Dear God,
I surrender my thriving ache
I surrender my agonizing pain
I surrender my fearful hopes
I surrender these bones

I surrender the burns in my hands
I surrender not knowing the plans
I surrender my arrested mistakes
I surrender my unwanted pains

I surrender my open wounds
I surrender my resistance
I surrender all my walls
I surrender the ache

These are the days of surrender into
the God of understanding/ God of all peace
unto the God who holds me /piece by piece/ put me back to together
as fall apart
Intimately/ providing/ every step of the plan/ into the hands of a God so wonderful/ so magnificent/ so to holy/ so I surrender ~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley

In a moment, I’d felt an urge to walk and so I did. A flock of birds fluttered over my head. I stood at that moment, felt time slow down to nothing. Time never was, it was me. I relied on time.

Walking again the flowers were more vivid in Autumns’ beauty. A sure rose of the morning. Two baby rabbits are on my path. I try not to startle them. I watch their beauty evolve, white paws, pink little nose tips, eyes so clear and bright. The earth cares for them. Picking green grass as fruit. Closer the wild creatures hop into the bushes and they are gone.

I.
Empty
my thoughts
into stillness

II.
Spill out
a refreshing
grace

III. Taste
the waters
of nectar

IV.
Intimately
relieving the mind

V.
From her duties
inside~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley

Around the holidays can be some of the most painful times. I’m pretty sure, I’m not the only one. Maybe, I’m more of a rare bird. Observing the lives of myself and others. I’m not quite sure if both events run together. Here’s how I recall them.

I won a turkey from school that year. I was so happy to bring a turkey home. We didn’t have much food. We never did. I’d tucked the turkey into my coat. I wanted to surprise mommy. I went down the street smiling from ear to ear. The world was grand. I lugged that huge ten-pound turkey against the skin of my school clothes. (truly one of my better memories to keep.)

I pulled out that turkey, we jumped and jumped. My brother, sister, and mommy danced all around. Maybe, holiday cheer had come early. Little did we know, of evenings’ turning tide.

As a kid, I loved to get away. From all that cheery, give-me-this/ give -me -that, I would lock myself in a room. Watch all the Christmas episodes until I’d fall asleep.

Grandma did what she could. She’d sat out the chestnuts, walnuts, and acorns as our family tradition. She’d make me help with the sweet potato pies. I made so many pies. I could make them in my sleep.

I enjoyed cooking with granny. She’d wobbled, only so far. Then make me do the heavy, blending, mixing and setting the table. Not too many heart-to-heart talks with grandma. When they did surface, it was a tidal wave for both of us.

I brought up the time, I’d won that turkey. Our celebration was cut short. As I watched. Mama being pounded in the head by my stepfather. Over the toilet bowl, he beat her in the face. Pushed her head down into the small porcelain-liquid.

I guess I’d seen enough, at my age.
Heard the racket and ran. I got the broom from the kitchen.

What was I thinking, at nine years old?
I pushed that broom into his back. I grit my teeth together.
I shouted as loud as I possibly could.

“Get off my mother! Or so help me God!”
I remember standing there, in the bathroom, trembling.
The peeled, teal-paint on my back.

I could have melted into those walls. If they’d let me.
I remember the shocking, awkward look on both their faces.
That now what moment?
I’ve disturbed a pit bull in full feast mode.

He dropped mama’s head.
He raised his hands in front of me. I thought, surely his gonna kill me but he didn’t. He walked right past me.

After that, we didn’t celebrate too many more holidays together, as a family. My siblings and I soon went to live with grandma. Mama stayed in Texas with her new husband. Holidays were never the same.

I still wanna lock myself in a room.
Watch all the Christmas specials, don’t come out until its all-over.

However with children of my own. Blessings of life and favor, so much to be thankful for. I’ll be attempting my part of good cheer. Making grandma’ sweet potato pies.

Hey, that’s life, we give it all we’ve got. Life keeps on going,~your Kindness sister, Krissy Mosley

Dear Diary, I never wanted to put God in any kind of boxes. However, it is with great- examination, of my life. I’ve listened to many rivers, some flowing upstream, some down, some fires, and many, many symposiums that could last a lifetime.

A man once said to me when asked what I believed in
When no words flowed back

he said: “I am all of them.”
“All of What? All religions”
“How’s that possible?”

I struggle with the most basic things sometimes, especially since I’ve left the church/ to come back to the church and over and over the saga continues.

I walked down Race street repeating it “I am all of them”
Maybe, God could be just that, All of These (religions) and yet I couldn’t wrap my silly little mind around the Creator being all things/all faiths/ for everybody.

And deep down inside I knew he was right. Or I felt something stirring. God’s not supposed to be boxed, labeled or Christianized/stuck in the ways of humans’ existence. It was always bigger than us. Always has been/ always will be.

What if there were no systematic religions? Just faith and whatever you needed to call God. God could possibly be that and be so much more.

