Tangled clusters of misdirected love

:a series of original quotes about what we are and how we do this thing we call life.


Families = tangled clusters of misdirected love.

-Billie Marie
Did you know some trees, when dying, send messages of wisdom to their offspring?

Lately, the concept of love has been swirling around my conscious. What is it? Who does it? When is it appropriate? Why should we do it? There are a variety of ways we can describe the various conceptual blocks that build our understanding of this four letter word – mercy, loving kindness, metta, romance, agape, respect, compassion, care, empathy.

One truth I’ve come to believe is that when I love someone, my focus must be toward freedom and God. We should love each other, not to the moon and back – though it is a great saying. But, shouldn’t we love people to enlightenment …and leave them there?

When a person claims to love me, I’ve come to rely on a litmus test that begs two questions. Are the person’s actions focused on my greater well-being? And, is the intention to love my inner spirit (my connection to God)? If I perceive anything less, I understand that real love is not occuring.

I know we like to give ourselves passes. Let’s face it – We’re only human. Everyone can be self-centered at times. It’s only natural. But, if we’re honest with ourselves, we know we can do better.

Love should move in the direction of freedom and God. But so often, what we call love moves towards control and ourselves. Think about behaviors you engage in that you consider to be acts of love. Think about how you view others you claim to love in relation to yourself: Your partner and children, parents and siblings, friends and lovers. Do we love them in ways that uplift, inspire and support their journey towards enlightenment? Do we love them the way we want to be loved?

Rather than tangled clusters of misdirected love, families can look like streamlined rays of enlightened love: Loving each other with intention towards freedom and focus on God.


All of life is a poem

:a series of original quotes about what we are and how we do this thing we call life.


All of life is a poem
And we, her syllabic truths

-billie marie

There is a coyote living in the park where I walk with my dog, Zora, many mornings. We saw the animal, what looked like a coyote, walking out on the frozen lagoon one early Sunday morning. A co-worker confirmed a sighting while driving to work a couple of days after that. The next day, during another early morning meander through the park, Zora decided to play copycat and walk out onto the ice. She seemed right at ease, like she belonged. When I saw her out there, I didn’t see her as a confined house pet. I saw her as the coyote, without her leash and collar – free.

What is a poem, but an expression of life. And what is life, but a beautiful poem; spoken and chanted, built and picked apart, constantly being written by us all. How do we live it? Do we live in fear? Or, do we chose to live free?

Poetic Permission: We are Vultures

we are vultures

Bush 1 died last week. The presidents were all there in the front row with their wives. It’s crazy to see it. In that one snapshot you’ve got it all –  the old ways and new, conservative and liberal, black and white, those who come from money and those who came from love. I wonder, could every member of this nation look to one of them up there and feel represented? Probably not. We’re a country of mutts and mongrels, mixed and bi and trans and poly. We’re all hyphenated and made of the stuff of LOOK AT WHO THE FUCK i AM!

But, there was something comforting about seeing all of them on display like that …presidential ducks in a row … having to do this thing that, more than likely, none of them wanted to do. Cuz, who wants to go to a funeral? Even worse, having to do it in front of all of us, their constituents, their citizens, fans, critics, supporters, haters …their nation. To be set up for viewing like a product line, with their liquid insides churning and gurgling, and forced to smile and fix their faces to look pleased as punch to be there. For some reason, that put me right at ease.

We are vultures.
We are fools
We don’t love
We love too much

God bless this nation
bless us all
blessings seem to have run out
flood worn down to an anemic trickle
blessings are flecks of gold rush scattered along wagon trails
blessings can’t make bail
blessing are paving the road to a great migration
blessings can’t come when you got no idea how that rope came to be tied ’round your neck
blessings can’t unbury themselves
blessings been shot in the back by a Chicago cop
blessings been rotting away in a torture cell on the west side
come on over here, step right up and get your blessings
I got 40 acres and a tax break with your name on it.

-Billie Marie Moore