BACKWARDS

Wake to find

it is a beautiful

night to be born.

Ride the red pony

backwards,

it is time

to fall upwards.

Irony and paradox

are your shiny apple,

your thunder dream.

Do the opposite.

Make your curse

your calling,

pin the sheriff’s badge

on the criminal inside

and cuff him

to Truth.

Get comfortable

with discomfort.

There is a heyoka

in every one of us,

a sacred clown,

a contrary warrior,

who is looking

to find peace

in the blue of the house

in the dark wood,

where our lost child
is waiting to finally
parent us.