What Gift do you Bring?

A piece of Paper—
empty, life-less…
without color.

A box of Pencils—
endless colors…
sitting, as if in waiting.
For so long their ‘points’
longed for union~~~connection.

A Story—
in a mind
always creating…
still~~~holding back
WONDERING, PONDERING, HESITATING.
What gift can I bring?

Then ‘She’ knelt upon
the frozen earth
under the silent moon
lighting the empty paper.

She picked up the colored pencils
or maybe they picked her?
None the less,
She ‘mused’ them ‘into’ the
naked page…

Splashing with delight
She discovered ‘her-story.’
It was her gift to bring
and NOW how could she
not share it with the world?

A Love Story
filled with the tapestry of colors
and the page, or pages of paper
are anything but empty.

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.

 

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…

Incarnation…

Began with the birthing of
dawn
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
Humankind…

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

ALIVE~~~
this was
the message
spoken.

Fulfillment was
offered…
it is in our
Hands.

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
play???’
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
play?
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
event…
and share with them
the sacred art of
spitting watermelon seeds
(are you laughing…
remembering)?
Are we able to push them away
from the T.V. and let
them run through the
sprinkler?
Are we able to let them
fully clothed get wet?

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

Desire

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
abyss.
All this—I desire to
be One with the
mountain and the
canyon.

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

Wings unfolded, talons
outstretched,
I desire to be a hawk
lunging with the ease of
speed
eyeing the trout skimming
the water’s surface—
Darting…any sort of brake
disengaged
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
frame…
all who listened
no matter how
far
would ‘hear’
their desires
fulfilled
and in that moment
all desires would
be ONE
and then suddenly
a Divine Reality
would whisper

Yes…your desire
is good.

 

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

Hoodie

Can you ‘see?’
are you able to open your
heart to embrace the
‘pupils‘ you cannot view
beneath the hoodie…?

Some’one’ is underneath
the cover
Why is she/he shielded?
Have you asked?
Perhaps you’ve drawn a conclusion.

Why the choice not to
be revealed?
Has the person beneath the hoodie been abandoned,
left out, cast aside?

Has anyone touched the face
caressed the many tears
that flow under its protective
cover?

Who is truly under the ‘hoodie?’
Is it perhaps you or me?
Maybe ‘we’ don’t wear our
hoodie outwardly, but do we
inwardly?

Why the hoodie?
I don’t have the answers,
but I do know what it feels
like to have my face
touched

the warmth of a loving presence

I’ve never been the same…

Let’s try to embrace at least
one face, one invisible face
captured under the hoodie

 

Red Bird

In a small wooded backyard
a red bird sits upon a tree’s branch
singing a song,
the same one she sings each day
yet, she sings as if she
has just discovered her voice…

More than a thousand miles away,
in a secret garden, a red bird
sits on a branch
amongst the flowers…
She sings a song, the same
one she sings each day she visits,
and the blossoms unfold
upon hearing her sweet refrain

No matter the distance, the miles
that separate the beliefs
we hold or the ways we believe,
are the only truths…

No matter the color, black or yellow,
red or white

No matter the gender, the religion or
political stance

No matter poor or oppressed,
rich or lacking for nothing

The red bird sings,
and sings if for nothing else,
because it can

…there are those who stop
to ‘listen’
they hear the song each day and
recognize the music as if just written
for the first time and sung with a
love~~~passionate, pure and whole

The song plays on in that mysterious
dwelling ‘within’ and no matter
how misunderstood

The red bird’s song invites each of us
to find our branch
and ‘sing’ for the ‘one’ who sits
waiting, listening for our song!

A Heart of ‘Seeing’

Walking upon a soft bed
of cushioned earth
‘the stump’ nearly ‘tripped’ me

Yet, I suppose all
heart moments
cause us to stumble…

I did ‘not’ always ‘see’ them
yet now it seems they
‘find’ me…these heart moments

Realizing how
deeply I need the beat
of its fusion within this
simple body—temple
of a BELOVED”S dwelling

Alas, from my knees I rise
reminding me~~~Get up…quickly
no more confessions

Only the soft ‘feather’ of love
let go, released by a song bird
singing a love song to the One
who sees the heart open, yearning, moving
within the ebb and flow
No longer tussling in the eddy
which captures…holding back spirit

Heart of ‘seeing’
you have known pain, loss
disappointment, sadness—
you have known often without knowing
the depth of love in all the unforeseen

When the Heart is ‘broken,’
love splashes outward
making ‘lighter’ the
inner dwelling
allowing, inviting more
space for love to grow

A Door Closed This Day…And

A door closed this day and
he could barely look me in the face
his eyes could not meet my gaze

The women, they were the first
to open the door
Birth~bearers, streaks of silver lining
in their hair…
They listened…their tears
taught me~~~the spirit flowing

I shared the story
the one from ages past
The book was meant to be in every home
yet never to be opened or read
…because only certain persons
could teach it and share its message

The voices within the book called to
me…create us, so that
others might ‘see‘
‘we are all ONE and the same’…
Don’t be afraid of the stories

I was called to the young people
preparing to receive the ‘spirit’
Their eyes…PAIN~~~
they knew so little of the story
and understood the message
but were frightened to look at
themselves…
their story

The man came to me
only after I approached him
offering to share the message

He said…
‘You need a THEME
perhaps change your topic
because the Bible is large’

I looked at his lost expression
change…the story~~~
I can only trust the “spirit’s” yearning

“Perhaps another time”—he said

I told him I understood
I could not change THE WORD
to fit into ‘a box’ of his making
and he turned, closing the door

I stepped outside…
the soft wind kissed my cheeks
the sun blinded my eyes
but there was a shadow
“picking” flowers

The spirit ‘lifted’ my saddened soul
saying,

‘Take the petals to those’ who will receive’

Doors close only to open
your being to a deeper fullness and joy