or gold,

Or singularity

focused into concentration,

How should the unsightly,

beheaded

Body of His Spokesman twitch
To a halt before the multitudes?

He answers: how natural to see enlightened
Men court death, appropriate he who loves
The tree should follow, standing
A still, short time among its
Fallen leaves, hastening
To the root.

And here within this peace

There is no fuel for sorrow.
Flaws that mire
Life exist only in outer rings of ages,
Where the feint and storm of empire
Looms,

where brittle destinies

Foolishly contend.

Michael Shorb’s work reflects an abiding interest in myth, history, and the lyrical form, as well as a satirical focus on present day trends and events. His poems have appeared in over 100 magazines and anthologies, including The Nation, The Sun, Michigan Quarterly Review, and Queen’s Quarterly.

Remembering Who I Am

February 19, 2010

by Peter Bergquist

I’m not the me
that I can see.
I am the I
behind my eye.

I’m not the me
that feels he’s free.
I am the I
who does not try.

I’m not the me
that seems to be.
I am the I
who does not die.

I am the one
in everyone.
I am the one
and only one.

Peter Bergquist earned a BA in English from Princeton University and an MFA in Creative Writing (Poetry) from Antioch University Los Angeles. He is married with two daughters and is currently teaching English, Film and Academic Decathlon in the Los Angeles Unified School District. His poems have been published online, in journals and chapbooks.

Soul

February 17, 2010

by Josefine Cole

where is the soul of you, world?

for, bittersweetly pining, I would

press my palms into the sheath

of flesh that wreaths you,

and like so many other lovers

find some succor in that bending

breeze of compliant skin and sallow

entrancements of your lesser suitors-

to witness so much misled fallout,

the broken bottles and couples’ quarrels

cascading through your rigid veins,

the streets howling of misspent longing!

when will i breathe the soul of you,

savor the sour and salty opening

of you, press my tongue to you,

invite the shock of unfiltered munificence

sweating and streaming from the core of you,

near-bursting, ripe, relentless truth,

to soothe the facade-weary and scare away youth,

to reanimate passions long displaced from misuse?

when will i love, world-

would your consent then extend to me

to touch the elusive heart of you-

could i find a home in you

and could you find the soul in me?

Josefine Cole is a recent graduate of Naropa’s BA Religious Studies program and a practitioner of Tibetan/Shambhala Buddhism.

In a Nutshell

February 15, 2010

by Mary Dyer Hubbard

“Go out and let something in nature speak to you.” What a silly thing for a Retreat Director to say to a group of nuns! I walk aimlessly up and down the rolling paths, hardly registering the green fields, wild flowers and spreading trees. My fellow retreatants, mostly white-haired women dressed in black, eagerly search for some mysterious treasure.

Even though we’re in silence, I break it when encountering kindly Sister Margaret. “Did anything speak to you, Margaret?” I ask jokingly. “Yes, I just realized it! See those blue flowers up there? One of them is speaking to me and I have to go back and listen.” A little ashamed of her sincerity and my skepticism, I watch as she hobbles back up the hill.

I’m 35 years old, a nun since 18, and burned out. Like Audrey Hepburn in The Nun’s Story I have journeyed from cloister to missions. I too have known: fervor, striving for perfection, willingness to suffer, working in impoverished areas, burning zeal. But the flame is dwindling and now I walk around with ashen heart.

Listlessly I turn back. I’ll be the one with no story to tell, no stone or twig clutched in my hand, excited to share its amazing personal message. With head down, I trudge along without seeing. But, that’s odd. What is that lying on the ground: small, brown and hollow? Oh, it’s a walnut shell – or half of one. Strange, there are no walnut trees around here.

I pick it up and study it. The inside ridges are more pronounced than the outer smoother shell; the inner grooves are pitted, sharp and dark. Imagine the nut pressed and squeezed until it matched those unyielding convolutions! Suddenly I drop the shell and gasp. Sobs follow and I’m on the ground cradling the shell in both my hands. This is me. Squeezed and pressed into a mold of perfection. Convoluted. Rigid. Never good enough. Try harder. Conform. But where is the nut itself? Where am I? What is left of ME? I grieve wildly for my lost self.

It’s a long time before I can breathe without pain and tears. Slowly, gently, I realize the shell has been cracked open; it’s half gone. Maybe the warm air and sunlight have already enticed my hidden self to start emerging. What would it take to shed the other half? But if I relinquish it all, I’ll be exposed, vulnerable. Who am I without the shape of the institution? I am alone. I am afraid.

I sit with my fears on a dusty path and wait to feel myself crawl back into my familiar shell but it doesn’t happen. Instead, something new begins to grow inside: hope. It won’t be right away. I don’t know when. But I will emerge all the way. Looking up at a nearby tree, I see a bird soar from its branches into the sky. Free.

Mary Dyer Hubbard was a Sister of the Blessed Sacrament for 20 years. After leaving the convent, she met and married Carl Hubbard and the couple lives in Horsham, PA. Mary Dyer Hubbard is a Licensed Professional Counselor and a therapist with the Samaritan Counseling Center since 1995.

We are Landscapes

February 5, 2010

by Lewis J. Kahler

We are the poems of history.
We are saying nothing.
The all-important nothing-
that resonates in the mind,
and nourishes
the spirit.

We are the topography
of all that never was.
The memory of what could not be.
We are the note in the cosmic music of chance,
the lost tomes of our foremothers.
We are our guides.
We are the light-
the hope.
We are divinely lost-
and we dance.

Lewis J. Kahler is the Dean of the Center for the Arts and Humanities at Mohawk Valley Community College. He also is the co-editor of Portrait literary magazine and is the author of No Mind: A Collection of Haiku (Portrait Publishing, 2008). Lewis was a contributing editor to Alternative Medicine: The Definitive Guide (Ten Speed Press, 2002). His poetry has appeared in the Resonant Review, Ampersand, Fusion and The Oracle Literary Journal.

