One fine birthday eve in Brooklyn, Saul and Rachel hit the streets as she performed her poem, “Out”, first published on Hevria.
I’m calling forth every outsider, outcaste and outlier.
This one’s going out to the freaks and the weirdos,
The ones who go long.
I’m talking to you.
This is a drawing, a conjuring;
I’m calling forth your inner wisdom,
I’m outing you for your intuition.
Listen, screw me,
Take it from Rumi,
Who said to
Sell your cleverness
My sweetest friend,
Can you afford not to?
Despite the imminent threat,
The impending exile,
Despite your coolness,
The abject fear of looking foolish,
Despite being ostracized,
Despite your desire for acceptance from the tribe,
I know all too well what it’s like
To be shunned,
To be shamed,
To be betrayed
And straight-up endangered and violated.
Come out anyway.
Leave your predators
in the pre-dated past where
Despite being burned previously,
Despite your mounting evidence to the contrary,
Stop slumming it with ghosts
Who don’t deserve your time or energy.
Walk out into the wide world.
You can only be brave
When you’re terrified.
This is the only game in town anyway,
Might as well get out on the field.
Do it for the kid you used to be,
The little girl with crooked pigtails who loved to sing
until some grumpy grownup told her she was off-key.
The little boy in corduroys who wanted to dance so badly,
but locked it all inside his body.
This is your uncorking.
It’s time for your story.
Pop the top off your bottle of glory,
What are you waiting for?
We all want to see!
Set your genius inner genie free.
I have nothing new to impart to you.
This is coming as an answer to your prior request.
This is your active remembering.
Bust through the perceived prison bars of fleshly limitation.
Burst through your sternum.
Fill this room, fill the whole building,
Fill the night sky with your wild brightness.
Would you deny
All the heavenly bodies
Of the galaxy
Their lives’ mission?
Why would you withhold from them their most fervent desire:
Simply to move in your sphere?
The sky is spilling with supernovae
Who have traveled billions of light-years
Just to shine down on your countenance,
For the sole purpose of gazing upon your gorgeousness,
Just to commune with your witness.
Why play hard-to-get with the infinite?
Give it up, you little love-slut!
Save that standoffish behavior
For the haters, violators and naysayers.
Somewhere on the journey between birth and
This very moment,
Your heart got broken.
Life got thwarted and distorted.
Predators and manipulators did their dirty work:
They predictably preyed and manipulated.
You were wronged and that ain’t right.
You protected yourself as best you knew how,
The gestation was tenuous,
And now, Hallelujah, you’ve made it.
Now’s the time for realignment.
Crack your shell, my little chickadee.
Share your pretty with everybody.
You are made of stardust
And you know this.
The outrageous unfolding of reality
Leaves you breathless.
Knocks you senseless.
You don’t want to miss this.
We get this brief blink of an eye together.
Let’s keep it real,
Even though it means being vulnerable and permeable.
What other options have we got?
I’m raising the stakes,
And ripping a rift
In the fabric of time-space
To reach you.
This is our holy communion.
I am placing rock sugar on the altar of your boundless potential.
I am burning frankincense by your hideout.
I am straight smoking you out.
I see the sweet believer in you,
The pearl of awe.
Listen, do you know
What you could unfold
From this peak moment of limitlessness?
You could sing some Stevie Wonder and dance all crazy.
You could jump on a trampoline—trust me, it’s amazing.
You could eat some ice cream.
Even if it has to be vegan, organic, soy-free whatever, fine,
Just eat some whimsical freaking ice cream, please.
This existence is a menagerie of human-fleshsuit-sized
I get it. Totally.
Yet how quickly this is all passing;
You know this already.
Is there an out?
Is there a doctor in the house?
I am trying to say that you’re fantastic.
I am trying to say that the answer: you have it.
Don’t end up mummified by your own cocoon.
Strangled by your best intentions,
Your attempt at self-protection.
It’s time to stretch your raw wings
Into the open field of possibility.
Yes, the air will sting,
It’s alright, its called feeling,
And you’re ready.
How safe and impervious is the seed,
How vulnerable the first sprouting,
Yet, sprout it must,
And sprout it does,
And out it comes,
We were made to become,
We are made to become,
This entire universe is an act of becoming,
A holy rolling,
An eternity of unfolding,
And yes, of potential violation,
Still, we persevere,
Shake off the cosmic dust,
Arise, we must
The universe wants to show you your own light.
It’s reflecting it back to you all the time.
You can be fearless and wild.
You can shake your bootie.
You can strut your signature strut.
Your modesty is lovely,
It’s the shame that I urge you to shirk.
Do some spiritual clutter-clearing.
You can be as proper as you want to be,
Or you can be raunchy to the nth degree,
It honestly doesn’t matter to me,
I just want you to feel free.
Do you, snowflake.
Do your one-of-a-kind.
Show me what you’re working with.
Let me see your light.
Come on little rockstar,