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Drops of Color/ What If…

Drops of Color
What if…

What if the colors
in these windows
are the words resting upon the sills?

Fly

Fly

I am learning 
in all things
to spread my wings and fly.

Even if my wings are clipped, broken,
I know the 
essence of flight.

The season, the times,
my guides.
These, I have come to trust.

The wind calls—
it is this moment

NOW

I rise flying in what appears
the opposite direction.

I am strong enough to carry myself
into the raging headwind.

Even if pushed back,

even if I fall to my ending,

I will be true to the path
that has been unknown
yet, driven by love’s
desire to nest in your bosom.

Drops of Color/ The Scenery

Drops of Color

The Scenery

You held the ‘oar’—

all I had to do
was ‘be’ in the moment.

Whatever way the gondola 
sailed,
it was in your hands.

I paused…

First, I reached—
then, I pulled my arms
back in.

Second, I heard
a gurgling in
my throat, words rising,
then ‘something’ within stirred—shhhhh!

Finally, I closed my eyes.
I’m uncertain for how long,
but when I opened them

THE SCENERY.

I was held in beauty

and asked to

BEHOLD.

Together, we sailed on.

He said, ‘Follow me.’

He said, ‘Follow me.’

And, so I have.
I try each day.

He always seemed to say,
‘Be not afraid.’

I believe he learned these words from
his mother who bore him
and, I have spent my 
lifetime following this man.

He went about
walking parched paths.
He spoke to anyone, everyone
who would listen.

He changed people’s lives
and reminded them,
‘Don’t tell anyone.’

He broke open stories—parables.
The person who dug a hole
when given a talent
is one of my favorites.

That person chose NOT to
be part of the system.
He knew the one handing out
the talents, a person who gathered
where he did not sow, and reaped
what he had not planted.

How little attention paid this man.
After giving out certain percentages of talents,
 he set off to conquer lands

AND

he was sent back empty for he
was corrupt.

This message was overlooked because of the focus
on ‘profits made,’
and hearing the words,
‘well done servant.’

The one who buried the treasure
belittled, made fun of, bullied,
cast out…like the one
sharing the parable.

Did he know his destiny?
I think he knew the love he
proclaimed would change
hearts, would open minds and
it would threaten the 
dominant systems.

He was true to what was
planted in his soul
and, at times, it caused him
to weep.

He would never lay a hand to
strike.  His message was
nonviolence.  He told his
friend, ‘put your sword back
in its sheath.’

When he hung upon 
the cross, he spoke
‘forgiveness.’

He never rallied troops
to fight.
He gathered food to feed people.
Everyone ate, no one went away hungry—
there was bread and
fish left over in baskets.
A nameless little boy
turned over his fish.

This is who I choose
to follow.

He said, ‘Heaven is within’—
God’s Reign would 
one day come—be ready
—be vigilant, watchful
—be kind, respectful
—show mercy, lend a hand.

He blessed the poor in spirit.
He blessed those who mourned.
He blessed those persecuted
for trying to live rightly.
He blessed those in search for mercy.

He blessed
the fullness of life
and the abundances it offers.

He did not set out to create
a new religion.
Instead, he attempted
to clear a path of ALL religions.

Everyone came to hear him—
no one ever sent away.

A woman at a well was told
‘Go, call your community—
Invite them to hear a message
from the One who came to bring
about a new spirit.’

This woman did not say, ‘but, I am a 
woman and you are asking me?’  No, she 
heard his call and ran to
call all the others.

He told a little man up in a tree
‘Come down, I am eating at
your house.’

He created paradoxes—
welcoming the poor, the leper,
the outcast, the adulterous.

He tore down barriers
that privileged persons set up
showing them
how to rebuild by
washing the feet of those
who would carry on his Hope.

He never asked for monies
to carry on his message—
he paid what the 
system required.

He turned over tables
when a house of prayer was
used for material gain.

My steps, I pray,
more and more
like his—

Walking a way
—that is not mapped out
—that I am not always
     certain is the direction I should be going
—that allows silent
     ‘moments’ when I 
     simply hear the wind blow
—that follows
     a man who loved
     God so intimately
     that he could not
     not love everyone
     he met.

Want to follow?

The only burden—
if you say, ‘No.’

