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A ladder

A ladder

I climbed a ladder,
but
it was not until I
descended ‘into’ the 
shadows, I discovered
the direction I sought.

Book of Hours/ 8:00 p.m.

BOOK OF HOURS/ 8:00p.m.

“All shall be well, and all shall
be well and all manner of
things shall be well.”

 ~~~Julian of Norwich

8:00p.m. Hour

 Darkness has set in.
Like a seed planted in the ‘ground of being,’
unmovable beneath the soil, the seed finds a way
to break.  Pushing, prodding, am I like this seed
beneath the canopy of the night’s sky? 
Here, I burst while a thousand stars pull me into their
light.  What is my prayer in this kaleidoscope of
twinkling white diamonds
spread across a black pearl table?  I pull up a
chair to gaze a while.  I am upside down,
 yet no-thing falls upon me.
 I am falling into this hour, intentionally.
Every second, I drop lower and lower and the
descent brings me nearer to You.  I am guided
through a black hole…an abyss, and I cannot
find my way—ah, yet, I trust the hid-den path.
Mindful of this road, knowing not a direction…
There is no North or South, East or West…
all ways in the absent void…lead to You. 
My eyes closed, I touch you at my side.  I know it is You.
I fear not that it be anyone else.  It is You
and Spirit who meet me in this timeless
hour.  We are gathered together in this
space over and over.  I follow even
though the way uncharted, the road lies
off the map.  I step in a forest of
flowers that bloom in the night.  Their seeds
know when to unfold and it is well…
very well with my Soul.

Pray with me in this hour.
9:00 p.m. will arrive next Monday—
Promise you will stay…invite another!
No worries if you pass.  I hold you in the hours remaining.

 

Center Stage

Center Stage
Divine Light has its way
of ‘pointing’
to that which appears insignificant
and casts its glow
allowing it center stage
and says…
‘the brilliance of creation would
not exist without
your being.’

Book of Hours/ 7:00 p.m.

BOOK OF HOURS/ 7:00p.m.

In the dark I rest, unready for the light
which dawns day after day, eager to
be shared.  Black silk, shelter me.  I
need more of the night before I open
eyes and heart to illumination.  I must
still grow in the dark like a root not
ready, not ready at all.

 ~~~Denise Levertov

7:00p.m. Hour

Is it the dark we fear,
or do we fear what we have been told lurks in the dark?
Darkness shades the world…it reminds us of death.
How many so frightened to speak of death?  How many
will not broach the subject until it is staring them in
the face and a cry heard, “Why?”  So many believe
that through the death of one man humankind was
saved.  Did humankind need saving?  What about
everything that was before this person?  Was the
Incarnation a reality that was simply not seen in life each day,
every hour, and yes, seconds?
I love the man who said himself to be the Son of Man [Humankind].
He spoke to all, reached out to the lowly,
was transformed through others who asked for his
aid.  He guided others to ‘see’ differently.
Love, his only message…no matter the price.
He chose death in his final hours…he cried out to his
God, “Where are you?”  Then whispered in tears, “Forgive them, they know not
what they do.”  I pray you God…
weep and continue to weep when you see violent
destruction, bloodshed, cruelty.  I cannot imagine you
turning over your son, whom you love, to fall victim to an inhumane act of
torture. 
I see you standing with
others in tears—pleading for Peace, working for Justice,
Feeding the Hungry, removing children
from cages and bringing them, re-uniting them with their kin.
These hours, the months of the pandemic…death wove itself across our world…
Our entire World.
So many lives taken by an unseen predator.
I, too, lost a loved one who lights the stars over my head. 
I join hands and hearts with countless
Others.  We were, we are The Synagogues, The Temples,
The Mosques, The Cathedrals
standing together in the forests, the mountains, alongside the rivers and oceans
to remember.
How we will meet again is not clear…at least not for me. 
I trust we meet now, each day in these hours.
Although we do not touch physically, we touch. 
I know this as YOU hold this pen, and the words write themselves.

Pray with me in this hour.
8:00 p.m. will arrive next Monday—
Promise you will stay…invite another!
No worries if you pass.  I hold you in the hours remaining.

