Author: Jeff Shapiro

My best friend…

Carries the secrets of the hillsides…
Is a speck of pure white…
A dream that has been realized…
A perpetual glory pointing to the heavens.

She lives in the charming wild gardens…
Laying this way and that…
Among the sumptuous clusters of bloom…
Springing from the rich, cool, soil.

She is who makes you so lovely…
Tells you to stop juggling so many pointy balls…
She knows the brave display you put on each day…
And asks if She can guide you through the angles and the bends.

The power of Her love is boundless…
Always ripe and full…
She says yes, now and forever…
And is always on your side.

Yes, She is the one who makes you radiant…
So colorful and so fragrant…
She is my mother and yours…
Always ready to meet us in Her glorious wild.

I love you,

Annie

Have you ever had the feeling that you are dodging biting ants…
Dotting every sidewalk, nook, and cranny…
Moving in rhythmic silence…
Licking their chops, waiting for the signal to attack.

They move so unpredictably…
Awaiting their next meal…
I wonder if they are thinking that their next meal is me
Their code of existence is not nice.

I heard they got Goldie…
A beautiful golden three times my size…
I will spare you the details, but it wasn’t pretty…
You can imagine the rest by yourself.

You may wonder why your world is full of so many ants…
You hold the key to their farm…
When you open it, they keep coming and coming…
Bringing so many worries, so much biting pain.

Have you ever thought to put that key away in a drawer?
That instead practice actions of love…
Like magic your worries will disappear…
And your day will be free of ants.

I’m kind of tired of dodging ants…
How about you?

I love you,

Annie

Did you know?

You are the rhythm for everything around you…
There is no end to the amount of original you can be…
With such beautiful feathers…
You can let others borrow your wings.

You are such a smooth, warm, blue…
A living bridge for those in need…
Sowing seeds of love…
Reaping a harvest of fulfillment.

Your heart is always listening to other hearts…
Full of joy and inspiration…
Always listening to the pause…
You know, “Dream like.”

You are a single perfect diamond…
Sparkly and translucent…
Sometimes light as air…
Others hard as wood.

If a pup can see all this, why can’t you?
It will not exist unless you believe…
Come into my doghouse of wisdom…
And I will teach you how to be.

I love you,

Annie

Maybe you could answer this for me…

Why do humans love feeling guilty?
Guilt is a terrible friend; boundless and measureless…
You really shouldn’t hang out with it…
It will lead you to remote and scattered places.

I know a truth about guilt…
Stop trying to fight it…
With no resistance it will disappear all on its own…
Because guilt is a coward, both fleet and fleeting.

The wind is a much better friend…
And so is the golden sunshine…
Try looking a butterfly directly in the face…
I’m certain you will find music there.

Your heart is like a flower with countless pedals…
Your life painted upon each one…
There is no pedal called guilt.
That color does not exist on the master’s pallet.

I met you along time ago walking on this same path…
We, together, being the precise flavor…
We have come all this way together…
Guilt is an unwelcome stranger.

I love you,

Annie

Sometimes I am only pretending to be asleep…
I call it squinting with the “glassy eye…”
Resting under the tender hand of the unseen…
I scan for any threats.

I rest in reason…
Like a dank, chubby, snake…
Keeping your memory fresh and sweet…
And ready to strike at anything that would interrupt it.

Relaxing in the empty quiet…
Listening to the rattle of the wind…
Accepting the seasons of my heart…
Remembering your sacred tears.

Always alert for something goofy…
Entertainment comes unannounced…
Maybe my butler will start dancing with his own shadow…
Or try to sing a song.

It is all sublime…
A part of who I will always be…
Placed on this earth to comfort and protect…
Always making sure that you are warm and safe.

I love you,

Annie

I’m looking for the clockmaker…
The person that makes us rush about…
I’m looking up, down and across the air…
Through the clouds of sun caught dust…
Into oneness and melody.

Maybe he lives in the east…
The place of the mellowed, sweet and kind…
I seem to be wandering further and further from the “definite…”
The difference between domestic and the wild.

