Our personal history
tries to keep us on a track,
iron rails hold us to a fixed route.

When anger ignites,
one has no choice
but to follow the ancient directive:
fists clench
face burns scarlet,
revenge sparks on the tongue.

What if that track isn’t so set?
What if it’s made of cooked spaghetti?

Rather than prowl
and sharpen my claws,
what if I choose to
hold steady in the Love?

What if I call on that cool Inner Power
and let it ice the wound,
wrap it in soft gauze
and massage away the bitterness?

What if I see the history of hurts,
running this show?

Simply stop the engine
climb off the train
and instead of tripping along the tracks
head into the wilderness…

To the unknown
where ponderosas smell of sweet vanilla
and squirrels chirp the truth.

I climb the highest peak
to where the air is light
and blue bonnets chime.

I twirl atop it
celebrating freedom
from all below.

What if I could even
live in this heightened paradise?

When I let the Friend burn up the tracks,
the train
and even the caboose
I love fully,
each day a new beginning
free from the past.

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