NOW and every day hereafter, join me in a moment of Silence.
In Unity, let us remember the 10 persons who lost their lives in an unspeakable act of violence in Buffalo, NY.
So many persons are losing their lives to senseless acts of horror.
May they rest beneath the brown, rich soils of Mother Earth and Rise shining like stars.
May we respond ONLY in Love…may our tears water the ground where their human shells will lie
AND 
May we trust their Souls dwell in the air we breathe…
Let us live each day so that they are never forgotten.

 

 

Rest

Rest

Today is a brilliant day
to begin unfolding all the
creativity birthing inside of you.

Suddenly, a soft voice, or the echo of a breeze,
seems to say,

“Come, lie in this hammock,
let yourself rest in
the sweetness of savoring
nothingness.”

The mind, the heart, the body,
embrace the stillness.

Rest

Book of Hours/ 6:00 p.m.

BOOK OF HOURS/ 6:00p.m.

If you have built castles in the air,
your work need not be lost;
that is where they should be.  Now put
the foundations under them.

 ~~~Henry David Thoreau

6:00p.m. Hour

I clicked my heels…
I was not attempting to escape this hour.
I clicked softly, bringing me back home from Oz.
At one time, I imagined the Yellow Brick Road.
I have had friends:  Scarecrows, Tin men, and even
Cowardly Lions.  Perhaps, a part of me resided in each
of those characters. (Oh, and yes, Toto, too) Have I encountered
a Fairy Princess…a good witch?  Have I actually taken the broom
of a bad witch and swept her floor in hopes that she
would see the entire world is not against her?
Did I believe behind some giant screen there was this
Magical, All-Powerful ‘Oz’ who could make my
every wish come true?  I am clicking heels
this time so I do not fall asleep in a poppy field
with flying monkeys overhead.  Really, what is
this prayer?  As these hours draw nearer to the completion
of a twenty-four-hour period, through seasons, through
years…stories play through my mind.  You are certainly
not the great and powerful Oz my heart has sought.
You are more Auntie Em…You are Uncle Henry…
Spirit…You are Professor Marvel, an Itinerant Fortune Teller
who recognizes a child has run away and you guide her
to return ‘Home.’  As simple as it sounds, returning
home is the journey of our lifetime.  These hours
lead me to you…a golden wheat field, a foundation
laid, set.  When it is time, it will start anew.

Pray with me in this hour.
7:00 p.m. will arrive next Monday—
Promise you will stay…invite another!
No worries if you pass.  I hold you in the hours remaining.

 

Perch

Perch

Find your perch
and rest awhile…

Book of Hours/ 5:00 p.m.

BOOK OF HOURS/ 5:00p.m.

 Be yourself, everyone else
is already taken.

 ~~~Oscar Wilde

5:00p.m. Hour

 They say the eyes are the windows to the Soul.
These windows—a set of eyes…they gaze
from inside out…they gaze from the outside in.
What have they witnessed?  Has my vison changed
as time reveals itself over and over,
this hour, from these windows?   I ride as if
on a Ferris Wheel. I see for miles and miles.
Only for seconds, the picture changes—the
scenery, its landscape, positions…a rhythmic
cycle always forming new faces and holding a
familiar place.  How can ordinary windows reveal
so much, and how can so much unfold, becoming
something new again and again?
How can the ‘viewer’
not be changed in this hour, this specific time of
day?   No matter from which side of the window I stand,
the fading of light reveals images…
a casting of myself.  I look, I smile, I make a
funny face.  The window laughs, or was it the wind
pushing itself to get in?  My face reveals soft lines,
gentle wrinkles, adding to the personality of my character
growing with age.  I would love for others to see in me eyes
that express kindness, lips that speak truth, ears
listening to voices calling out, a nose that takes in
life’s delicate scents and breathes in its pleasures.
I would love others to see my open arms embracing
everything that has come my way…even the moments of
trial that broke my heart wider to love more
completely…even if the love denied.
So much more lies through these windows.
My eyes glimpse heaven in each of you…
my gaze has been blessed to behold.
I cannot begin
to count the endless faces of you, God,
that you have allowed, invited me to see.
And through this window,
You have allowed me to see You in me.

