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The Word

Saying it, the word
often we may not
but unfolding, the essence
often we must.

Something to be feigned, it is not
fingers placed quickly to lips
demanding never again to lie.

For another can patiently be
observing, as time together goes
trusting, the essence to manifest
accepting the word when spoken.

The word itself
used precisely, or not
just the same, felt
by giver
by receiver
when from truth it flows.

To make one’s mark
to leave an impression
to know you’ve made
an impact
this is the stuff
of treasure, true gold
found in the self
the self you are
founded on the reality
of who you are.

The word
yes, the essence
originates in, with
and from, this reality.

–J. Brunson

"Essence" by Anna Sabino

“Essence” by Anna Sabino

Bright Unknowing

Superfluous opinion, you’re not.
Yet trigger pulled, sending brightly
such divisive thinking into the air.

An opinion, only narcissism serves.
Egocentricity, and shallowness lightly,
simply wasting the burst of a flare.

Devastating challenge it was,
when such I realized,
of opinions, I must let go.

Wonderfully freeing it was,
truthful wound cauterized,
of presence, I can now know.

Inauthentic only, an opinion can be,
outwardly lashing,
misrepresentation externally told.

Authenticity, non-dualistic and free,
inwardly flashing,
oneness internally we can hold.

–J. Brunson

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Grounded in Respect

As a child, respectful
with you I can be,
only as first, I
can be with me.

Love honors being.
From the chambers
of love,
voice moves you.

Love honors doing.
From the chambers
of love,
voice moves others.

Being, alone
may withhold resonance.
Released, respectful energy
in a world needy.

Doing, alone
cannot say enough.
However, an amplifier
for voice it can be.

To be unconsciously present
too much the norm,
walking through moments
too conscious of self.

The full flow
of voice it takes
to feel, hear, and see
grasping love
as source and energy.

In the beginning
nothing it cost
to just be.
Trust was easy
from a center
clear and free.

In the moments, loving tension
at our disposal, always.

Being, resting in respectful trust.
Doing, lovingly grounded in trustful respect.

–J. Brunson

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Everyday Dignity

Each wonderful, we are,
an engaging story,
for need in the world,
to be told.

In the ordinary, is power,
constant opportunity,
To Feel before and beyond
any limiting expectation.
To Hear our own resonant
capacity to be present.
To See the mysterious ease
of everyday things.

The abundance of mystery,
expectation interrupts.
No longer by narrowness be,
misguided by and into judgment.

Permission, allow me to give,
relieving you of the stress,
attempting to create
what you already hold.

A voice from the beginning, free,
resonant strength limitless,
authentically equipped to speak,
gracefully, in the transient flow.

In the space of everyday,
a story to be told,
you are, I am.

–J. Brunson

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Mystic Memory

It was August, mile four,
one of my long walks.
Quiet, peaceful, simple,
thoughts fired into memories.

Feeling, from all those years ago,
the shade of grandparent trees,
porch time with Sallie and Henry.

The memories thick as fireflies
on such a Mississippi evening.

The red and white kitchen table,
the window behind the bench at that table.

The cupcakes,
oh my, the cupcakes!

I was safe, then,
so safe.

Still, there’s safety in the present,
but no one else must hold the pearl.

Yes, that was a tender time,
open and wide.

I was safe, because?
Because of love,
because of love, unconditional.

In such safety,
unconditionally,
every little thing
had meaning.

The source of meaning was from without,
graciously held by those showing me
the pearl of great price,
the Trueness within.

And from within,
now meaning flows.
Then, every little thing had meaning.
Now, up to me it is
to know meaning in
everything belongs.

–J. Brunson

The Moment, by Anna Sabino

The Moment, by Anna Sabino

Silent Freedom

Mystery
not the agent of fear,
of what we are afraid.

The absurdity of it all,
our angst, our anxiety,
fixed in a demand to control.

Whatever is missing
has been dismissed
in the waste of fear.

And mysterious still
how one might believe,
ever was there
any chance of control.

What then was dismissed
from fear, without thought?

Was it loss?
Was it love?

Providence not trusted,
in the flow of it all, it all
moves with us, or without us,
but so wants the divineness
of our presence.

In a loud world,
a distracting swirl,
silence is a mystery.

But silence we need,
for more than a bit, to hold,
and without judgment, release.

Letting go,
how can this be,
possibly be,
the way to steer,
a source to guide?

Simple it is,
to be led out there
one has to be guided
in here.

And the source,
the guide,
from your beginning,
is away from the fray.

In the silence,
in the depths
of The Presence,
is the middle
of your being.

Here, in the middle
of who you are,
since the start,
is inclusive freedom.

–J. Brunson

Silent Mystery - by Anna Sabino

Silent Mystery – by Anna Sabino

Trust the Mystery

The mystery of impact,
a paradox hard to hold,
being who I am
doing what I do,
to what end?

The answer held truly
by the one, herself
by the one, himself
read aloud in their own lives.

In the theater of my life,
I stand somewhere between
the second and final acts,
scenes replaying and lovingly teaching.

Youth now walks behind me,
but deserted me it has not.
Its diligence dutiful and due,
its design served adequately.

From the words of life & living,
a manuscript evolving,
my impact unfolding in the chapters,
written by others
finally by me being read.

And read I do
often and openly.
no longer hiding,
impact embracing,
the mystery holding,
the mystery holding me.

– J. Brunson

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