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The Tempest

A Tempest in Two Parts


The bare trees look like skeletal

hands reaching out

to the mottled sky, grey and dark,

a perpetual twilight.

The warm air is a mockery

of the holiday lights

reflected in the windows.

The two are at odds with me,

like palm trees at a Christmas party.

The stillness is almost balmy

and tastes stale in my mouth.

Thunder rumbles in the distance,

yet it’s supposed to snow in the next few days.

Maybe a storm can wipe it all clean?

The weather seems to mimic

the chaos of the world.

Is it winter still?

The calendar says so,

but the seasons don’t flow in order anymore;

this year follows different rules.


The wind blows through the trees

making the few remaining leaves

flicker like candle flames.

The cold air is a shock

jolting me completely awake.

I take a gasp of breath

feeling the chill move through me like tendrils.

The full moon is so bright that it shines through the clouds.

The air smells of cedar and the woods at night.

My feet are bare on the planks and dried up leaves.

The wind makes me shiver;

the sensation is almost pleasant, familiar.

I stand there long enough

for my cheeks to turn pink and tingle,

entranced by the way each exhale leaves

me like a smoky plume.

I will stay outside until my fingers numb

and the tips of my ears burn.

This is the last of the thirteen full moons,

on the last night of the year.

Endings usually make me feel melancholy

But, yet standing under the silver light,

I can feel the hope and renewed energy

I wrote this poem at the end of 2020. Two years have passed, and the sentiment remains the same. Oddly enough, even the weather mirrors the end of that year. We are still standing within the midst of so much chaos and uncertainty. I don’t think that any of us expected this pandemic to last as long as it has. So why the feeling of hope and renewed energy? Because I am sure of the fact that nothing last forever, all good and bad things come to an end. The very essence of existence is change.

Right now, humanity is passing through a dark night of the soul. We, as a collective, are responsible for letting our shadows create our reality. All that was kept hidden, secret, will not go back to the darkness unacknowledged. It’s too late for that. We must take ownership of all that no longer serves us: our irresponsible use of our planet’s resources, our greed, over consumption, unhealthy lifestyles, disconnection from Source. We must leave all that behind and forge a new way forward together.

Change can be scary. There will be many who will cling to the old ways from fear and ego. 2022 is going to be the year where difficult choice must be made. As co-creators of our reality, we have a duty to ourselves, each other, and our world to make those shifts. We must stand firm in our power, our sovereignty, knowing that we are all one with each other and the Divine. The poet Rumi said “we are not a drop in the ocean, we are the ocean.” Only as a collective can we move forward into a new reality, out of fear, out of control, out of suffering. The only way out is in. This is the task we can no longer avoid.

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