Journal/ Day 7/ Switzerland Via Alpina
May I have this dance?
well past the mid-night hour,
a ballroom became visible.
I held my position,
and observed hundreds, thousands,
no, millions of descendants.
Stars glistened in the Universe
joining hands from their
The deep ensuing silence was the music
to which they danced.
More and more spectrums of light
joined in the cosmic dance.
Beginning to sway,
My soles hovered momentarily
until I thought to myself,
‘this cannot be happening.’
Again, there I go…thinking again.
Silly human, am I.
A mystical light fanned the stage
allowing a quick glance
of the steepled mountains.
I did not wish to close my eyes,
but at some point,
the stardust spilled from the ballroom floor
painting my eyes closed.
Was this a dream?
A songbird begins
a morning serenade.
Opening my eyes,
My feet touch the ground.
A solitary star lingers in this
asking, ‘may I have this dance?’
Drops of Color/ House of Stones
Drops of Color
House of Stones
One by one
they took turns telling
Sometimes, they rolled over
—they ‘crumbled’ laughing aloud.
Holding in place,
they recalled the youngsters
rushing to the river
each one discovering
what they believed to
be a perfect fit.
The women folk created a mortar
while the men folk outlined
Together, they began laying the
first row, the second, the third
When the last row completed,
a thatched roof secured
From a distance, they looked on.
Joining hands, they admired their
That night, tucked inside,
they set a fire and dined
around a table…each spoke
They quieted themselves,
closing their eyes,
trusting the stars outside
were a blanket upon
The stones sang a lullaby.
Even today, if you listen
—they sing out.
Years of earthen ware
…what a glorious home
where we dwell.
Journal/ Day 6/ Switzerland Via Alpina
Who moved the mountains?
What pulled the peaks into the
swirl of clouds expanding, hovering,
disguising the rugged silhouettes
until they reappeared and are made new
over and over again?
When, how did the colors spread themselves?
Vibrant green paths, soaring pines,
yellow, purple and orange wildflowers
growing from rocks…Edelweiss
patches of white snowflakes, one atop
Where did the black shadows learn
to spread themselves wider and
wider until the light found gaps,
and the darkness whispered,
Oh, mystical mountains, I see ‘forms’ on
I gaze upon contours, your unique
limbs, outstretched arms, soft
breasts, broad shoulders.
Mid-wife, is that you here laughing
at my wild imagination?
Yes, I see you in the formation
of an expectant girl—
A growing awareness
ALL around the birth of a new
I began with a question,
Who moved the mountains?
The answer is not necessary.
There is a realization that they are moving
around me, through me and
We have the ability to move mountains,
Systemic (A few drops from a Memoir)
(A few drops from a Memoir)
I wore the uniform.
I swore to protect and serve.
I pulled over a vehicle driven erratically.
I explained to the driver why he was stopped.
The auto was filled with the aroma of alcohol.
I performed standard tests before
asking the driver to step out of the vehicle.
He could barely stand.
My backup and I helped him
stay on his feet.
He was placed under arrest,
and I took him to the department
In a matter of moments, the PD was
inundated with fire fighters
—the driver of the vehicle
one of theirs
—he drove the firetruck.
This arrest would scar his future.
I was asked not to pursue the charges—
I followed through with the arrest.
Blue began to fade.
an open forum. Brothers in blue gathered round.
I was harassed. The remarks rendered heard,
and the sergeant came to my side.
It lasted a moment.
I did not wish any action to be taken, yet I
wanted the ‘issue’ addressed.
In the end, I was found ‘guilty’ of being
an oversensitive female by the administrative investigative team.
The Blue diminished.
This was not the ONLY system
within which I dwelt.
I wore a pastoral garment. I served as a Chaplain
in a hospital.
The call came…
Emergency in the ER.
Family lined up in the hallway—‘waiting.’
The clergy, sporting his collar reported to
the family, ‘I gave him the sacrament,
he’s all set.’ Then, he tapped my head
and told the family, ‘This little girl will
take care of you.’ He left.
The Doctor came out into the hallway
and broke the news.
I held the broken hearted
—the raw grief
At the bedside, we gathered
—the sacrament ALIVE.
I reread these words,
and they appear trivial.
But, again, I’m beside an 80+ year old
woman, a teacher her entire life,
a faith filled church goer, single,
filled with light.
In the nursing home, she was ‘touched’/fondled
inappropriately by a clergy person
in residence. I was called to be at
the ‘side’ of both.
I held her hand.
She cried out to God…
I wept with her.
His community offered to pay for her
Health Care if she did not go to the papers.
I went to his room.
He had nothing to share
except that he’d been to confession
—he was forgiven.
I wept again and left the room.
I want the mother’s faith.
His mother believes Tyre’s life’s purpose fulfilled.