Drops of Color/ A Window

Drops of Color

A Window

A soft wind echoed
pushing a rock
with enough effort
that the stone let-go.

Like Rapunzel’s hair
—broken bits of the
canyon wall slid
and, like waves
crashing into the shore,
you could hear the
plumbing avalanche
causing dust to
envelop the sky.

A whispering breeze
ensued pushing away
particles and
a window revealed.

A mighty gust howled.
It needn’t penetrate
the lavish wall.
For now,
an opening
allowing a passage
into yesterday’s gone-by,
today’s vision
and tomorrow’s uncertainties.

This window,
for now,
sends an invitation to behold
the present.

Fresh air cascades
along the sill.
The curtain walls a
lovely shade and the 
trees set off in the distance
look like a box of flowers
held within
the window’s arch.

Gazing awhile
through this ‘pane,’
an inner voice 
taunted me until
the rock split
falling upon a blank
page creating
an image of itself
by the person holding this pen.
“It IS A Holy Thursday”

Will these people…

Will these people…

This moment 
a mist eerily moves 
like a milky shadow
enmeshed in a sky
painted in the sweetest essence
of black licorice.

Tasting this day,
this hour,
the moon in her fullness
dangles unperturbed
moving willfully in the 
pattern entrusted
and designed
by the One who seeks
no name.

How we have tried, attempted
to define, explain this 
mystery.

How we have abused the wonder
defining limits on
the color of skin,
the role of each gender,
 to yield power 
to ones who carry heavy 
purses taking the spare
change from the widow
who feels obliged by
a hierarchy holding out
a collection basket.

This night the stones
cry out…
their arms raised out to
the side.

The goddess of the Universe
weeps.. the moon at her side.

Her words are few…
Her arms set ONLY
to embrace.

So many already
taken too soon.

She does not look
out as if there are
two sides.

She sees through a 
heart of Love
—the mist is the droplets
    of her tears
    quenching an earth
    wondering,

“Will these people ever
understand.”

Drops of Color/ Today

Drops of Color
Today

I created a sketch,
then another unfolded,
followed by a third and fourth.

Lately,
I’ve turned off the T.V.,
refrained from news.
I opened my windows wide,
the sound of song birds
—music to my ears.

Colors splashed on paper.
The ink ran dry
but, I found another pen,
another pencil.

Flowing between colors
—words, hid-den tears,
laughter…memories.
Memories of the past
bring me to NOW,
right now.

Another image created on
a page…a blank page.

Life, unfolding in pictures.

Maybe I’m not a Picasso,
a Rembrandt, a Monet or
Michelangelo—

No, I’m none of these.

Today, I’m me.
It has taken a lifetime to
just be me.

Today, all these sketches—a collage of this Soul.

I had a sketch pad…

I had a sketch pad…

I had a sketch pad.

I had a sketch pad filled with empty pages.

White empty pages began to fill with colors.

Like Autumn’s leaves, the sketch pad
burst with hues—reds, yellows, oranges.

I had a sketch pad filled with faces
—Faces of passers-by.

I had a sketch pad that began to tell stories.

I had a sketch pad
—it was a wise guide.

I took my sketch pad to the one
whose approval I sought.

He held my sketch pad
and glanced at the pages.
He tossed it aside
—told me, “return it.”

He said if that is what I fill the sketch pad
with, it is a waste of fine paper.

I had a sketch pad.
I kept the sketch pad
and, for a long time, the colors died.

I had a sketch pad
with countless etchings
all in black and white.

I had a sketch pad
and chose to never ‘share’ the images
creating me.

I had a sketch pad
and the seed painted
in the black and white pages
burst through the cover.

I had a sketch pad
now filled with the sun.
Stars lit the matte
as green valleys washed
over the pages.
The wind became a song
singing from within the sketch pad.

The man who once told me to
return ‘me’
looked at the sketches.

He wept.

I had a sketch pad
and now I have many
(including a portfolio of creative images).

He has blessed every page 
with his tears.

From heaven’s canopy,

I hear his voice while I am sketching,

“Fill the pages, fill the pages—

well done.”
Inspired by Joy Harjo’s poem, “she had some horses”

Drops of Color/ Blossom

Drops of Color
Blossom

The Earth shook.
The ground quaked.
Thunder parted the clouds.

You lie in fallowed soil
unseen, invisible, hid-den.

No One called you to take the stage.
A bell did not chime signaling your time.
Lights weren’t beaming on/off queuing you.

You moved like a silent hush.
You adorned yourself with a heavy
winter coat and you knew just
when to unbutton the top button
unclasping the rest that followed.

You then burst.
Your coat scattered to the winds.
Your nakedness exposed your
true color.

You were One, yet hundreds of
petals were what blossomed forth,
revealing You.

Your sweet scent
like incense rising…

The sun poured its light meeting you—
taking you in.

You were born for this moment.

All you had to do was blossom,
and you naturally came to be.

Way

Way

There is not
a single moment
nor an hour
that ‘creates’ a Way.

More, like a path
formed, wild flowers
stretch alongside
the carved walkway.

Springing to life,
a solitary word…
sometimes the letters
allow that single word
to take root.
It grows through the 
summer spreading
itself in an open window.

Without notice,
the word senses the time
of ripening.

A harvest ready
—the word plucked.

It is laid on a blanket
of white—expanding.

One word
filling a season
only to begin again.

A new path made…
In the same meadow,
no longer the same.
A Way reveals the 
essence of a spiraling motion.

Circling a Way
on the path of life
timelessly ‘reborn.’

The word
parts my lips
spreading on this page

writing the Way.

Drops of Color/ A Living Well

Drops of Color

A Living Well

All who drink from
this Source no longer
thirst

AND

blossom into
eternal flowers
filling the world
with beauty.

Heaven’s Corner

Heaven’s Corner

I stood on a corner
searching for a stone—
a corner stone
that revealed Heaven.

I had dreams of heaven.
So many stories told.
I wanted to see it—
I wanted to know it for myself.
So I stood on a corner
in search of a stone—
Heaven’s cornerstone.

I stood for a while
on this corner…
“You can come anytime now Heaven,” I spoke aloud.
My mind set itself adrift
when there was a sudden tug on the tail 
of my jacket.

“Excuse me please.”   I could barely see
the face of the stranger before me.
“I’ve nothing to eat, might you have a
few coins to spare?”  I dug into my
pockets…
Here, I was on this corner
waiting for Heaven.
Here you go, get something warm to drink, too!
“Oh, thank you.”

The day lingered.
A cool wind stirred.  The sun blinded
my vision, but the swirling breeze
ushered tears cascading down my cheeks
splashing upon the ground.

Before my eyes, a person’s shadow jumped in the pool,
drenching my shoes.
“I’m so cold,” the voice from the 
shadow spoke.  “Might you have an
extra layer beneath that coat?”
Her brown skin cracked, broken from
the elements.  I took off my jacket
and, I helped her put one arm in,
then the other.  A perfect fit.
She touched my cheek with her hand,
then blessed it with a kiss.
I stood on this corner.
Was Heaven getting nearer?

Dusk was now covering the canopy
of dawn.  This corner had
a lamp post.  I decided to sit
down.  A man walked toward me,
but he stumbled first, then fell.
I quickly rose from my seated place,
ran to his side, lifted his head
on my lap…”Sir, are you alright?”
He said, “I’ve no place to go
except Heaven.”

Wait, you know where Heaven is?
The man closed his eyes…
I had to get him to some place warm—
some place he could rest—
somewhere like heaven,
but I didn’t want to leave—-

With all the strength I could muster,
I draped the man over my shoulders
carrying him to an Inn.

I paid for a room,
and a little extra for the care
of this nameless soul.
I found a store and purchased clothes,
and took them to the Inn.
The Keeper of the Inn was most gracious.
I said I’d be back.
If there was a balance due, I’d handle
it come morning.

I said I had to go because I was planning
to arrive in…Heaven almost slipped from
my lips, but I stopped myself.  The Keeper
would probably laugh if I told him
about the corner.

I ran as fast as I could, back to the
corner.  What if Heaven came and went

while I was gone?

I stood at the corner.
Something, someone knocked out the light.
I was suddenly held in a beam
of perpetual colors, and I was warmed
within.

A note was taped to the lamp post:

“You’re HERE
THIS is Heaven
It IS within You!”

I stood at a corner

AND

I was in Heaven.