Almost immediately, I am fashioned into the swirling drops within which I am now gathered.
A natural flow —a rhythm undefined —a sacred dance formed is now playing itself out.
In a solitary sweeping motion, I am part of a wave…no, I have become the wave.
Effortlessly, the substance of each enmeshed drop follows a pattern —one not designed, yet one seemingly written on unspoken pages.
Rising to a crest —an unexplainable high delving into a curl —a hallow tunnel absent of any drop, yet held by each ‘strand’ of water.
The curl rolls over into its Oneness —into the sea from which it has come and again, the creation of the wave —the repeated pattern discovering itself for a first time until suddenly it discovers the shore.
For a moment, reunited with the sands of time —like two lovers they embrace knowing they must depart… holding one another —never forever.
And, the unknowing realization they are never parted.
Their hearts linked to the vast ocean of life carry them beyond.
Submerged in wonder —in hidden depths.
Only now, am I learning to breathe ‘under’ water.
https://onesingledrop.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/new-logo-1.png00Sandyhttps://onesingledrop.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/new-logo-1.pngSandy2021-01-24 16:04:172021-01-24 16:04:17…become the wave
In fact, if you simply ‘lift’ the latch, it opens.
In fact, if you’re unable to lift the latch, there IS someone to lift it for you —trust.
In fact, the truth is ALL are welcome to enter through this gate.
—You don’t have to DO anything to gain access —You don’t have to be a certain race to pass through. —Your religious background/affiliation do not matter… in truth—if you wish to leave your beliefs at the gate’s entrance, you can OR you can bring them through!
Because, what’s in your heart is heard here.
Beyond the gate, the path is inclusive. No judgements. Sticks and stones are on the ground. There they lay unless you pass a pond and wish to toss a rock and gaze at the circles growing wider and wider. The sticks make great kindle for evening campfires beneath stars… white diamonds glistening in a cascading black sea.
The gate. There is so much more to be said, but, lift the latch—
it is open for all.
It may be a bit narrow. Everyone can pass through.
https://onesingledrop.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/new-logo-1.png00Sandyhttps://onesingledrop.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/new-logo-1.pngSandy2021-01-20 16:16:122021-01-20 16:16:12Drops of Color/ The Gate
I am praying.
(call it Meditation, Tonglen or Contemplation)
Not for me.
Not for you.
I am whispering into
for our World
I cry out,
“What is Truth?”
“Where is Justice?”
See the faces of
innocent tiny eyes,
listening to adults—
listening, observing adults!
unable to communicate
words children are taught
not to repeat.
My prayer is for them— ‘our little ones’ that they understand
we make mistakes,
yet we get up and
We forgive, we turn the other cheek.
(We do NOT inflict harm—we extend kindness at ALL costs)
We stand beside each other so that everyone can be fed.
—Fed with meals curbing hunger
—Given clothing so no one is left naked or cold
and shelter for those who do not even know
the meaning of the Dow Jones.
This is a simple prayer,
filled with hope
while I still
sit beside woe.
Sometimes, I wonder,
“Have you heard a single word?“
Then I grow quiet,
no longer a word to utter.
I know you are here.
I need not worry about
Yesterday has passed.
I will sit a while longer…
Prayer truly never ends.
https://onesingledrop.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/new-logo-1.png00Sandyhttps://onesingledrop.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/new-logo-1.pngSandy2021-01-10 16:25:432021-01-10 16:25:43See the faces…
NOW… —Let us maintain kindness —No matter how broken may we act peacefully —May LOVE transform what at present remains unseen!
May we ‘see’ beyond the chaos all that is GOOD!
Drops of Color Seven Hanging Pots (In the Beginning)
Seven pots hung upon a wall beneath a window hid-den behind a pair of shutters.
The sun was shining. The first pot began unfolding its petals and a voice was heard just inside the shutters —“This is GOOD.”
Suddenly, an enormous cloud strolled across the sky shading the light. The second pot said, “I feel drops of water” and the same voice whispered —“This is GOOD.”
The third pot could barely hold back its refrain… “my soil is so rich & fertile, look, look, see all my seeds coming to fruition.” The voice chimed in, “this IS all so very Good.”
The fourth pot shared with the others an epiphany, “we are growing, changing. At night, we seem to close. During the day we are so fresh and vibrant. We have hung here for some time and look what we have weathered and continue to become.” The voice said, “Ah, yes…very Good.”
The fifth pot giggled as little birds and insects played in its gentle space. The sixth pot noticed creatures on the street below and laughed along with the fifth pot as the voice again softly uttered, ‘This is Good.’
Then, the seventh pot called for silence. The shutters opened. A man and woman appeared in the window. They gazed out at the lovely pots. “We promise to tend to you. Thank you for sharing your splendor and beauty with all.”
The voice, like a song said, “Alleluia, this is Good” and took time to rest.
https://onesingledrop.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/new-logo-1.png00Sandyhttps://onesingledrop.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/new-logo-1.pngSandy2021-01-06 16:09:492021-01-06 16:09:49Drops of Color/ Seven Hanging Pots…
The time— the hour…I know not. Yet, it was as if a symbol clanged and a host of drops gathered from a Source wider than the sea. Into the skies they soared— higher and higher they climbed until they were out of sight.
