Kathlyn L. Kingdon

Denver, Colorado, USA

Born January 4, 1947, Long Beach, California, M.A. in music, conductor, composer, voice coach; writer poet, graphic artist; editorial review panel of Advanced Development: A Journal on Adult Giftedness; international workshop and conference presentor, lecturer, international tour director, tour consultant; board certified clinical hypnotherapist, certified Enneagram instructor, meditation teacher; psychotherapist in private practice, Denver, CO. Self-published works include Poem to Ponder Upon the Path, 1988, ($8.50) a collection of mid-life philosophical reflections; Journey into Softness, currently in publication, as self-directed journery into personal healing.

Darkness

Night falls, and I am alone.
The Path stretches endlessly before me,
And into the darkness I press on.
Creation beckons, and I must go.
I tell myself the weariness I feel
Is not real; the darkness not heavy.
Deep within, some vast voicelessness
Cries out to the Source of my Being.
The clouds part, a star appears.
I am redeemed - for now.

Awakening

Lightening spears the Earth,
Thunder echoes with a blast,
And my feet, touching Earth,
Feel her quivering response.
The awesome moment
Shakes Earths stability,
And I wonder if
She doubts herself.
The blast of Universal power
Speaks with an ancient voice,
Uttering words we do not know,
Commands we do not comprehend.
Attentive at last,
We listen,
Hoping to understand, grasp,
Something we cannot control.
In that brief moment
(Or was it an eon?),
The ancient, Primordial voice
Demanded Earth's respect.
With majestic indifference,
The voice spoke a Truth.
Earth heard, responded,
And could never be the same.
Was it a birth or a death?
A beginning or an ending?
Did a great one appear?
Was a sage reclaimed?
Vast with Implication,
Void of any meaning,
Beyond our pseudo reality,
The power of the voice was Real.

Wrinkle In Consciousness

Standing amid the depth of infinite darkness,
I ponder the proposition that
I am not.
The stars release their hold on the night sky
And before me stretches the cosmic void.
It is me, and I it.
Unaware of a self's place within anything,
My mind releases its hold on the unfulfilled
Mentation I have identified as "Me".
The hollow space which hides behind every
Brilliant idea
Now reveals the vastness of its power.
The urgency of pre-essence to become essence,
The drive of that which is to release isness,
The static balance between consciousness and
Non awareness,
All become the force which propells the cosmic
Thrust into motionlessness.
The birthing of Being is a process of the Nothing.