Habitation

Habitation   

by Jason C. Motsch

Buried under layers of earth and magma,

His womb revolves around a sun of mirrors.

Reflective of an eternal explosion of color,

The star bathes his eyes in a night of sunshine,

A snowy field of restful sleeping grasses.

The viscous, chaotic puzzle pieces of his being

Have been warlike and at a truce for ages.

He is every tree in the forest,

All the sand at the edge of the ocean,

All the water in the sea

and every star in the sky.

But the roots run deep into the ground,

Gathering the pieces together,

Making a solid image of light,

Easing out of of hibernation and into the fresh air.

Free to walk under the dark, bright sky,

He leaves his tracks in the cold snow,

abandons the trees , sand and waters of the world,

and sets out for a home in his heart where habitation is now possible.

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 Ancient pathfinder

Chaos infested moth

Bombards the campfire

Notices dwellings 

Simmering in the embers

Lasting silhouettes
Cast shadows long

Filtered amongst trees

Creating dark snowflakes

Storms of cool

Deluge rip apart

The soundless forest

Adventurer departs

Burnt out fire

For warmth.

      

        by Jason C. Motsch

        

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.                                

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by Jason C. Motsch




Sitting with the day slowly drizzling out through my toes,
I try to write a poem, my first in months.
Nondescript job exited by me earlier into the diamond
Embrace of my Love's presence , kissing his smiling eyes with mine,
we sped home on well worn paths under the starless night.
The rain came later as we sat at the table eating,
And as I write this, my first poem in a long time,
I glean from the cuttings of the flowers of my mind
That fortune has rained on my soul and into my life through
my Beloved man, my husband, my all.  

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.

Telephone

Telephone
by Jason Motsch


There is an undercurrent of muddy water,
here behind my eyes;  a thin veil of ice in the air 
distorting the lenses of these ancient spectacles.
Looking over at the rusted telephone
Hanging on the wall, I take my fist, smashing  until it's tattered and disjointed.
 Echoes of old conversations...
Now dewdrops blanket the floor and the muddy water
begins to fade when suddenly,
A voice from the dangling receiver calls out shrilly,
Announcing a melody that starts to fill the room.
A marriage of an an ending of being blind to the beginning of
Eyes washed clean with love, Creation begins
to form the seamless Now.
The dirt-laden, viscous liquid in the floor solidifies
and becomes a marvelous, verdant bed of down.
The frozen air becomes a warm, inviting ambrosia.
The cold floor is now burning with a field of daisies 
and orchids.  
I see the present through my God within.
Only  the dilapidated phone remains,
as things do, in a past littered with 
old voices.

I refuse to listen anymore.

Leaf

Leaf
by Jason Motsch


I hold a trembling leaf in my hand
And with faithful abandon cast it to the wind.
The forge within is shaping the blade
Which is to carve a whole new sculpture
In my soul.  
Further along the wooded path
The wind returns the leaf with a gentle gust nestling it  in the branches
Of a nearby tree.  
My spirit melds with Creation,
and flies to the air above where it 
Sings with the birds of the sky.
The terrain below is a patchwork quilt
Of blessings and life.  
I see the earthen vessel that has been
carved by the Unfolding- my life, my words,
My song.
Tree, forge, wind and dust now mingle
and begin to stitch up wounds godly within.
The throes of birthing pangs give way
to a new life envisioned in the reality of now.
Waters rush through the cascading fires of yesterday
wearing away at the canyon walls and forming new streams
that feed the Ocean Light.
I am a thing of the sea and breath in the liquid like
the holy eucharist of old, inebriated by the blood of Christ.
The mercurial ichor flows deep through the cosmos and I am but a drop
falling endlessly through space and time. 
There is a quilt of stars reflecting the earthly foundation below.
And above, beyond, yet still within it all,
Is the nameless, endless, timeless
Source.

Truth

Truth
by Jason  Motsch

Loving kindness knows no form.
We attach our details to deity or idea
thinking it equals knowelege.
No one holds the amulet of truth
except for the creator.
Heaven is not a country club for the the select
And Hell is not a place for the outcast.
Maybe judgements should be thrown into the sea
like the lead stones they are.
Maybe our versions of ultimateness
should be discarded for love.
No one knows God intimately except
when seeing the daylight on the face of the 
trees for the first time.
No man nor woman speaks
for the Buddha except when they wrap
their arms around the orphaned child
lying sick in the streets.
We are the trees.
We are the orphaned child.
The sunlight and gathering arms
are the medium for a Godly work of art.
So let's pick up our pen, brush and lute!
It's time to fashion a new kind of heart.
Let's show the way.

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Untitled  by Jason Motsch


 I have an insatiable thirst for wonder.
Drawn by moonlit echoes, I crash upon the shores of
my muse time and time again.
Today the sun glitters upon his beard like

Ice crystals newly melted into drops of dew
on the end of a morning frost.
Mesmerised by a simple reclining figure in the sand,
untouched by time and space,
The sun pours from his mouth and melts the layers
of my spirit away.
I see the truth as a root system
webbing under the ground of my being
producing whole forests of vegetation where
birds rest on their way to different nests up high.
I am winging across the ocean
Sent back to this screen,
dripping my findings onto the page, 
where I gather them from a journey into wonder. 

Hero

Hero

by Jason Motsch

The wind blew our way today,

scent of possibility and lovelight in its caress.

My spirit joined hands with yours

Long ago, sailing across galaxies

on currents of passion and pristine

grace.

Today, the gusting wind pushed my soul

into yours and cried out for joy in realization

of an ultimate desire.

Under the warm gaze of your gentle soul

I construct my half of this journey,

Equal and infinitely sourced in the light

of God.

We  create and channel blessings alike 

in the fullnes of time that takes refuge with us

under the forest boughs dreaming starlight eternal.

So much to discover in this land of ours.

So many pieces of peace join together 

and form the canvas of our bond.

I love you my hero.  

Railway

Railway
by Jason Motsch.



My mind is a railway station,
with many trains converging on the tracks.
Passengers spill out of cars and
Into the city where they live out their lives.
There are parts of town I have not visited for awhile,
Some way too much
And some not at all.
These travellers turned denizens form the body
Of my life.  
Sometimes I am not cautious enough when
Inspecting for explosives.
Whole city blocks erupt in fearful destruction.
Jesus and Buddha have walked these streets
Handing out free food and I try to follow them
When I think of it.
But sometimes the sewers call and I am swimming in sludge.
All in all, though, its a city on a hill lit by the sun 
and I am getting better at rooting out the gangs that roam
the alleyways looking for trouble.
My thoughts are living proof of successful missions
Into unrestful parts of the suburbs.
Neighborhood watch groups are set up now to police
the avenues of my being. 
I let in a little of everything.
I am small.
I am tall.
I am human.

I am a traveller.

Movement

Movement
by Jason Motsch

I don't know if i am returning or departing 
or resting at home dreaming.
the one of the ages has blown in from the east
and drives me toward the sun.
I feel it in the countryside bleeding from the
earth and trees, the waters and the rocks,
and in the flame within my heart.
I am always sitting at the well  
waiting for the bucket to come up
out of the holy waters to renew my soul.
It has come.