Pray with me in this hour.
6:00 p.m. will arrive next Monday—
Promise you will stay…invite another!
No worries if you pass.  I hold you in the hours remaining.

  

Drops of Color/ Conversation with a Flower

Drops of Color
Conversation with a F
lower

Who asks you,
‘What is your race, your gender,
your creed?’

Pardon me, I could not hear
you.

‘Does anyone question the essence
of your being?’

Forgive me, I really cannot
understand what you’re
saying.

Help me…

Suddenly, the flower
unfolded itself before me.

Its beauty, its sweet savory perfume
expanding between us.

No words necessary.

Really, so simple,
if only we ‘saw’ the
loveliness in one another—

Each of us…A Divine Unfolding!

Book of Hours/ 4:00 p.m.

BOOK OF HOURS/ 4:00p.m.

 Once we believe in ourselves, we can
risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous
delight, or any experience that reveals
the human spirit.

 ~~~E.E. Cummings

4:00p.m. Hour

 The harvest ready…
Autumn changes the colors of this hour—
My breath softer, more silent, and I know
You, YAH-WEH, as I inhale and exhale.
My heart now beats to your unspoken name.
My steps move in the cadence of the air being
taken in and letting-go.  This hour, dusk begins
settling in.  The air changes—a cool breeze
rustles the leaves…some hang-on, others let-go—
hoisted, drifting, soaring and finding a place
to rest.  These hours tucked between seasons.
What is my prayer?  All these minutes that have
ticked on by…were they prayer?  Yes, these
ripened hands of time, they move without some-one
pulling or pushing life to become.  Life unfolds
without ‘me’ and, yet, it asks of me to be a
participant in this dance.  Life takes me, has
taken me by the hand. I have waltzed, Sashayed,
Rock-n-rolled, I have moon-walked and square-danced.
Then, beneath a blanket of stars, I closed my eyes
circling around the moon…a celestial wonder.
I was lifted, so ripe was I, I fell. I fell into
a pile of Autumn’s color-filled leaves only to
rake them higher so I could dive back in and fall.
Full circle, coming full circle, but give me these
remaining hours.  Let these lasting seconds
bring me nearer to you, who is
already at my side.

Pray with me in this hour—
5:00 p.m. will arrive next Monday—
Promise you will stay…invite another!
No  worries if you pass.  I hold you in all the hours remaining.

 

 

‘blow’

‘blow’
I dare you NOT
to ‘blow’ these
beautiful seeds
into the 
Universe

Book of Hours/ 3:00 p.m.

BOOK OF HOURS/ 3:00p.m.

 “I’ve known rivers:  I’ve known rivers
ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins
my soul has grown deep like the rivers.

 ~~~Langston Hughes

3:00p.m. Hour

This hour basks in Summer’s warmth.  The clouds
overhead bathe in this season…like children, they
frolic across the sky.  I walk in the tall grasses
stopping to rest beneath a tree. Its shadow covers
me completely.  I see the light, and it is making
its way toward the western sky.  I pause…
colors evaporating, fading…the tapestry of this
field knitted so delicately…everything is full
and moving in a direction that suddenly
brings day to night.  The in-between hours at times
seem forgotten…they exist, almost expected.
Perhaps, this is my own expectation—that you are always
here and you are.  How have I changed like these
hours, these seasons?  My steps take place with
greater care. I look out and hold the moment,
know it no longer, nor ever did.  Nothing lasts forever.
But now…I treasure this summer.  I tuck it into
a chest digging a hole and place its ‘riches’—
‘a box of no possessions’—into the ground.
I dig so deep, I hit a spring.  It lifts the
chest from my hands and rushes away deep into
a pool of darkness.  Gone, but all the treasures
the seasons have blessed me with, I give back.
I give back holding the moments in my memory
realizing no-thing belongs to me, and still
I am in all things.
I hear the rush of the river
as this hour flows into the next
tributary.

Pray with me in this hour…
4:00 p.m. will arrive next Monday—
Promise you will stay…invite another!
No worries if you pass.  I hold you in the hours remaining.