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The Sailing ‘Soul’

The Sailing ‘Soul’

Today
the winds 
swept the sea.

White coats
curl between
blue sheets
mirroring the sky—
its reflection.

A furrowed
sail…
THIS I found
myself to be.

Here, it mattered
not—the tempest.
Becoming a sail, was I,
in this encounter.

THIS my soul
unfurled.

Moving east 
then west…
I held a moment
to the south.

It was only when
the dazzling curtained sail opened,
clutched within the grips
of true North,
that I spread myself.

Hours passed
as minutes glided,
splashing

away the time’s
unknown hours.

In the inner chamber
of my being,
the helm
was at rest

allowing my soul
—a sail—
to find its way.

 

Drops of Color/ A City on A Hill

Drops of Color
A City on A Hill

There is a city
at rest upon a hill.

Persons come from
all directions to visit
this place.

When they look out,
they can SEE a vastness
beyond words.

Many purposely come to 
visit the two Basilicas
dwelling in this city.

One Basilica enhances
the Sacred Masculine—
the Other, the beauty of
the Divine Feminine.

The two individuals 
for whom these Basilicas
were named
would NEVER had wished
these ‘glorious’ artifacts of
artistry to be in
their names.

What they would have desired,
is that when One visits this
lowly city upon this
glorious hill,

they would LOOK
outward and behold
inward the manifestation

of the Source of all
LIFE
residing everywhere.

Yes…even upon this
City on A Hill.

Altered

Altered

The bed of grass
like a hay-field—
parched, lifeless,
longing for a brief
morsel of ‘any’ sustenance
to give it a chance to sway.

No-thing came to fill
the void.  Then, 
a quick jostle
from nowhere.

The sound was like
a freight-train
pulled along a track
without the engine running.

It whipped through
trees, unseen.  Yet
branches became projectiles.
Enormous trunks were uprooted, 
crashing to earth like
the sound of thunder.
Limbs lay broken
on barren grass
longing for so much
more than lifeless debris.
Avenues of light
poured into places
untouched by the sun’s rays.

Two warblers rushed in and out
of the woods searching for insects to
bring to their newborns.
Chirping aloud in cascading winds
their only longing was
to be fed,
and 
their feathered parents provided food
even in the chaos.

The perplexities around me,
within me,
created a soft calm
inside my soul.

How could this be?

How could it not be?

All around me trees stood,
others were uplifted,
while tender shoots were
re-shaped, re-fashioned.
So, too, I.
How?
Still, remains to be seen.
Everyday an
encounter to become.
Each moment an opportunity
to begin again.

Often, why, I cannot explain.
In broken places,
in grief’s gravity,
we are held in place
to finally SEE.

There You are
as You have always been.

Never promising perfection
yet, shining forth
from an altered frame.

EVERY-thing held
together.

The stars glisten overhead
as the sun
begins to rise.

 

Drops of Color/ I See

Drops of Color

I See

Legs dipping under
then quickly—reach up, and outward.

Higher and higher
the wind attempting to catch-up.

I breathe~~~ ‘in.’

My feet caress the soft grass
as I cascade above its
feathery green blades.

I breathe~~~ ‘out’
closing my eyes.

In between breaths,
the silent gap.

My eyes
wide open…
NOW

I SEE.

Preacher…

Preacher

How I love your
wooden pulpit…
the etchings look like living veins.

Even more, I love
your sermons.
Without words…
you sit upon your perch
surrounded by leaves.

I hear your unspoken whispers in the wind.

What’s it like
in the tree tops
to see the rising sun?
That ball of flame—
is it like the fire of your
spirit within?

At night,
do you pull the stars
down to light your domain?
Does your striped tail curl
a constellation
playing long enough to let it go?

That mask you wear…
is it so no one knows
your name?

You possess nothing
yet, you live amidst all things.

Little Preacher—
I love observing
how you praise.

You can go back inside.

I love that your services are not
held in time.

Silent Preacher

I feel your welcome.
“I’m inside.”

Drops of Color/ Who Are You?

Drops of Color

Who Are You?

Interesting,
you gaze at yourself
through a shattered piece of glass.

Now, that’s telling!

But what is being ‘acted?’

Are you putting on colors
or whipping them off?

Who did you make yourself
out to be?
Certainly, the world loves a clown.

Underneath,
there is still you.

I think you love the you that
the crowd does not know.
Who are you once the mask,
the make-up removed?

You conveniently mingle through
the crowd and no one shouts,
“Hey, that’s the clown who had us
rolling in the aisles—”
the one who gently touched the child
on chemo and the little one smiled…

The parents cried—
it was an expression of Joy.

