The Empty Pitcher

The Empty Pitcher

Pour out the contents—
every last ounce of ‘whatever’
remains; let it spill out
and dissolve so that it might
not be found ever again.

Hollow, the Pitcher
at last…
This is how it first arrived
in the world after being
held, kneaded and placed
in a fire—
it came out of the kiln
absolute perfection.

so many of ‘our’ pitchers—
yours, mine…a collective ‘ours’
have been filled, tarnished,
scraped, cracked from the
inside…and for too long
what we’ve come to believe in
are the falsities of who we actually
are.  It is this we are not
this is not what defines us
and yet, it has.

Wounds inflicted—
‘we’ have allowed to fill us.
Some we actually believe true.
Imagine NOT believing in your own perfection.

Empty your pitcher.
‘Look’ inside…
maybe its shine is a bit lackluster after
so many years—
perhaps a mar has
formed and
your pitcher broken
in places.

Can you finally ‘see’ you
in this emptiness?
Behold the splendid
Pitcher you are and
always have been.

It is in this very
emptying you are
finally FULL.

Now—splash yourself
everywhere that will
receive the love that
is YOU.

The Trees Are Crying

The Trees Are Crying

They know what is coming.
A storm is approaching—
They, yes, each tree
big & small, tall & short, barren & filled
with autumn’s last leaves~~~
Each begins to sway.

The wind holds nothing back…
branches click and clack
and then a ‘break’
and then a silent rumble
as the tree crashes to earth’s floor…

If you listen—
really listen—
you’ll hear the trees cry.

They creek aloud understanding
a Fall.
Anything BUT a fall from Grace…
rather a fall into GRACE.
It is a time to weep…what was is passing.
What is to come remains unseen
and for this moment~~~it hardly matters.
NOW the trees cry.

Bend with them and listen—
it just might break you enough
to realize they, yes the trees,
embrace the mystery more than You or I.

Ghost Wagon

Ghost Wagon

You ‘see’ it don’t you?
I mean really ‘see’
it is anything but ‘hollow.’

At night—it is then you can
see it and them—
Yes them…

When the stars light the sky,
the canopy covers the wagon.
A team of galloping stallions
begins shuffling its hooves.

Inside…there they are
artists in their own right
poets at play, and a choir
of heavenly hosts.

Paints of endless colors begin to blend—
words flow from a pencil’s lead
and the singing is soft almost silent
as ghosts go traveling to ‘bedrooms’
where dreamers sleep unknown.

The haunting—
sweet mystery
send messages to the slumberer’s
visions, illuminations, transfigured
awaiting a sign.
Yet, no sign need come
nor message be
BUT—if one
a treasure at last.

sleep peacefully
tonight and, if you
hear the sound of
hoof beats, close your

The ghosts in the
wagon are
coming at last.

Little One

Little One

What did you find?
Oh, yes…it is a treasure
It is such an amazing ‘gift’
that you could never put it in
a box with a pretty ribbon
for it cannot be contained.

My only wish…
no one take away what
you’ve discovered…
I pray you are not told
‘ARISE’…look how dirty your knees are
‘look’ how wet your new pants are.
Now, hurry…get up—

I pray no one says, come now
we must be going…better things to do
with our time than simply gaze into water
and skip stones on her crest…
Oh, don’t ever let go of this treasure.

I pray the silence here fills you again
and again—so you’ll never tire of coming back.
The noises you’ll hear in your ‘space,’ what
others will call home…never accept them as the norm.
Run back to the treasure you first discovered, Little One…



How could I pick it?
How could I not
and yes, so I did…

I took a deep ‘breath’
and blew ‘the seeds
not 10
not 20
not 30
so many more.

‘They’…each tiny seed
caught in the wind’s~~~
whisper and spread
to places of newness
to lands, waiting for that
one seed to find its way
to ‘change’ the face of
the landscape…

God says~~~
how could I pick ‘you’ from my garden?
How can I not says God
and so God did…

God breathed~~~ God’s very breath
and blew
not 10
not 20
not 30
but so many ‘beautiful’
images of God’s self
out of the womb of Eden
and into a world~~~
the landscape of creation.

