Everything Has Its Time
(Adapted by this writer from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)

For every NEW day
a season begins.
Yesterday shall never be seen and
today heaven lies under the
soles of our feet.

We are birthed into creation
and so we shall die
only to be re-birthed.

Like a seed pushed into the
darkness
we, like shoots rise—
our petals unfold
and then fall back into
the soils of time.

There must never be times
of senseless killings.
Healing the wounds of
yesterday is exhausting enough…
building a reign here, now, is
what we must seek.

For now there are tears
and they are what fill
the pools of eternal springs.

Laughter must always seep
through the broken places
and dancing should flourish
without a worry who is watching.

Stones should be skipped on
a flat bed of glassy water.
Children should count the skips
while adults truly ‘see’ the
castles built beneath the
surface.

Consciousness should guide us
in letting-go—we truly
possess ‘NOTHING’…in this
knowledge there is great gain.

A time to sew is weaving
in the hands truly knowing
how to utilize the needles—
Their voices silent…their actions
clear.

Love must endure…
like the path of a stream
seeking out new inlets.

Anything else must vanish
into the wind—
only love should be spoken
or not a word get past your lips.

Peace and ONLY Peace
leads to FREEDOM.
If war has solved anything
why is there ‘still’
fighting?

Everything happening is
as it should be.
May we be bearers
of transformation.

A Gospel of love—
ignited from the very
first breath.

Did You Hear the Hoot?

Dusk moved into
the day’s sky
lit by the sun.
Darkness came creeping into the brisk
frigid night.

The holy word opened.
A message proclaimed…
‘Prepare the Way.’
John’s ‘wild‘ voice…
Urgency spoken as one
by one they came to
the Baptist
submerging themselves
into the River Jordan.

He saw ‘through’ the
self-proclaimed religious
but did not turn them
away—and he asked
for nothing in return
except—METANOIA!

John called for a new way—
to make the path ordained
straight once more.

Struck by the words…
outside my window
a proclamation was sung…
it ‘sounded’ like the voice
of the ‘one’ crying out
in the wilderness.

Yet, this time
it was two owls
in their oneness
serenading all creation.
The stars now twinkled
with glee.

Holy wonder—
The shoot of Jesse
blossoms in this
winter’s night
through the joyous
‘hoot‘ of feathered friends~~~

Nature and all its
creatures
embrace the mystery.

How is it that we as
humans continue
seeking proof?

Silhouette

Yes…there you are.
Hidden within the formless void
an outline of being.

A shadow
perhaps ‘more’ real,
alive, displayed
than when eyes, ears, mouth
and nose revealed.

Open to imagination…
your ‘gaze’ seen by no one.
Expectations vanished.
Illusions removed.
Only You
who you really are—
a perfect self
at One with the whole.

No longer a need to
make it ‘right’ for
others…we are all called to find our way.

Your stage is the center which
belongs to everyone…
not only to the lonely others
who believe the world twirls
solely around them.

Nameless silhouette
you are every
I AM.

Bliss

Sweet ‘Whisperer’
the One who lulls me
from my sleep—
Each day
you sprinkle stardust
upon my brow
awakening my gentle soul
to get up~~~

“Come, come~~~you say”
let us take our leave
while the night sky is still
young.  No one will ‘see’ us…
it is only you and I.

Let us spend some moments
together in silence.
Take my hand ‘already’
within your reach~~~our palms united.

We shall skip to the rhythm
of the cicadas’ song
and dance while the screech owl
howls to the moon.
We’ll try counting the celestial
wonders one by one till we fall
backwards into a bed of leaves
laughing as if drunk
with the sweetest of wines—
AND
when the first sign of a new day
begins to waken the ones ready
to make their way to work,
we’ll escape
as if we never were here—

From a distance we’ll see one passer-by
getting into the car
a cup of coffee in hand—
an IPad in the other.
We’ll see another
running to get to the
office on time—
cellphone connected to the ear.

We’ll hear the clock ticking,
horns honking, sirens
bellowing…
a ‘shot‘ in the not so
distant-distance
AND
we’ll remember
our silent ‘gathering’
only hours ago.

Then we’ll
HEAR the voices, the
sounds of ‘our’ children
and
wonder
how to bring
them “back” into
this prayerful
BLISS.

Take Your Pick

As she picked the fruit from the Tree
she held it in her ‘gaze,’ AND
then began to toss it from
one hand back into the other.

What would happen
when she sank her teeth
into its juices?

Who really was the Author in
this story?

A single bite?  Oh no—
the sweet, savoring
sustenance…
Why would it ever be held back?
She took a second bite.

It was ‘she’ who was seduced by the
creation to which she had been invited.

She risked everything
so she could discover life.
She knew she was no prisoner…
Why would she be brought here—
to this place
only to be held as if in chains
from tasting Life?

She snapped the locks.
Perhaps the real deceiver—
the one telling her NOT to eat
for if she did she would
discover her infinite union
with the Divine who
brought all mystery into being!

Stop…if only for a moment.
‘Look’ at the Tree—
its fruit—
its ‘GOODNESS.’

Ask yourself,
“What rational mind
turned this story into a test
which painted the image
of a fallen woman?”

Yes—she fell alright…
She fell ‘into’ love
with Holy Awe
and wonder.

She did not know the risk—
still, to be given life
she had to take the
steps to discover—“HER.”

