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What did you see today?

What did you see today?
(Excerpt from a Journal/Pilgrimage along the Pembrokeshire Coast Path, Wales/ 2019)

I saw drops of rain~~~
turned-on like a faucet on high.

I was drenched until the sun burst~~~

A soft wind carried a sail boat across
the sea and it hovered around me…

I moved~~~ the sail of my being
dry…not a single seam weighed down
by this morning’s baptism.

What did you hear today?
I heard the ‘Gospel’ —echoes of silence.

What did you touch today?
Delicate moss, a beautiful green blanket

stretching over the stately trees…
The moss touched me first holding on
long enough to rest…then the branches, the
limbs of the trees began to dance~~~
they held a pose.

What did you smell today?
The scent of flowers~~~wild, unfolding
anointing this Sojourner with their
priceless fragrance.

Who did you find THIS day?
I found my friend in living colors~~~
Many friends, countless mansions…
I sought a rainbow
to feel the depths of those
who have moved on…

On the sea’s shore…
red, yellow, pink, green, purple, orange
there THEY were…

I did not have to look up~~~
THEY have been in front of me all along~~~
it has simply taken me this long
to discover.

Drops of Color/ Tear Drop

Drops of Color
Tear Drop

The form of  a 
tear drop
hangs from pines.

A choir 
bellows from
this ‘spun’ papier-mâché’ drop
~~~dangling effortlessly.

A single entrance
carved out at the bottom.

The community worked
from the sun’s rising
until the stars appeared.

Chewing upon wood fibers,
the workers blend their saliva—‘wasp spit’
creating the formation
of their castle.

Open-celled combs
~~~life being birthed from within
~~~the outside, a thick
        multi-layered shell.

Hundreds work inside this stately drop…
it serves its purpose
for a time and then remains vacant

or is removed by Autumn’s winds
or winter’s chill.

Many times the tear
shaped domain
hangs in life’s museum.

How wondrous
~~~no entrance fee!

Open your eyes
~~~beauty all around
~~~so prevalent

tear drops forming
    in my eyes.

Web of Being

Web of Being

You held the sun
between glimmering threads.

You did not capture its flame.
Instead, you allowed the impregnating
light to reveal the essence of
spun creativity.

Passing-by, had I blinked,
I would have missed this divine manifestation.

This web of being invited me
to lay back and take in
the delicate, detailed tapestry
we are knitted ‘into.’

If tomorrow, anything should
remove this holy dwelling,
trust…it is a mere illusion.

This web of being is
spun again,
and then again.

The same sun makes
its way to shine on the plains.

The dangling strands
crafted
—spaces reveal
life living in the essence
of a web
spinning,
and we revolve
held by threads
spun by
creation’s delicate
dance.

Drops of Color/ The Entrance

Drops of Color
The Entrance

The doorway
opened itself wide…releasing its hinges.

The architecture surrounding
its space
was strong like bar bells
secure like a knot in a rope
and held a delicate design…
like petals lapped around a flower.

The wood dipped in varnish
darkened like a pool

beneath a mid-night sky.

The stone-cut, shaped
smooth like the feel
of melted wax.

Stepping through,
a silent pause taken.
I was neither inside its chiseled arch
or outside its course frame.

The way, suffice it to say,
depends what you choose.
Will you enter
or believe yourself unworthy?

You , you are the image and likeness
of the One knocking in the doorway
of your being,

“Come In, Come In
why are you waiting?
Welcome.”

The entrance is narrow
and it is open
for ALL.

Another Version of Psalm 23

Another Version of Psalm 23

How can I be glad
   when I hear you weeping?
You, who have been my Shepherd,
   I want to dry your tears.
How I wish to allow you to lie down
   instead of wondering if another shot will be fired.
I live in green pastures,
   and I want to bring you to still waters.
You cry out, ‘I cannot breathe.’
   Your lifeless body pulled from a vehicle after countless bullet wounds.
How do I help restore your Soul?
   When can I go back to the path leading to you?
How can your name be heard without
   a war breaking out?

Do I fear your death,
   again, by those who say you are only
here to save those who would strike down
   another in your Holy name?

I’ll set a table for you
   in the company of those who would laugh at my words.
I hold your cup
   and fill it until it overflows.
Goodness, kindness I give back to you.
   You can return to your house
and open your door.

Then, and only then,
can I be glad.
Written under the wise tutelage of June Gould Ph.D.

Drops of Color/ This View

Drops of Color

This View

From here
—the view appears
     eternal.

Time seems to 
     hold its hands
—each tic
     every toc
     ECHOES.

Beyond the valley,
     the mountains 
     ‘catch’ the refrain
     launching it skyward.

Softly, the 
     sounds drizzle
     back down
     to the green
     grasses
—to the soil bed
    of the earth’s stage.

This performance
never closes
its curtain.

From this view,
the show lives on.

Words keep getting in the way…

Words keep getting in the way…
(A Journal Entry walking the Camino St Francis/September 2019)

What do you say
when words keep getting in the way
to describe You?

You are more than a feeling—
You are beyond all thought—
You are NO-thing—
You are EVERYTHING…

Along a path,
a tiny flower grows
from a crevice in a rock
split from dipping dew.

A hawk above my head—
its wings stretched from east to west
soars beneath the clouds
and it, too, calls for You.

