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Becoming
Becoming
I am moving in the
direction of
becoming the miracle
I already am.
Drops of Color/ This Glass
Drops of Color
This Glass
It was a small glass making
its way around the room.
A smattering of ‘lip’ gloss appeared
along its edge.
Yes, a sip was had
by one, then another
and another.
Still,
the succulent juice
did not run dry.
Instead, it ran over
pouring itself
on those who
chose to
drink from its contents.
The lives of those who drank
changed.
They could not stop serving.
Rings
Rings
As the seasons spin
like the wheels of a cycle,
As planets revolve
around the sun,
This writer pens
familiar words
like rings forming ‘inside’
the towering oak.
Yes, the seasons
reshape its form.
Yes, the sun touches its bark
warming its core against all
pervading elements.
New rings circle around & around,
the writer
ever the same and expanding.
A Story Book…
Drops of Color
A Story Book…
with only two pages,
soft, translucent.
Across the ocean, its ‘binding’
secure, while the weightless orange
sheets fan precisely
and hold
hovering long enough to glide with
the sea’s breeze.
The story book takes on several
days of travel.
When land in sight, a
soft clover begins a new paragraph.
The last sentence…
the pages take flight
seeking a place where
the story will begin again!
Listen to the story—
its power turns
the tides.
Grief and Gratitude
Grief & Gratitude
One wing is
the finest feathers of gratitude.
The other wing,
a meticulous pattern.
The same feathers
lying side by side
of grief.
One side is NOT divided
from the other.
Gratitude and Grief,
when drawn together,
give One the grace
to fly.
Drops of Color/ This Garden
Drops of Color
This Garden
I am
dwelling in a garden
from which no one is banned
except in fairy tales.
Tasting of its fruit daily,
I am invited to bite into
the succulence of life.
Revealed is the essence
of goodness filling
and satisfying the Soul
—no one blamed for
having eaten.
A still small voice
says,
‘share, offer and let everyone consume and be filled.’
Open the eyes of the heart
and see
—find a way back
‘into’ a garden never really having left
—no more ‘mea culpa’
—no more beating the breast
of unworthiness.
Take in a land flowing
with milk and honey.
Let us care for this Garden.
She’ll take care of herself
if we falter to see all her
original blessings.
All invited to the table
in this Garden of Abundance.
About this morning…
About this morning…
Beneath a sea of bubbling
black licorice,
my ‘soles’ have walked.
Majestic stars, like diamonds,
splashed in the seamless ocean
flow above my head.
What was different about
this morning?
Twenty four hours earlier,
my body lay still on a table.
Overhead, it certainly was
not the Milky Way.
I was in a galaxy of wondrous
beings who brought ‘balm’
to my eye.
The first phase of healing—
a picture taken.
The second phase, I beheld the
crushing pieces of matter that
would no longer obscure my vision.
The third, and final phase,
the placement of a lens
delicately woven in by
the Physician’s Hands…
and a tender unknowing hand took mine.
I trusted all was well!
When I woke,
a sense of wonder ‘held’ me.
An unknowing fanned over
me, and a calmness pursued
as I lifted my eye’s lid—LOOKING!
What I sought as I
gazed was uncertain.
When I stepped into
the visible sunlight remaining in the day…
something changed!
Just what…no words could form
the anticipation brewing within.
I slept well,
and as always, the moon beamed through my
window luring me to rise.
I took my first
step and held my place.
Pausing, I lifted my head, tipping itself
like a pitcher pouring itself from
the opposite direction…Upward!
My eye bore witness to the stars
like SEEING them
a first time.
One by one they sparkled.
I began to count them, to name them
aloud…
so many, too many to add!
I wished to hold this encounter forever…
Mindful of many who have
moved on from this world
as I know it.
So often
I feel them keeping watch over me.
Lit candles
ignited in the sky.
Now, about this morning…
I am SEEING more clearly.
Are the stars more numerous than our descendants?
I have read somewhere this is so…
Perhaps, each one visible
and invisible to my watchful OPENED eye.
A Sacred Ancestor
invites me now to slowly
bow my head with thanks!
About this morning…I SEE!
Drops of Color/ Fiery Furnace
Drops of Color
Fiery Furnace
As the night slowly
begins to lift its shade
and stars melt into
a pool shining back upon themselves,
there is a moment, the sun,
a fiery furnace,
flips its switch ‘on’ throughout
the forest.
In that brilliant
flicker, the trees reveal their
true colors, and then
go back instantaneously
to their grand splendor
of browns.
Unseen
Unseen
It matters not
what unseen path
lies ahead.
What matters
is the courage
to know when to
press on
or
remain still
for as long as it
takes the journey to
unfold.
Drops of Color/ Strings
Drops of Color
Strings
Six strings
running parallel.
Its body
a hollowed tree trunk.
A branch
shooting through
the center
becomes a lengthy neck.
Six leaves
attached to the strings
—metaphoric vines.
Each leaf alters the
tune of the fitted
strands.
A hand reached for
a pic and plucks
E, A, D
then G, B and E.
A vibrational energy
staggers within the space between
the strings.
The free hand
stretches fingers between frets
—chords played.
Strumming rolls on
like the tide moving
in to meet the shore.
The sun rises
and a tune plays
itself.
Shadows streak across
the landscape.
A flock of geese becomes
notes flying through clouds
—their wings flapping,
writing a symphony.
As the day begins to set
—the stars become white
notes on a black page.
The music finds
another way to
express itself
—splashing into the Milky Way.
Fluttering
Fluttering
Crossing the ocean
—her wings changed
the winds.
Broken in places
—she found the strength
to arrive.
Lightly landing on flowers
—scenting the traveler
with sweet perfumes
preparing its
‘fluttering’ life
for its eternal departure.
Drops of Color/ A Pot of Gold
Drops of Color
A Pot of Gold
At the end of the pier,
‘a pot of gold.’
Metaphorically speaking,
a rainbow of floating
kayaks—‘wait.’
Then, the sea,
the sojourner,
and a single oar
‘glide’
rhythmically, harmonically,
channeling the wind,
the waves and the vast
expanse of a voyage
leading to a pot of gold
that cannot be brought back,
traded in or possessed.
The treasure LIVES within—
the sojourner never the same.