P.S. feel free to add what you believe~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley

A beautiful mind cut in sections
with a small pair of scissors
unmasked for the ages
let them cut/see in/ pink/bright-red/wagging

inflated in many faces but all one and the same
priests/pedophile/gods of little gods/man/murder/friend

impregnated by the naivety/identities skewered
by the bull

mask/press/shake/loose intentions

Of perfecting
A beautiful/ blinded-mind
wrinkled/weeping/luscious/battle

horns/ salted/sword/stroke/surrounded mounds
in mounds loving/hating/unfriending/pending
holding still/ recklessly endangered bulls

split/gently/soft down the middle
born of death/disease/sworn I wouldn’t tell
elapsing between the faces

but its time/ I survived it/ ripped out its spleen
that rat-face bull/people walked around staring it in the face
and refused to believe what you see is only half
the story and other wears the mask of a
billions of shades/ semi-cut
and fit for the blind~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley

I met a Buddhist monk once. I knocked on the door of Camden Temple. He couldn’t look me in the face.”No women!” he shouted. The door slammed.

I knocked again, he answered, “go to Philly and learn from the English Buddhist they will receive you.”

I explained “but I’m here to see David.
David told me to come.”

The Buddhist bowed with many apologies. Bowing still, he opened the door. I walked into the prayer chamber. The OM before me was overwhelming. The Buddhist resumed their prayers, as David and I greeted one another.

David sat down with me. As I confessed my hearts desires for coming. I wanted answers. I wanted to know more. I sat there pregnant and all. In a small wooden chair. The air was filled with rice and curry. The OM illuminating. I took it all in.

I told David, recently I’ve been kicked out of a church. They had to let us go. When I say us, I mean my husband and me along with my two-year-old daughter. Now I’m not coming here to say we are right, oh so righteous by no means. I have many faults.

The church acted in their best interest. I believe at the time. They weren’t out to hurt anyone. Nor stop us from attending service. It’s just my husband was the pastor and me the wife. Well, they couldn’t afford to pay him anymore. I thought they went about it the wrong way.

David replied, “no one is wrong and no one is right.”
“It just is.”
I repeated, “it just is.”

I replied,” but he was willing to Pastor for free and
after four years of serving this community that’s it huh?”

He said, “And so you must let it be.”

I paused. Tried to take it in.
Pushing David, “so what do you mean?”

He replied “let it. Be.”
“but,” I said
“I feel like I got put out of the church”. What a slap in the face!” A punch in the gut!
“That’s never supposed to happen.”

David stood up and return with a book from Eckart Tolle “A New Earth”

He answered:
“Once you’d allowed the pain you feel to pass.
Once you’ve given over to God the hurt.
Please don’t wear it, don’t swallow it.
Suffering will consume you. If you resist.
You must be still.”

I quieted myself, as David walked away from the table.
He said a mouth full. This time, he returned to explain further.

The chanting you hear, the kneeling you see.
It’s not for show. It’s for the suffering.
The path of allowing. Stillness.”

I soon thanked him for meeting with me. More quietness filled the room. After listening to the chanting and prayers for a while. I left quietly.

I still think about this special time. If I hadn’t been put out of that church. I would have journeyed on as usual. I wouldn’t have reason to seek out more divine answers. Or hear the OM. So now, when I experience suffering, I try and be still. I can’t say I’m successful. Nor have I mastered letting go.

What I am saying, that no “blaming part”, the monk shared with me. I carry that.

In their path, the church was right.
I am no god/no judge/ no jury.

And all the unanswered things/like people being shot in the churches. Innocent lives lost. I don’t have the answers. I do know, there is much suffering.

I know, I will not allow it to consume me. I pray for the hurt of this world. I know that’s not what God intended. No matter how doubtful it may seem.

I know, I’m not in control, so this too, I’m learning to let it be.
God has the final say over the earth. I believe we’re all capable of letting the hurt out once in a while.

Allowing love in a little more~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley

(it’s been six years, I’m just coming into courage/to share this)

I’m more myself now than I ever was.
When I look in the mirror. I don’t see the sad eyed-girl with low self-esteem. Or the abandonment of my mother. To have a second husband and leave us. That was her choice.

To leave her kids with their grandmother during their teenage years. (Never -mind my dead father).

As I bent down to tie my shoe. I let my mind wander back, to that girl, I used to be. On the floor of grandma’s corner house, faced down into the carpet. Hands over my face. I’m barely breathing. Tears falling out the sides.

My brother and his friends are teasing me for wearing the same winter hat.  Day in, day out I wore that hat. It was starting to be really hot. I still hadn’t put a comb to my hair. Let alone, look at that hot mess sitting on my head. So I did, what I thought most 13-year-olds do when no ones looking. I stuck a wool hat on my head and kept it moving. Until those boys snatched it off.

Then all that shame, all that matted-down nappy-shame ran over me. My younger cousin walked in the middle of my disgrace. In the middle of their full on the enjoyment of sheer bullying. She covered me with her love. Being all grown, at six years old. She wiped my tears. Pulled my body off the floor.

I made it. Past their scrutiny, past their foul words. Past the regret of not knowing how to take care of myself.

We’d become best friends that day. She too needed a mother. I cooked her meals, walked her to school. She introduced me to an old school beautician in our neighborhood. The rest is history
God is good like that.~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley