What if the colors in these windows are the words resting upon the sills?
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Whatever way the gondola sailed, it was in your hands.
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
I was held in beauty
and asked to
Together, we sailed on.
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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
he was sent back empty for he
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
He was true to what was
planted in his soul
and, at times, it caused him
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
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
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.
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
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
He turned over tables
when a house of prayer was
used for material gain.
My steps, I pray,
more and more
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
a man who loved
God so intimately
that he could not
not love everyone
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
causing dust to
envelop the sky.
A whispering breeze
ensued pushing away
a window revealed.
A mighty gust howled.
It needn’t penetrate
the lavish wall.
allowing a passage
into yesterday’s gone-by,
and tomorrow’s uncertainties.
sends an invitation to behold
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
the window’s arch.
through this ‘pane,’
an inner voice
taunted me until
the rock split
falling upon a blank
an image of itself
by the person holding this pen. “It IS A Holy Thursday”
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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.”
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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.
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”
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blossom into eternal flowers filling the world with beauty.
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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—
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.