she had some horses

by: joy harjo

"She had some horses.

She had horses who were bodies of sand.
She had horses who were maps drawn of blood.
She had horses who were skins of ocean water.
She had horses who were the blue air of the sky.
She had horses who were fur and teeth.
She had horses who were clay and would break.
She had horses who were splintered red cliff.

She had some horses.

She had horses with eyes of trains.
She had horses with full, brown thighs.
She had horses who laughed too much.
She had horses who threw rocks at glass houses.
She had horses who licked razor blades.

She had some horses

She had horses who danced in their mothers’ arms.
She had horses who thought they were the sun and their
bodies shown and burned like stars.
She had horses who waltzed nightly on the moon.
She had horses who were much too shy, and kept quiet
in stalls of their own making.

She had some horses.

She had horses who liked Creek Stomp Dance songs.
She had horses who cried in their beer.
She had horses who spit at male queens who made
them afraid of themselves.
She had horses who said they weren’t afraid.
She had horses who lied.
She had horses who told the truth, who were stripped
bare of their tongues.

She had some horses.

She had horses who called themselves, “horse.”
She had horses who called themselves, “spirit,” and kept
their voices secret and to themselves.
She had horses who had no names.
She had horses who had books of names.

She had some horses.

She had horses who whispered in the dark, who were afraid to speak.
She had horses who screamed out of fear of the silence, who
carried knives to protect themselves from ghosts.
She had horses who waited for destruction.
She had horses who waited for resurrection.

She had some horses.

She had horses who got down on their knees for any saviour.
She had horses who thought their high price had saved them.
She had horses who tried to save her, who climbed in her
bed at night and prayed.

She had some horses

She had some horses she loved.
She had some horses she hated.

These were the same horses."


to listen to joy reading this poem click here.

"unbeknownst to me, while i was waiting for sudden change, i was changing slowly."

- gil fronsdal

"the small man
builds cages
for everyone he knows
while the sage
who has to duck his head
when the moon is full
keeps dropping keys
all night long
for the beautiful
rowdy prisoners"

-hafiz

clear path

sunday...early afternoon...a pot of black beans simmering on the stove top...heavenly scent of cumin rising into the air...chilling winter winds once again whipping at the window pane....i settle comfortably into my seat, fleece blanket wrapped warmly around my shoulders, a steaming mug of earthy puerh tea in my hands...gently, i close my eyes.
allowing words of dharma to permeate...truth resonating...heart opening, mind relaxing, body softening...
coming back to center...anchoring here...again and again.

"knowing somehow that the heart knows its way from here on."


clear path

by john travis

(from his dharma talk given at spirit rock meditation center on march 6, 2010)

"the white heron
standing so still
dignity of posture
so like the yogis in our own hall
knowing somehow
to draw ourselves back
back into the center of safety
consumed solely
by the center of our own flames
burning of the old
the old stories wishes fears desires
your own voice calling to yourself
only heard by yourself
back back from the brink of the remembering
to this place where the white heron stands
breath breathing you
untouched by a shredded past
an incomprehensible future
resting like the white heron
only the dignity of the posture remains
blessed by the faculty of our senses
knowing somehow
there is no other world
than this
simply this
there is a small point
infinitesimal point
where the worlds divide
one road
leading back
back into the flames of becoming
this voice speaking too quickly
desperately searching
through the crowded years
where life's hopes and fears
can be played
in this game of winning
and probably losing
grasping tightly
capturing
imprisoning
keeping it all
of the time
and there's the other path
the old path
caught
in the miracles of ordinariness
bewilderment
the price of the sand slipping through our fingers
knowing somehow that you have to surrender
leaving behind the hopes and fears in this grasping
resting nowhere
falling on your knees
knowing somehow that the heart knows its way from here on
knowing somehow that the heart knows its way from here on"


~you can find his dharma talk and many others at www.dharmaseed.org