Each of us~~~God breathed
into life.
We have ‘seeds
within us…unique
gifts only we can

Trust the Spirit in ‘YOU’
and may the wind
carry you to what you
still cannot imagine.



Began with the birthing of
out of the brilliance of darkness.

Stardust drizzled from a bursting star
gifting the landscape.

A single breath
through a nostril of Divine
Wonder brought into life’s
Cosmic Mystery

‘we’ were added to the dance—
to the ebb & flow—
to relational
love-making of Holy Awe.

this was
the message

Fulfillment was
it is in our

Get On

Get On

Quick, quick
come quickly now.

Yes…it’s time.
You know…
You see…

Come…get on—
that’s it.

all together.

can you hear it?
It is silence~~~
Quiet now…
Empty all thought…
isn’t it beautiful?

Still, still, still
The echoes of silence.

Get on, get on
before you ‘rush’ to get off.

Keep balanced—
we are in this together.

There is no telling where the silence
will lead…really it does not matter.

And …perhaps it does~~~
If we simply silence ourselves
maybe we will come to know one another
without ALWAYS speaking.

Perhaps we will ‘see’
how similar we
are and balance on
this cosmic globe.

Silence…can you
‘hear’ the world

You have it…
Get on~~~
the dance has

Where Will Our Children Play

Where Will Our Children Play

We wake
and both choose our favorite blend.
Aroma rising…
‘we’ fill our cups to the brim.

You pick up the paper—
I put down the noise.
You read the headlines—
I gaze at the stars.

In between sentences you hear about the violence
and wars
while I’m perched hearing the
songs of the waking birds.

You shudder, aghast…health care
reform, deficits, tax increases,
millions of dollars to pilot air force one.
I sit beside the trees bending
to greet the sun.
A breeze runs through my hair
while a chipmunk scurries
through the blanketed grass.  A
dragonfly lands resting itself upon
my knee…

You are not wrong…
I am not right.
‘We’ both ‘see’ yet, through
different lenses.

‘We’ both ask,
‘Where, where will our children
If ‘we’ don’t listen NOW and
rise for them…what will any
of this mean?

Can we ‘stop’ the division
and seek a way—
without answers, yet a common
goal of justice for all?

What really is equality?
Stop hiding in the shadows
negating what is ‘real.’

You see, you see…
get off the pulpit—
try ‘seeing’ from the pew.

Where, where will our children
Are we able to get them off i pads—
so they can hear…stories,
told orally, from of old?
Are we able to avoid fast foods in
a rush to get to the next
and share with them
the sacred art of
spitting watermelon seeds
(are you laughing…
Are we able to push them away
from the T.V. and let
them run through the
Are we able to let them
fully clothed get wet?

You and I may ‘see’
but I know
We both want our
children to PLAY—

Down the Block

Down the Block

Down the block…
the past unseen
and it was brimming with life.

No one ‘saw’ the first ‘Son’ rise
or beheld all the shooting stars.

No one witnessed the first flower—
unfolding petals created landscapes of carpeted cushioned beds
and yet ‘she’ stood
apart, separate from any rib.

She already was
because she came from down the block.
Her voice burst, like a BANG, and opened the cosmic storm.
Yes…Sophia~~~Wisdom shook the splendor
and wonder-lust of nothingness
splashing light
radiating darkness.

It was not from her rib that ‘He’ came into
being, but He from her heart
down the block.

She needed no introduction or Heavenly Queen-ship.
Her being was love personified
and her tears
fill the pools, the oceans and rivers
who still know it was ‘she’ who
brought all things to be.

Silently she speaks as
her daughters
find their voices
down the blocks of ages past.



Tell me of your desires
and I will tell you of mine.