His assignment here—complete.
Her purpose to make all things GOOD—
To evolve from death.
New life, a new way of being to be made visible.
How can anyone plead
Let’s look at the systems.
Let’s address the systemic imbalance
within this blessed creation wherein we dwell.
“WE’—black, white, yellow, red,
male, female, gay, straight, transgender,
Hindu, Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist…
There really is only One way
when we all see each other as One…
and recognize our differences
as the uniqueness of
adding to the multiplicity of a
Universe designed to see each ‘star’
meant to shine their own brilliance.
‘You may say I’m a dreamer, but
I’m not the only One…’
I pray your sunset
to images and photographic
making all things NEW.
In memory of Tyre Nichols
(June 5, 1993- January 10, 2023)
Journal/ Day 5/ Switzerland Via Alpina
What lies in this unexpected place?
So fitting has been the night
wrapped in a blanket of dreams.
The images, already fading like
the stars, tuck themselves into
dawn’s vast array of colorful petals.
Awaiting your greeting,
I pause here.
Time after endless time,
it is you awaiting my greeting.
Your infinite ability to hold ‘space’
and, it is not a space that is
owned by anyone
—it is a shared,
an always changing spectacle.
Unfolding like flowers, wildflowers
strewn on a mountain’s pathway.
Spectrums of color face a sky
touching what only appears
at a distance.
There is no space keeping anything
The miles that bring me to these
No matter where I am
—the unknown calling out
Here I am,
Here I am,
Here I am,
as I always have been.
Drops of Color/ The Curtain Sways
Drops of Color
The Curtain Sways
Waiting for an ‘image’
Holding a timeless gaze.
Suddenly, a window
You have been here
Perhaps, You have been
This time the tempest
PLAYS a new kind of song…
it begins from the ‘inside.’
Like the Pied Piper,
a solitary breath finds,
discovers, an opening
and plays through…
The curtain sways
Trusting its partner
to guide the dance.
every sentient being
waltzes on life’s stage
while stars glitter
igniting a Universe whispering,
“They are catching on.”
Journal/ Day 4/ Switzerland Via Alpina
Rain falling upward
as clouds loom beneath me.
Mountains moved the sky
as the sun began its search
for a doorway.
Silence played itself so longingly,
I covered my ears.
Is this real? Is this a fantasy?
This is prayer…yes, it is what
words no longer invite in the moment.
The cascading waterfalls,
every pool of water~~~prayer,
living itself out loud.
No refrain, no passages
—a musical unwritten
Note after note after note.
I ‘almost’ begin to cry.
To you, mid-wife, I give,
the essence of my ‘soles’ every step.
So often, stopping—I look, what’s to say?
All my words
throughout my lifetime,
have they meant anything?
If I cast them ‘into’ the subtle breeze
hovering on a hawk’s outstretched
Oh, if the majestic bird carried them all
Would I then grasp the meaning,
the fullness, the simplicity of
Drums begin to beat
—the vibration washes upon me like a
wave carried upon the sea.
Light imbues the space. Now,
thunder beats upon drums
not only one, or two, or three, or
I cannot see the player.
I tap my foot…is this prayer?
Yes, yes, yes,
All these words.
I’m back above the clouds.
What I no longer see below,
gives prayer permission
to come to life.
A new Gospel,
Each of us a living testament.
I now close this prayer
Drops of Color/ Poem
Drops of Color
—patterns of colors
Words blanketed in stitches
for unruffled moments.
A window gives way to stars.
A poem breathes
—a soft rise of blues,
greens, oranges, and yellows
highlighting the room.
The sun found its way
—a blending of a Universe
a simple poem
Journal/ Day 2 and 3/Switzerland Via Alpina
July 2nd & 3rd
The Doorway of Yesterday
—opens like a film.
A sequence of slides creates
held in one elaborate pane
—no specific storyline being written.
Within the womb of the plane,
the descent began
—a shade lifts…a first glance.
I see a blanket of white linens.
Underneath appear points of various
sizes…there is NO order.
Shadows linger expanding the horizon’s
line while a blue sea…is it
the sky? A seamless wave rolls over
the ice crystals
—jagged peaks held in the sea of
glass offering this first revelation.
The mid-wife caresses her delicate fingers
over the soft crust of sleep’s crumbs
falling from my battered lashes.
Headfirst…the mid-wife laughs
aloud to herself.
She seems to say, ‘I knew you’d
never allow your feet to touch the
ground before you—LOOK!’
Now, I have been re-united—
joined, as if a twin-soul enters from
another womb. A companion walks
beside me, with me, as so often in
the past, our steps discover NEW meaning.