Wow, I’m somewhere else…
Visibility zero…
Somewhere between air and air…
Into a place of perfect unison.

I see that there is no clockmaker…
That is a law written by our own hands…
Written because our sails and rudders are broken…
Hours, minutes, schedules are needed to give us direction.

I am blessed, I can’t tell time…
My clock is in my head and has four alarms…
Food, nap, play and walk…
It’s all the time I need to know.

I love you,

Annie

How can anyone improve the feathers of a bird?
Or the golden locks of my hair?
Or the deep, deep, beauty I see in you?
Or all the natural wonders of this earth?
I don’t think it can be done.

Everything awakens in the sunlight…
But not everything faces the sun…
Some allow the sun to open their hearts and blossom…
Others turn their backs and hide in the shade.

I often consider the image I’ll leave on this earth…
Nope, I’ll never be a saint…
I haven’t turned any stones into kibble (I keep trying everyday…)
I want to be remembered by something else…
Not by what I’ve done, but by how I’ve made people feel.

I wonder what I would wish for if I found a bottle with a genie…
I think I would be afraid to wish for anything…
Why wish when everything I want is just a stillness away…
I guess if I would wish for anything, it would be that you could be like me…
Unbound and free.

Okay, I’m putting the finishing touches on my wondering…
We seem to be all here for the same holy purpose…
So what if we mess up by sometimes by serving meatloaf to a vegetarian…
Messes are easily cleaned up…
And I’m always just beneath you, if you need to destroy any evidence.

I love you,

Annie

Remember when I told you that there is gold at the end of every rainbow?
This story is written on every soul like a map to an unknown treasure…
I’m sure you love that story…
It was planted by the one great heart of the sky.

You don’t remember?
Give me some paint and a brush…
It is not a complex design…
It is just every color in front of a great big sun…
The gold is the extra sunshine that follows every storm.

Speak of this to everyone…
Tell them that this is where each new step in life begins…
And it is not just a place for humans…
Everyone and everything are welcome.

Oh, I see, your remorse is keeping you away…
You have built too many sandcastles and watched others tear them down…
My advice, stop measuring your soul with accomplishments…
And begin seeing that your fortune is in the lowest of places.

Together let us pour over each passage…
And stop putting so much value on titles and things…
Never forget the story about gold and rainbows…
It is not just for children.

I love you,

Annie

I love the cozy middle…
Here I chill, curl up and forget…
Quickly I find the exact balance…
And fall into a fat, numb, sleep.

For me, this is the gate of the blessed…
I’m no longer an intruder in this world…
I see the universe and understand that it all belongs to me…
And thank the sheep for giving me her wool.

It is best with a crackling fireplace…
Now, I feel myself untwisting…
There is so much more here than intellectual value…
With each breath, I get younger and younger.

Oh no!

There is a problem; a big problem!
My butler begins to stir…
He drops me on the floor with a thud…
Yep, there is no such thing as a constant condition.

Angry, I wander to my dish and start shoveling in calories…
Now, I’m just a Pygmy in the midst of giants…
Doesn’t he understand that I need to be constantly wrapped and cuddled…
Stupid, stupid, butler.

I love you,

Annie

Come with me, I’ll introduce you to the weaver of the fields…
I know the place where we can watch Her weave…
You will see that Her patterns are all fashioned after dreams…
Ah! Here come the singers and the dancers!

Not a bad way to pass a dreamy springtime day…
Here, where there are no jewels or fancy cars…
With time you will be able to understand Her degrees of fineness…
And the different qualities of Her greens and blues.

But while we are watching…

Take my advice and never eat the milkweed…
Or try to suckle from the teet of a goat…
The weaver does not like this kind of behavior…
And neither will your stomach or your butt (experience!)

Back to the poem…

The weaver uses all the earth’s materials…
After a while you’ll see that nature is just many forms of the same thing…
That love is when we discover we have known each other from the beginning…
And that true giving is exchanging the gifts of this earth.

Who knows where the weaver has come from…
I think She has been here before the beginning of time…
Her hands always creating, Her love never ending…
She smiles when She notices you and me.

I love you,

Annie