When I sit gazing upon a tree,
I desire every part of my being
to be nestled deep into the soil.
I want to ‘breathe’ packed in mud
and shoot through the veins of
the trunk until I’m dangling
from a branch.
I want a caterpillar to nibble
upon my leaves
and I want the birds to
sit within me singing, singing, singing.
That is my desire
and I am One with the tree.

When I splash into the sea,
I desire to be a wave folding
over & over gathering sand
and displacing it so it can discover
new shores.
I want to be calm one moment and
then move into a tempest
swirling every which way—
no direction necessary.
That is my desire
and I am One with the Sea.

When I stare at the
sky, I desire to be a
cloud…puffy, white
and full of vapors.
I want to hear the
sound of little children
magically trying to
create something from
my formation. I
desire the painted blue
screen I float within
to intertwine in me
until at last I am
One with the Sky.

When I climb a mountain,
I desire to reach its
summit just as when
I enter a canyon
I desire to get down
into its endless
All this—I desire to
be One with the
mountain and the

Tell me of your desires
and I will tell you of mine.

Wings unfolded, talons
I desire to be a hawk
lunging with the ease of
eyeing the trout skimming
the water’s surface—
Darting…any sort of brake
in my talons.
I seize the mighty fish
and off to my nest I fly…
my young already delighting
in the tasty water spectacle.
My desire in that one single
bite,  a taste of holy communion,
and now my feathers dry
in the cool summer’s breeze.

My hooves touch the ground,
but in a moment of fearful
desperation I leap…my legs
life springs…a gentle deer I
desire to be.

In early mornings…the sweet
nibble of fresh grass then down
to the river the deer saunters to lap up the jewels
of the stream—
An animal of such grace.
My steps, a rhythmic dance…
I am One with the
deer and my
desires embraced.

Tell me of your desires
and I will tell you of mine.
I desire to be a bell
in a tower cast in
far away lands.
Yet, when I ring—
when my whole being
swings clanging the
chimes to the bronzed
all who listened
no matter how
would ‘hear’
their desires
and in that moment
all desires would
be ONE
and then suddenly
a Divine Reality
would whisper

Yes…your desire
is good.

Two Stones

Two Stones

On a shoreline
two solitary stones sat side by side
naturally, there were hundreds if not
thousands of other stones gathered
beside the two—

yet, together they gazed upon life
they shared very few words
they enjoyed basking in the sun—together
they savored the rains…being washed anew—together
they were comforted by winter’s white blanket—together
they laughed in the fog when they could not ‘see’ one another—
but, together they knew they were
side by side
never alone

Then one day—a storm raged
the waves pounded the shoreline
the pummeling crash of the ocean’s fierce breath
turned the tides—making loose one of the stones
and it was washed into the surf
carried by the waves sweeping in and out…

Gone…so it seemed—
the other stone now appeared lost
it felt the sun in a new way in the absence of
the Other
the rain now was like a tiny pool in the Other’s space
the snow fell cushioning extra layers
reminding the stone of the Other’s presence
when the fog rolled in the stone imagined the Other
and in the Other’s absence the stone knew
the Other near…nearer than ever

the Other was ‘transformed’ into ‘everything’
around, within and about the stone—
and its loneliness was no more

A Sailing Ship

A Sailing Ship

There I was
nestled near the edge
of the shore
when suddenly it made
its way across the
glass-countered sea top…

Moving with ease,
it did not ‘see’ me and so
I carefully hid myself
behind a patch of elevated
cat tails

No sails moved this
unique vessel…
this sailing ship— not
even a motor

A large tip~~~its bow
and its stern
a giant paddle caressing
the seas

The body of this ship
strong—yet, its movement like
a soft feather tucked
inside a bird’s nest

Closer and closer it came
I could not resist to catch
a ‘full’ glance and at that
the tail parted the sea
creating a splash which soaked me
with delight…

the sailor’s ship now submerged
and I~~~soaked with laughter