Then with arms spread wide you
embraced a senior citizen
all alone in a nursing home.
She raised her hand touching your face…
her first movement in God knows how
long—you could hear a pin drop.

I read about a person
who ‘touched’ the crowds
and would say, “Don’t tell
anyone what I’ve done…

go show yourself to the
priests…that will suffice.”

No one listened.
They broadcast the 
acts from town to town.

There was hardly a 
place the person
could go—

‘Unrecognized.’

Hey, Who Are You?

Are you that
same person?

Your show lives on…

I still see the
world smiling.

Your nose still has
red paint on it.

When I Despair…

When I Despair…
When I Despair…
I go out beneath
an infinite sea of blue sky
—and plunge in.

When I Despair…
my arms begin to stroke
the clouds, using them to
carry me on, and on, and on.

When I Despair…
I lie down in green meadows.
I become a ‘blade’ alongside many
—not a blade cutting
     but, one holding a drop
     on its head
—a balm for my parched
    dry lips.

When I Despair…
tears form
—white caps rush over my 
    salty cheeks.
Unstoppable, I can barely see
my breath.  I keep returning
to the surface
to take in another cup of air.

When I Despair…
I lay my head down
birds begin to sing
—their chorus, my lament.
Creatures bring gathered twigs,
pines, rocks to bury the One
whose hand I gently let-go.

Persons, near & far have reached
for me and continue to.

In my Despair…
I have never been alone.

Now, the shade
is pulling itself down.

I seek the comfort of despair
and the wisdom it imparts.

I choose to be alone
under a ceiling of stars—
my hands raised.
Despair has become a new friend…
JOY as a ‘planet’ shoots
across the sky.

Goodbye dad…
You’ll truly never be gone.
I’ll sing with you beneath 
the Moon.

You’re in Heaven~~~EVERYWHERE.
In Loving Memory of Joseph Mattucci
A Hero, A Good Man, my dad

December 24, 1931 – July 22, 2020

 

Drops of Color/ Kneeling

Drops of Color

Kneeling

Kneeling earnestly in silence
beside a bed.

Listening…
No words flow.

Something seems to have lifted
a latch to a gate
and a gentle stream rushes through.

I hear the roar of a river
gripping the rapids.
White caps drench me
as I hold ‘in’ stillness.

A calm ensues
glazing the water’s surface.
I move and still my being
hovers as if held by wings.

Again…
No phrases break from
my lips.

My ears pick up the sound
of One beside me.

Audible sentences
I do not take in.

Yet, a knowing
‘echoes’
all around me.

Reaching into the 
intimate chambers of
my beating heart,
my knees long
to remain
alongside this bed.

Only a little longer—please.

And, then…the day Begins—

although it already began
along side You.

These Houses

These Houses

These Houses

These Houses
display many colors.

Some the same hue
yet, always an appearance
changing

pending the time
of day.

Shadows split open
the windows
and the shades lift
without a handle being
pulled.

At times—
colors are not 
detected, especially
if from a distance.

But, when a shooting
star spills from
a Universe,
its particles of light
reveal
what no artist’s pallet
could duplicate.

The doors are always open.

These houses
hold mansions
of cascading colors

a place 
already prepared
for you.

Drops of Color/ Finding a Balance

Drops of Color

Finding a Balance

The sun held
the blue ceiling
laced in rays.

The soft green
strands of hair
rooted in earth
stood as if their
performance was
on-going.

Center stage
a pink feathered
actor
dipped, tucked,
and stood eloquently
balanced on one leg.

The sun
began its bow
westward
illuminating
the light
long enough
for the artist
to see the curtain closed,

and then flying silently
to the standing
ovation—creation.

An encore
written
yet, not in words.

Wings unfurled.

And…

And…

when I have lost
you,

I’ve gone off searching.

Even the darkness
could not dispel my
endless quest.

Through howling winds
and crackling branches,
the ebb and flow
of a river’s 
rhythmic dance,

I lifted rocks
and splashed through
puddles.

I climbed high—
descend low
and traversed in between all that is between

AND

 there you were.
You laughed—
I joined in.

Together,
we rolled down hills slipping into
the valleys—
grass-stains painting
our knees.

You were 
and always
are
in every place.
I lay my every step,

AND
most of ALL,
you are within
me.

It’s when
I AM lost that I AM truly
found.

And…

Drops of Color/ Black Velvet

Drops of Color

Black Velvet

For too long

persons have split darkness
from light.

Shadows have been painted
at times, as evil.

Yet, when one is ‘blinded’
by the light, no one
speaks ill.

A galloping silhouette
casts from a beam
radiating a golden glow.

Unseen hoofs—beat.

A black velvet mane
hovers in the wind.

Light opens the path
as a tail
glazes a dawning
welcomed by night’s
departure.