Silence ‘broke.’ With a rush, the sound of stampeding horses could be heard across a barren desert.
Hoof beats showered downward. There was no rhythm— but a melody. A harmony was heard that could not be transcribed.
Notes fell splattering the surface. Every drip, each drop crescendo into pools of sweet sounding echoes playing on, and on, and on.
Standing in this musical, I cupped my hands as they filled with water. I drenched myself refilling the cup to drench myself again.
Then, I stepped out as if in the center of the stage.
I was deluged until not a speckle of me remained dry.
A thirst rose in me “Fill me more, Fill me more… so that I can bring it to others.”
I splashed these words for you… hoping you are soaked in wonder.
In Our Hands A painted ceiling
began its formation.
In this year’s beginning,
here’s a simple reminder
Drops of Colors
splattered with ease…
Images ‘ran’—one into the
next…the ceiling draped
like a curtain.
Without notice, the curtain
became engulfed in flames—
yet, the ceiling’s images
were not consumed.
the paint burned with
How could color become
more vibrant than
it already is?
Pools formed and I
dipped my pen.
Faces, millions of faces…
Young, old and in between—
Furry faces, long beaks,
What was being painted?
In Our Hands…images.
Images of teachers coordinating
parades…children with parents—
a line of cars. Neighbors
outside, keeping a social distance
“I LOVE YOU, ‘Ms. TEACHER’…
I MISS YOU, ‘Mr. TEACHER’…
Stuffed animals littered the dashboards
of vehicles. Window sills
and doorways held hearts.
Simple words written, “Thank you.”
Ordinary classrooms linked via
iPads were given to those without
proper tools. Many
simply wanted to learn…(so many unable).
My paint dried for a moment
until another pool drenched me.
I witnessed truckers delivering food, grocery store
attendants ringing-up customers—
our Seniors first.
Our wise guides, needing
our care—they the most
susceptible/vulnerable to this
What hovers knows nothing
of religion, race or creed…
gender, sexual orientation or
political affiliation. It cares less about
borders, boundaries and
surpasses the length of the sea.
A pandemic is what spread
and so, too, Drops of Color.
Fire Fighters, Police
were out to Protect & Serve.
To Nursing Homes, Hospitals
the CARE providers came…
Doctors, Nurses, Mechanics, Dietary Aids
reported for shifts that never
seemed to end.
People were talking— others were
Stars were visible on clear nights
and animals walked the forests
where traffic once stood
bumper to bumper.
Again, my colors dried—
the number of persons
taken by this virus still grows.
Tears became a pool—
A lament painting itself.
From a distance, ‘WE’ touch
—a love-making in motion
unfolding, yet far from revealed.
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you
for ‘looking’ at THIS ceiling…
it is far from over
in fact, it has just begun.
What will lay itself out,
I cannot begin to know.
The Source I call upon,
the Divine essence
that guides ‘this’ hand,
does not say much at all.
An Invitation… ‘It is in Your Hands’
to go into the World to
Love, Serve, Create,
Shed a tear,
Laugh until your heart breaks.
Let nothing divide.
Let communion be shared with ALL.
May we SEE in each other
and realize we are all One.
—The Painter of Ceilings
https://onesingledrop.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/new-logo-1.png00Sandyhttps://onesingledrop.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/new-logo-1.pngSandy2020-12-30 16:10:522020-12-30 16:10:52Drops of Color/ In Our Hands
Twas’ the night of Christmas
and I lay covered in bed.
Thoughts of this day
wrapped the gift it had been.
It began beneath
stars made manifest
in the dark and the chill
of winter’s wonders
glistened upon branches
dressed in lights.
I walked into a 7-Eleven
to purchase the news of
this day and I was
greeted by a gentleman.
“Merry Christmas” and I wished
that were the headline for the day.
Before I reached
what I’d come for, I looked
at this man…
I asked him what tradition
was his on this day.
He quickly responded, “I’m Buddhist.”
I bowed as I spoke “Namaste”
and we hugged in the aisle.
Off in my sleigh,
I took off in the night
to a Starbuck’s for tea.
Again, to my joy-filled
surprise…a choir of angels
shouted with glee, “Merry Christmas”
and I ordered my hot cup of
Then at the window,
a young man stood.
His name was Muhammed
and morning greetings ensued.
I asked if he celebrated this day.
He told me he was Muslim and will
celebrate come Spring.
I thanked him and said, “We share
the same sky…” he gazed out the
window, looking up at the stars.
He spoke, “That’s beautiful” and
again my sleigh pressed on.
I held the hot liquid
close to my lips.
Before I could drink,
I had to swallow my tears.
of this day
is NOT only THIS day
it’s each and EVERY day…
https://onesingledrop.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/new-logo-1.png00Sandyhttps://onesingledrop.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/new-logo-1.pngSandy2020-12-23 16:07:552020-12-23 16:07:55Drops of Color/ The Night of Christmas