Inconspicuous Shield

February 3, 2010

by Alex Chornyj

If it’s integrity we’re after
Then keeping to the high road
Adhering to principles
Must be first and foremost.
Secrets that abounded in the past
Will be left at the curb
There is no place for whispers
But a refreshing frankness.
To be told where we are
Not where we thought we were
So lead to believe
By some surreptitious propaganda.
I will not live a lie
The silence will be broken
The days of turning the other cheek
Have vanished with the lost apathy.
The ones who were powerless
Now see the impenetrable wall
Was only there by the force of suggestion
Almost like a placebo if you will.
Once one summoned the courage
To just walk over a line
That was only imaginary
One saw a true reflection,
In an unaltered mirror
The difference was like night and day
The actual from the inferred
Would be like an oasis,
Being posited as a barren waste
One could not have been further
Like thinking there were no trees
Then finding an entire forest.
Which would not only be shocking
But rather disturbing
From feeling rather naive
To then inquiring as to the motive,
Behind such an inconspicuous shield
To keep most from realizing
What truly existed
Only for their own selfish consumption.

Alex Chornyj is a reiki master teacher. Alex has been published in White Mountain Publications, Articulations, The Tower Journal, The Canadian Federation Of Poetry, online at www.artistsforabetterworld.org and in many Blog Talk Radio spoken word programs such as “Shaman’s Hand” and “Poetry Super Highway.”  Alex currently resides in Canada.

Wandering Hobo

February 1, 2010

by Simon Rubin

I am iam iam
Alive under the great sky
My heart is calm as a cumulus cloud
Crossing cerulean blue
My legs are like
Two tumbleweeds
In a cartoon
My mind is clear
And free of concern
I am not fretting about you anymore
Each passing moment
My being smiles bigger
I pull the trigger on violence
I slice up unnecessary thoughts
Like jack the ripper
I am the skipper of
My destination
Through all creation
If you find my body
Bury it or use cremation
Doesn’t matter to me
My soul is in rotation
Maybe I am Buddha
Maybe a barracuda
maybe I am Muhammad
Maybe I am Moses
Maybe I am two Eskimos
Rubbing noses
Maybe I am Jesus
Christ I don’t know
Might as well blow
This town
End up on Saturn’s freeway
Driving On it’s rings
Shooting stars to Pluto
Dipping cookies in the milky way
On my way to my own nebula
Across a sea of tranquility
Gathering no stardust or moss
Just going going gone
Only a song left


Simon Rubin believes that English majors are people who haven’t yet made up their minds what they want to do with their lives. Simon has the gift/curse of self reflection and currently reflects in Eugene, Oregon.

Garbage

January 29, 2010

by A.M. Donovan

Old dreams discarded

By the roadside

Amongst old fast food wrappers

Beer bottles, and dead animals

Dreams

Broken by the world

A world in which

They couldn’t survive

Or abandoned, like a puppy

To ridicule and shame

Outgrown, outmoded, thrown away

Some will come back, briefly

Into vogue

Like patriotism, and faith

Or– lets whisper– God

Then we dig, frantically

Through the detritus of our lives

Trying to find

The newly realized treasure

A.M. Donovan is a writer, a folklorist (teaching classes part time at a local community college) and a very good cook.  The folklore does tend to show up in the writing.  “Garbage” originally appeared in the 2nd Annual Northwoods Anthology.

The Gentle Buzz

January 27, 2010

by Kelsey Hannon

I am buoyed up with breath and held suspended with love
Connecting mind, body and spirit to a point of abrogation
More clarity than ten clear windows
A gentle buzz of energy in its purest form
Subtle surety softens the muscles in my face
And I am
Existing, unafraid of jarring impulses or cuts inside my stomach
And I am
Forgotten but more surely forgiven
what is outside this room
not numbing nor succumbing, this approach opens the veil
on the inside I wait for everyone to leave,
they have entered the half-an-hour-late crowd with salt rings on their shoes and jeans

Kelsey Hannon is an aspiring poet from Provo, Ut. She teaches Ashtanga Vinyasa yoga classes and has a passion for preventative health measures in lifestyle choices concerning fitness and nutrition. Kelsey writes a blog of her poetry and the occasional prose piece that can be found at myfinerthoughtstoday.blogspot.com.

Editor’s Note

December 25, 2009

Dear reader,

It’s hard to believe that 2010 is right around the corner.  I say the same thing every year, and still haven’t become accustomed to looking at the calendar in late December, realizing there are only a few days left.  I love this time though, an obvious point of reflection on the year gone by and consideration of the year to come.  What accomplishments deserve celebration?  What did I not quite finish that would be beneficial to wrap up?  What was my greatest joy this year?  Who came into my life and what have they taught me?  What am I hoping to do next year?

In mid 2009, I dreamed of Awaken Consciousness Magazine being a place where art integrates with personal transformation, a resource of inspiration and potentiality.  I am so grateful to YOU for helping to make that happen.  It’s an honor to have published such fantastic work, and I am humbled by your commitment to art, to growth, beauty and inspiration.

ACM is on break until the new year, but I hope you’ll visit again in January for more works that articulate and explore the Great Work, that of experiencing peace and joy, remembering our authentic source, our true self.

As always, I’d love to hear from you.  Email your comments or questions to me at editor@awakenconsciousness.com or post directly to the contributors through the comment log.  If you’re interested in subscribing to ACM, please scroll down to the bottom of this page and click “Sign me up.”

Many blessings to you and yours in this season of love and light.

Mindie Kniss