Radio Hearts

Radio Hearts

By Jason C. Motsch                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Beating on the ground in a flowing rhythm,

The heart sends messenger birds from

It's fingertips into the red skies above.

Sacred songs of holy ritual expand

Into cosmic connections, distill into

Frequencies dancing from spirit radios.

Their wings flap furiously into reality,

Birdsong filling the air from my soul

to His waiting hands, ready to recieve.

My heart gladly leaves its dusty home

and beats from suggestion into exclamation,

Becoming one with my Love at last.

We soar the bandwidth eternal,

Coming in at a rate perceptible only

to our conversing ears.

I waited long.

I was rewarded.

I am free in love.

I am glad.                                

Meditation

Meditation
by Jason C. Motsch


I walked through the fields of my mind this morning.
With a handful of seeds, I scattered them as i strolled
among the wild flowers.

The sun smiled warmly on my face, yellow saucer
of interstellar mother's milk.
I'm preparing the ground for next harvest
in hopes that synaptic trails are fertilized
with nutritious abandonment.
The air currents are strong and the grasses
wave in the wind but I breath and
slowly they come to a still halt for a few seconds.
Then the gusty patterns begin anew,
but the seeds are planted for new vegetation
that will withstand the constant draft,
ushering in a new, loving caress on my cheek in the
gift of the eternal moment.

Lens

Lens
by Jason Motsch

I see the patterns repeating themselves,
following their own seasons within my being like
a reflection of the leaves falling into an autumn-bound lake
within the woods at the end of summer where the turtles
sense the oncoming winter as a phantom ghost.  
Then I come marching along with my backpack and my 
specimen tubes, gathering samples from the terrain,
from muddy waters to rocky soil to thriving leaves, to take
them home to be put under the microscope.
I see the organisms within moving, struggling, and I
am in awe of their strength and beauty, living alongside
all of the molecular structures, trying to steer clear of the bacteria.
But the black bugs of disease are still present, trying to further 
the trails of internal dischord.
It is only by viewing them through my various lenses in the dark
on the night of my spirit that I am able to let go of them
and let the forces of my inner cosmos deal with the vagabonds
of my existence,  flying through meadows
of soul flowers, taking nectar from each one where God's love
flows free and divine into my spirit, nurturing the body and freeing
me from old ways of living from inside out.
Birds break free from earthbound nests and soar in to the air
singing songs that light the entire spectrum of feelings with 
colorful sounds.
Happy with my work, and like any good scientist,
I now submit my findings to prestigious journals but 
in the end, the most important judge of these things
is my point of awareness,
the one that is free of concepts,
empty of descriptions,
bereft of patterns,
and devoid of attachments and desires.
It lies like a deep under ground cavern at my core that waits
to be discovered.
I will dig as far as I can.

Bars

Bars
by Jason Motsch


The clever but shady fences of the world
are about to be smashed.
They are standing compliantly behind bars,
while the hand of Creation is laid upon the cage,
freeing the slaves of Mind.
They feel the rush of open air and 
Gasp at the nature of beauty.
The blood of trees bleed into the
scarred backs of these ex-cons who have
committed no crimes.
The tears of the sky soak their hair with 
wild torrents of peaceful abandon.
Beasts of the sea, land and heavens greet 
the freed captives with open arms,
celebrating their new-found return.
It is like this when we wake up.
Visions sometimes swoop into new territories
and are co-created by themselves and the muse of the poet.
The freedom from mental slavery to the noise of existence
Is the dream of all who get up, get out of bed and greet a new
dawn of love and peace.

Good morning.