A gentle breeze ensues
while the sun remains to shine
yet, there in the distance a storm
approaching.

Even though it has not yet arrived,
I am soaked in wonder
and laugh at all these words
and hold a pause.

Suddenly, I am dancing~~~my arms,
my legs
turn into paint brushes.
I begin to sway, then slowly dip.
I dab an easel filled with
colors and waltz across a canvas—
a picture painting itself before
my eyes.

It is You…
You are in EVERYTHING
and I am a part of all
Your beauty.

Before I move on from here,
I look back at the page
and, I glance at endless persons
going by.

You are there—
You are in EVERY~ONE.

All these words—
Oh, they keep getting in the way
attempting to create You…
and so, for NOW,
I slip from the page
and You catch me,
I close my eyes
wishing THIS moment never dies
and then I rise.
I rise.

‘We’ go on
back to the familiar.
Yet, no-thing is ever the same.
EVERY-thing continues
Becoming YOU
while these words of mine
keep getting in the way.

Drops of Color/ Up, Up and away in my beautiful balloon…

Drops of Color
“Up, up and away in my beautiful balloon…”

Sailing higher
into clouds,
my imagination
out of reach to find words.

My eyes look turning to the
East.  The sun joining this 
ride…igniting the 
balloon’s colors, the 
airborne vessel does not
burn…instead it joins
the Sun…two lights
beholden in the sky.

The wind catches us
launching us North—
towering mountain tops,
their peaks reaching to
‘touch’…jagged, rugged
places undiscovered nor
traversed by the likes of
humankind and still, the
mountains maintain their
recognition…they stand
unchiseled—created by an
unseen hand.  Mountain goats stand
on peaks, balanced like ballerinas…
they join in the flight.

Soft vapors
bath me, one drop after
another.  Descending
South, the current
pulls this flying bubble
swaying steadily as if the 
sky were an ocean.
We float looking
down upon rolling waves
as dolphins lead us along
as if pulling us in play.

The hours have passed.
Beds of green grass, rolling
like a million fingers waving,
waving, waving…

Persons stand together.
Yes, hundreds, thousands stand
upon the landscape.
Brown, black, yellow, red and white—
their heads joined in unity.

The balloon bows
and veers Westward.
A purple sky reveals the beginning
of dusk.
Before this day ends,
I begin to sing…

“Would you like to ride in my beautiful balloon?”

A Place

A Place

There is a place I go to be
alone.

It is sturdy, and it has been
here well beyond the years
I know of its actual existence.

I pray it will be here
long after I have passed,
and another might
seek its solace,
its comfort, and its wonder.

This place knows when to let
the light in.

Its entrance always open.

Darkness is a welcomed guest
—the stars rest here
     for moments to give the 
      shadows time to play.

This place I go
needs no windows
because you would not wish
 a sheet of glass
to separate you
from this haven
—this place I come
     to be alone
—and where I am
    met again and again
    by the One who
    lowers the ladder.

Drops of Color/ Design

Drops of Color

Design

Who designed your outer wear?
What makes up your daily uniform
defining what you do,
who you are,
how you ‘attempt’ to present yourself?

Does the outer design hold many colors?
Is the fabric a solid shade
imitating crayola?

When the garment of your outer self
removed
and your nakedness appears—

Do you ask
in the quiet space of yourself,
now disrobed from any form of titles:

Who am I?

Silently, behold what is You.
‘Stop’ looking so hard.
Pause from ‘thinking.’
Close your eyes and when the soft
light finds its way
into your internal gaze,

bathe in the color or countless colors
of the creation that is extraordinarily you.

You light the world…
you’re the ONLY design which
casts~~~ You!

 

“Even after all this time,
The Sun never says to the
Earth, you owe me, look
what happens with a love
like that, it lights the whole world.”
                                                              Hafiz

Clouds

Clouds

Did you ever wonder
how a cloud moves?

Floating particles gather
in an array of forms.

Sometimes, I imagine
I see a family of porpoises
gliding in the sea of blue.

Other times,
the clouds are a marching band.
Stringed instruments roll on by
while a series of drums and
buglers float on.

Today, I watched
as a small winged bird
entered the film.
It was, in fact, a tiny swallow,
gathering the clouds in its beak
pulling it through the sky,
inviting the others of its kind
to bring on the next display.

Was I actually seeing this take place
or had I fallen 
asleep dreaming
of clouds, and birds,
and musical instruments,
and an ocean of 
porpoises?

Take some time to
gaze at the clouds…
if you see a set of
wings pulling them,
you tell me.

Was it just a dream?

Drops of Color/ For Brian

Drops of Color
For Brian

When he saw them…

Immediately, he knew
—their white button down shirts
—their black tapered suits
—their ‘fine’ beaks
    tipped so,
    so that every morsel of sustenance
    filled the little ones beside
    their patent leather boots.

He fell in love with these
feathered arctic penguins.

Like tiny toy soldiers
at attention, they lovingly stand
facing harsh winters in creches.

Taking turns amongst millions,
stepping outside to be a barrier
from blustery winds,
they step back ‘in’ to warm
long enough to go back ‘out’
combating the elements.

The ‘sound’ of their nestling heard
amidst shrieks of thousands—
the parents know their own chick.

My friend—
He draws them
and draws them again.

I love him…
So Brian—this is for You!