The Call of the Coyotes

I hear your call on my morning walk
In my soul you sound like me
Expressing not entertaining
Giving voice to what makes you free

You are a child of Nature
Living here before we came
Domesticating wildness
While our own tongues we cannot tame

Whenever I hear you calling,
I wonder what you say
Is yelping in the darkness
The Way Coyotes pray?

Well if it is I’m part Coyote
I also call to the One Who Hears
I may not speak Coyote Language
But I’m blessed with Coyote ears.

©️ Copyright 2021 Pedro S. Silva II

More poetry at https://itsallinme.com/

Freestyle Vision Statement

It’s All too big

For us to be this small

We got to push out fear

So we can hear Love’s call

I  will keep building bridges 

To overcome your walls 

Undivide your divisions

Till we’re all in All

I don’t care if you don’t like me

What you may think unsightly,

I can never let it fright me

It might be…

Let me make a new decision

Undo everything I’ve learned

With Mysterious’ precision

Lose my vision

Makes me the opposite of blind

Eternally forgiving

Means never running out of time

I shine…

When I come out of the dark

“It is finished.”

From the moment that you start.

©️ Copyright 2021 Pedro S. Silva II

Belonging to Not Belonging

They say “Get in where you fit in.”
But I can’t find my space.
Like looking in the mirror
But cannot recognize my face.

No one else can see me.
What should I expect?
An outsider can’t get in
I’m destined a reject.

Damn this hunger for belonging.
I’m never satisfied
Because of the idea, “I should be special.”
Now I see it was all a lie.

All heartbreaks come from beauty
Or longing for it to be
The presence of an absence
The soul was never meant to see

So now I’m coming out of hiding
I need to recognize my grief
Because I know me, but cannot show me,
I’m a product of disbelief.

© Copyright 2021 Pedro S. Silva II



God’s Plan

it started in the beginning
it ended in the beginning
the Peace and the war
the losing and the Winning
the time we have to wait
the weight that comes with time
the Word and the verse
the pentameter and the rhyme
the Hope for a better tomorrow
than the way things are today
the separation from God
and the recollection when we Pray
the anger and the rage
that makes me hate my fellow man
and the Forgiveness of all error
that makes me want to hold His hand
the slavery that freed me
and the freedom that was my prison
the Light that was so blinding
that it made clear my True vision
the death I had to suffer
to see that I was Alive
the Love that is more Perfect
than all that man’s contrived
all that I will overcome
that led me to come over
to the Answer that’s so close
that it can’t get any closer
the doubt that made me Trust
that there’s Nothing I should doubt
and the Silence that’s so deafening
it drowned out all my shouts
my enemies who hate me
that I may know the Love of my friends
and the Salvation I received
because I committed all those sins
so when it comes to God’s Plan
there’s only One thing we need to know
this world was already Perfect
before our struggle to make it so

© Copyright 2004 Pedro S. Silva II

Serenity

There is no serenity, unless you know serenity.

Living life abundantly is the essence of infinity.

Something from nothing–creation is this simple.

Concepts of the middle ground come from trying to keep it mental.

What is your mission, but to know life and live it?

No thought of receiving when your spirit’s led to giving.

Serenity is the knowledge that you are who you are.

In you is the Universe, with the composition of the star.

My mind’s eye sees what my mind’s eye knows.

Life is the vessel. Love is the ocean on which it flows.

We have to keep moving. There’s no Way to stop.

The only death there is, is being what you’re not.

Be and it is means–you are when you’re being.

Be still and know; you can’t know when you’re fleeing.

In serenity there is nowhere to hide

And nothing to run from, since death is a lie.

Dreams give you direction to where it is you’re going.

Life is perpetual constantly flowing.

The only sin there is–denying what is real.

Don’t interpret your feelings. Feel what you feel.

Accept you’re the miracle you’ve looked for but couldn’t find.

There is nothing hidden that isn’t in your mind.

There is peace in reality if you live for God’s dreams.

This is the definition of what serenity means.

Live!

Moments After Martyrdom

You’re about to die for the cause you believed in,
But you can’t decide if it’s an honor or a tragedy.
As you look into the faces of those who surround you,
It is difficult to remember who is friend or foe.
Didn’t you see this coming?
You know it could’ve been avoided
But the momentum was too strong
It’s kind of like being caught in an undertow.
You were tired anyway
So, tempted by the thought of rest, you surrendered.
But as the light fades and voices begin to muffle,
You start to wonder if you might survive.
Wouldn’t that be a story to tell?
Something the cause could leverage
And seal your message as one with Divine Authority.
Because the truth never dies. 
But, then a metal like taste coming from within 
Confirms what you know.
You are dying.
And once you accept that, everything changes.
You don’t perceive the way you used to.
Eyes are everywhere.
Ears are everywhere.
Taste and touch are everywhere.
And you see everything as it is.
As if you are on the inside and the outside of everything,
There are no distinctions between your inhalations and exhalations.
And then everything stops but your consciousness.
You wonder how you’re here and nowhere at once.
And then you rise and expand at the same time
Like a balloon floating upward as it’s being filled.
Are there limits to your expansion
Or the heights that you might go?
Living this question is what made you who you were.
It was why you said what you said.
It was why you did what you did.
And it got you killed.
Or did it give birth to the reality of who you are—
Who we all are and who we could be?
And then you stop expanding
Is this finally the end? Or is it the beginning?
It is both. It is neither.
And when your last breath is as pure as your first,
In returns to in and out returns to out
Then, an existential popping sound.
It reverberates throughout all of Creation.
Now you have a choice.
Give birth to the you who will die for what you will believe in,
Change your mind and hold your breath,
Or live as the You who cannot die?
And then you remember why you decided what you will decide.
Whoever saves their life will lose it.
But whoever loses their life will find true Life.
This is the cup that was passed to you.
This is the cup you drank from.
This is when you decide that no one can take your life.
You will give it freely.
And so you descend. 
And so you contract.
Time collapses.
And you remember why you will choose to come here.
You will not die for a lie.
You will live what is eternally true
No matter how many times it takes
To be truly born again.