Here we are. The shattering of
time distancing us because a pandemic
now seems to gather all these cosmic
The doorway opens. I see a window
of imperfections manifest into
a tale so beyond perfect
that the story birthing itself
starts with, ‘Once upon a time…’
an altar before me.
Two angels appear…
they place bread, sparkling water,
smoked meat, laced cheese, tomatoes,
avocado, fresh mozzarella drizzled
oil and balsamic dressing before us.
The soft scent of basil lays
on the blessed dishes.
Sweet communion…savoring the
delicacies set before us…
A sharing of Gospels, each life,
speaking aloud a testament
never read before.
It becomes a part of the glass
tapestry casting this window.
We rise…the mid-wife takes
my hand. Four of us,
like legs of One table, set out
into the streets, the highways & byways
of Old Town Zurich. Thousands of
voices speaking aloud, cars & buses
There seems to be a ‘pitch’
measured and played.
Stepping to a rhythm writing
itself, we come to the river.
An array of sails holds the day’s
There they are…the mountainous
terrain awaiting the ‘soles’
two of the four disciples gathered
in this moment.
We walked into a church—
Marc Chagall’s Windows, ALIVE.
As the sun shone, highlighting
colors entombed in glass and
Resurrecting the Cathedral of Creation,
A stained-glass window
Its only ‘break’
Which has yet to be revealed.
Drops of Color/The Sea and a Light House
Drops of Color
The Sea and a Light House
The sea said to the light house,
“Cast your radiance and we
shall carry it outward upon
The light house said to the sea,
“You stretch beyond any
conscious reach where
light and darkness
come together and bridge
any thought of a divide.”
Journal/Day 1 Switzerland Via Alpina
THIS day I begin the sharing of my Journal as I traversed the landscape of Switzerland’s Alps in 2022.
Enjoy the walk in the upcoming Thursdays of 2023…pray you’ll ‘fall’ in love with the scenery that has
planted its ‘wild’ flowers in my being.
July 1- July 22nd, 2022
The Via Alpina
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
July 1/Day 1
A silence hovers
so still, calm and fluid is its movement.
A new dawn rose this morning—
a solitary feathered being settled itself
in the long, thin arms of the tree’s
The song being played through a parted
beak~~~timeless…the refrain, lifting
the dewy grasses rising to the pastel
sky, awaits the flame of life to
usher in DAY.
The tiny bird cares not who hears
—creating what is ‘inside’ itself
cannot/will not wait. No audience
The One hovering in the Silence
pauses, breathes and sends a ripple
through my hair~~~ no other breeze
in the air.
A great heron holds a perch…
beckoning, breaching, until the pond
opens the doorway to a doe and two
soft white speckled fawns prance
at her side.
The Heron ushers in its becoming One
with the presiding unknown
Who, who is it joining me here
It has been years since I’ve boarded
the silver falcon with a million
Across the ‘pond,’ I will be carried.
Beside me, a host of others
find their way to who knows
I’m in a womb.
The silent presence has become
a mid-wife. She’s been beside me
before I was conceived.
She does not pull me or push me.
Never has she prodded or tugged.
She hears me when I do not hear
or understand myself
and, she says, ‘This is Good.’
You, she speaks to my Soul, “You
have come upon a new doorway.
I’m going to show you things you have
never seen and, yes, reveal things you
have bore witness to. Yet, your gaze
Shall be made new.”
“It is only hours away…
You will be birthed in the mountains.
The Swiss Alps…
Hidden and revealed, you must wait.”
The latch on the door lifted.
Streams of water will be heard…do I hear them now?
Winds and thunder, creatures will speak.
Winged angels shall appear,
and ancestors past and present
My heart is beating like a harp
whose strings ring out, ‘play me,
play me, play me.’
Don’t worry about the sound.
Like this morning’s songbird
the dew’s grasses rise,
like the flame illuminating this day.
‘We’ are not burned by such wondrous
Light. Like the Heroin perched on its
pulpit letting the congregation know
new life has joined the community
—small fawns, like children leap
and experience everything a first time.
She whispers. This is a first time
and, your ending will bring you back to
face the NEWNESS for the child in you
to be reborn and begin again.
Drops of Color/ The Wild…
Drops of Color
A soft ‘yip’
met with a cajoling purr
—so nurturing, far from fierce.
Her paws, their tender pads
—the size of a catcher’s glove.
She nudges, prods, cradles
the kit closer and closer.
She draws her into the delicate
blanket of her laced
Mother and child
—come near her youngster
THIS ‘image’ changes immensely.
What would the wild teach us
regarding care for ‘our’ young?
Perhaps, the One who brought
all things into being
has placed a cushioned
padding around our Souls.
Protecting, guarding, always loving…
yet not eliminating hardships.
Life holds risks as we venture
from our ‘dens’…
The wild has many lessons
to teach the tame Soul.