Poetry

Elevate the Ordinary

All poetry by Marijana Milicevic

As a haiku poet, I have often thought of what it would be like to live life as a poem lives, to become, in essence, the haiku itself: simple, contemplative, direct; abiding in the wonder and calm of a singular moment; embodying the essence of beauty but detached from it, from specialness, cleverness, appeal; the poem and poet, all in one, housing the consciousness of the everyday, the transient, the imperfect, and in turn, elevating the ordinary to an art form.

How I Met My Shadow Self

When I was a teenager, I woke up one morning in a state of pure bliss.
It felt like God consciousness was inside me,
like I was overflowing with light and love.
It lasted only two minutes,
but it gave me a glimpse into the nature of reality.
.
Then I fell back “asleep” for two decades.
In 2014, I experienced a spiritual awakening,
but instead of the peaceful ascension I had imagined it to be,
it was the rude version of my teenage experience.
No light. No love.

It came in the form of catalysts:
fertility issues, job losses, anxiety, health problems, financial instability, divorce, the death of a beloved animal ... one after the other, until ...
I was catapulted into the dark night of the soul.
D-A-R-K.

This is the story of my spiritual journey.
If I were to give it a title, it would be:
HOW I MET MY SHADOW SELF AND LEARNED TO LOVE IT!

The Imagination of the All

What is boredom but a call from God?
Pulling you into the imagination of the all.
To hear an idea into existence before
it is touched by a pen, actioned by a plan, or taken on as part of oneself.
In the humdrum of boredom, there are sounds - subtle, fleeting, listenable-
hushed enough to be missed when distracted,
or busy, or overwhelmed by habit and crises.
I ask you,
What is the Creator but a dispenser of these tones?
The universal to-do list is quiet.

When the Beloved Leaves You

Some will cling to the past like an unpacified baby clings to its mother;

Some will rage against the sun & moon & take them both down;

Some will frequent the pit of despair & call it home;

Others will let the beloved go, giving space for the going, holding space for the clinginess, the rage, the despair.

Somebody leaving you is a portal to God.

How will you enter?

Tell Me, Guru

Guru, what time do you have?
My watch is always fast or slow.
Am I in the present moment?
Tell me, Guru, I do not know.

I follow your techniques,
but my manifestations are a no-show;
My thoughts wander to and fro,
and attack like a mighty foe;
My emotions are in constant flow;
up and down, up and down they go.

Oh no, Guru, oh no,
it’s not Ben or Brian.
My name is Joe.