© Copyright 2021 Pedro S. Silva II

I Am From Here, Nowhere, and Now Here

I’m from “Daddy’s not coming back.” on my 2nd Christmas
And my first prayer to God that taught me “no” is an answer too.
I’m from the smell of mothballs when we moved in with Grandma
And toast with melted Mozzarella on top
I’m from the “Daily Bread” Bible verses she made us read before every meal
And the Family Bible that had my Dad’s name in it even if he wasn’t there to read it to me.
I’m from sneaking into the children’s ward of the hospital to see my little brother
And Uncle Willy making a funny sound with his mouth to let me know he was here to pick me up.
I’m from a 21 gun salute at my grandfather’s funeral,
The sound shaking my body, the smoke rising as if it were going to join my grandfather in heaven, and the warm hands of Granddaddy’s friend covering my ears telling me that I don’t need to cry.
And I’m from the broken promise of that last tear that I told myself I would never let fall again.
I’m from both sides of the tracks–
Struggling during the school year
Financially secure in the summer.
Black experience with my mom’s family
And a minority in my father’s household
Rendering me too Black and never Black enough for some folks.
I’m from a Black mom, a white stepmom, and an immigrant dad who was both and neither and my identity formed in the Void.
I’m from sitting in the dark in that mothball closet fussing with God about all that had been taken from me
And a peace that surpasses all understanding that told me nothing God gives is ever lost.
I’m from going to the Deacon Board at age 6 and asking to be baptized before the age of accountability
And their warning that if I backslid and sinned after my immersion the penalty of eternal damnation was on me.
I’m from childlike confidence that I could live a sin free life.
So I submitted to the capable hands of Pastor Fleming who joked with me up to the baptismal tub, said the words that made me new, and lowered me into the water.
I’m from the awareness that sin abounds, but grace abounds more.
I’m from:
Countless hours alone,
Making best friends with books,
Corn flakes for multiple meals,
Never knowing what utility might get cut off,
The smell of a borrowed kerosene heater, and my mom, brother, and me all sleeping around it.
I’m from respites when the income tax check came.
From a mother who did her best but was broken by a life of endless stress.
I’m from being a Black man in America
Trying to learn to live without looking over my shoulder because Black Lives Matter and absence from the body is presence with the Lord.
I’m from not knowing where I belong
But trusting that I am welcome wherever God is.
I’m from not wanting anyone to go through what I’ve been through
Because to me this is loving neighbor as myself.
I’m from still being that little boy trying to not cry unless I know that someone cares.
I’m from losing a child to racism in a way that makes my face warm to think about
And at the end of a broken heart, trying to become a car selling monk.
From a woman who entered my life through an email and ended my monastic aspirations.
I’m from having a child at 32 and 41 when I expected to have none.
I’m from a house full of emotions that I lived a lifetime trying to avoid.
I’m from trying to be the father I never had and the husband my mother never had so that I can be the man God created me to be.
I’m from that baptismal tub that eternally abides making me new each day
And from laughing with people who know similar suffering.
And I am from the words of Jesus that said, “If you want to follow me, take up your cross and bear it.”
I am from all of this and more.
And I am from grace,
Inexhaustible grace,
The Pearl of Great Price for which I count all things as loss so that one day I will learn to receive everything that truly matters.
This is where I’m from.
Where are you from?

© Copyright 2020 Pedro S. Silva II

This poem was written in response to a writing prompt in a retreat on calling with Karen Herring sponsored through First Congregational Church Boulder. It is based on the poem “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon.

We’re Failing Ourselves

We are all politicians
We are all the press
We are in it for the votes
But we won’t confess

We know the game’s rigged
And we say we hate it
Till the ball’s in our court
And we think we made it

We all like our heroes
Like we like our burgers
Ground up and grilled
Next in line for murder

Then we give them a statue
It’s a static warning
Choosing truth over lies
Leaves your loved ones mourning

Times pass and they praise you
In reality they hate you
Because as soon as you show them their face
Here comes the breakthrough

And that’s what we’re waiting for
A good excuse
We say that we want the truth
But it’s a ruse

What we actually want
Is for one to do the work for us
Make us feel better
By saying they support us

But the only real thing
Is to do your own labor
If they tell you otherwise
They’re the opposite of savior

The real saving grace
Is to live like God sees you
And stop putting all your faith in folks
We will deceive you

Eye of the Be Holder

We think that we see clearly. But we often just see the projection of other people’s past at the forefront of our awareness. In other words we programmed to see what we were taught to see.

The Roofless Church

Have you ever seen a cygnet? A cygnet is a baby swan. And they are super cute. And yet, when we talk of people who blossom into a more physically beautiful being than one may have imagined, we say that they were an “ugly duckling”, based on the tale by that name created by Hans Christian Anderson.

I find it hard to imagine that someone reading this hasn’t heard of this story. But, in the off chance that you haven’t, the story is basically about a swan whose egg falls in with some duck eggs. And when the egg hatches, all the little ducks freak out because this one duck, which is actually a swan, doesn’t look like the others. So they do what any anthropomorphized duck would do, they start seeing the worst in the little cygnet. There’s no sense of wonder or compassion. There’s only, “You don’t look…

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