There's honey dripping from the moon tonight.

A golden tear fell on my cheek from high above.
Now I feel every lover, loving; every exile yearning.

I feel all the ones who never arrived into someone's waiting arms,

and all the ones who were waiting.
I feel all the ones who've become an orphan, and those who've lost a child.

There's honey dripping from the moon tonight
from the branches of the moon
from butter lamps
from the smiling glow in people's eyes.

Do you remember accepting the original invitation?
It's all coming back to me now.

The dragging anchor hooked deep
into the ocean floor
and the Great Shaper's lighthouse beacon
guided your wandering spirit ashore.
It was then and there that you saw
the invitation was already yours.

You slowly unfurled the curling brown paper that read:

You are hereby invited
to move through this holy land.
Your travels here will be
two parts blessing, one part curse.
The blessing is that you will feel
with a full and open heart
the inner world of the travelers you encounter.
The curse is that you will feel
with a full and open heart
the inner world of the travelers you encounter.


Do you remember thinking:
"Well, maybe I'll just try it on for size for a while"?

Did you realize there would be no end to it

once you donned this luminous cloak;
that its length would be like a glowing fisherman's net 

that covers the entire sea;

that this hard-won expansiveness
would leave you paralyzed with love and agony?

When we eat at this feast table
it changes us forever
and there's no going back
to that impoverished neighborhood
of famished grasping-after
for all that we never had,
for all that was never ours to begin with.

When we dine at this feast table
it changes us forever,
reveals our unbridled kinship
with everyone, everything,
and there's only stepping forward now,
embracing what we always had,
saying yes to the loving and yearning
that was always ours to begin with.

There's honey dripping from the moon tonight.

A golden tear fell on my cheek from high above.
Now I feel every lover, loving; every exile yearning.

I feel all the ones who never arrived into someones waiting arms,

and all the ones who were waiting.
I feel all the ones who've become an orphan, and those who've lost a child.


There's honey dripping from the moon tonight;
from the branches of the moon
from butter lamps
from the smiling glow in people's eyes.

No matter how often the healing rain soothes this ancient sting,
the original invitation brings us back

to what we're all really doing here
with these turning of days.


(c) 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry

sound: Acacia / Tree of Life / Loren Nerell & Mark Seelig

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