She birthed into life~~~
SACRED BLESSINGS…
One single bite
and still today ‘we’ are trying
to bite into ‘Transformation’—BITE!

Pick the fruit.
Let your mouth absorb
the passion.
What is your fear?
What holds you back?

The One who creates—waits
and waits as long as you
need…to TASTE.

Paradox

The leaves on the trees
fade with color.
People come from near
and far to take in
the ‘painting’ stretched out
upon an endless canvas.

Pictures taken
‘capturing’ moments…
Brilliantly ‘we’ embrace
death’s final memory.

Did that come out
correctly?
Did I write the word
death?

We try to run from
death’s sting.
Blinded by the luminous colors
we are unable to ‘see’
the leaves no longer
receiving an abundance of
oxygen.

So beautiful—the leaves aging…
letting go.

Do we see the timeless
letting go in our elders?
Wisdom’s guides…
do we sit admiring their
changing faces?
Their minds no longer the rich
fluently flowing reservoirs.
Can we sit beside them in
their silence and be present?

We, each of us
will face this season~~~
this Fall.

The tree will let us go—
let us land and
once again we will touch the
earth which breathed in us
Life.

An eternal Spring
awaits us—
another season to behold.

Though I cannot see the unknown,
I trust the canvas.
My hope never far…
still it is gone.

Beloved

…what I’m about to pen
I do not even understand.
Still the ink from within
your dwelling flows…
my spirit invited to write.

Beloved—
you wait, and have been
for so long.  Your
bride is near
her longing has been
before ‘anything’ ever was.

They…the ones leading
the people~~~they have never
grasped her.  They turned
her into ‘stone’~~~called her
a mother or even better
they celebrate a union
marrying you to a church,
a structure, a building—
(You A CORNER STONE).

They speak of a NEW Jerusalem—
A Holy City.
Far from the spouse
your being pines.

Divine masculine~~~
you await the Divine feminine—
The union of the Yin and the Yang—
One cannot be without the other.

Spirit calls for the renewal of
balance~~~of HARMONY.

From before the beginning
Creation’s breath
blew into the void.
Chaos and calm dwelt together
igniting a universe
which was for so long
without human form.

Everything dwelt as One
but, today
the towers that have been
erected are tumbling.

Children no longer have a
way to follow.
Adults simply do
not buy into the rigid rules
any longer—some
mired in the stone tablets.

The message of Love
Beloved…there are
some listening.

Is ‘his‘tory~~~’her‘story
repeating itself in NEW ways?

Is the union—
the banquet being prepared
before eyes that do not see?

Can we believe in HOPE
when others are without food
and water/while others
fill their purses bursting at the seams?

Some are crying out for PEACE.
Hear them—stop and listen
even if for a moment.

Step away from the NOISE…

The non-sense…
The need for position,
recognition, fame, fortune.

See the simple
woven fabric of love…
the seamless garment for
which they cast lots.

It has been severed by the
very hands frightened of
her restorative balance.

Beloved~~~she comes.
Not the prostitute they have deemed her, nor the whore
of Babylon.

She is wisdom—
a thin veil whose face
remains hidden…
hidden because her light
like yours is brighter
than the sun.

Beloved…take ‘her’ hand.

You Won’t Believe This but…

You won’t believe this but…
a little girl with
long golden locks attempted to hide
each time her mother tried
to set them in rollers.
During the night the wild goddess
pulled them out.

She did not want her hair
draped over her nipples
as if to cover them…for shame.

The little girl
refused to get on the school bus.
She would not wear that dress.
No, the wild goddess wanted her
blue jeans and pastel t-shirts.

You don’t understand…let me explain
This little girl grew up believing she was
anything BUT a goddess—
yet, a Divine Goddess rocked her core.
She cut her locks
exposing her breasts to the sun.

Her skin was not smooth and soft
from scented perfumes…
No, it was kissed by golden rays
—burnt brown.

Her nails on neither
her hands nor her feet were painted.
The wild goddess
had nails chipped, cracked from
swinging on branches
packed with mud
from the earth’s floor.

I dreamed that…
Now it has BECOME real.
A vision of the goddess
wild, untamed,
splashing in pools
unafraid~~~

No longer listening to the voices
that say, ‘Oh, you’ve messed yourself
all up~~~go inside and change.’

No, this goddess is outside
for she has gone within.
Her roots spreading~~~
nurtured by the Source
of Creation itself.

Goddess…
They do not see you.
BUT, then again—THEY DO!
Illuminate the substance
of splendor spilling over
from within the recesses of
your heart.

And who will join me…
Will you…will you finally dance
free of fears?

Be who you are—
Yes, you beautiful, radiant goddess
arms so strong—
they carry heavy loads and
still they caress the tears of
the bereaved,
hold the broken ever so gently in
these same sturdy pillars.

I will walk the rocky mountains sowing seeds
and the GARDEN OF EDEN has
come once more…
maybe a first time.

Written and inspired at Skidmore College: Women’s Voices for (a) Change
under the wise tutelage of Poet, June Gould.

Mary

Mary,
can you see?
Mary…can you see?
Yes, it is truly me…

Mary,
I am here.
I am always near.

I AM the whisper in the wind—
the voice of the chirping bird.
I AM the fragrance of the rose
and I sit within a butterfly’s wing.

Mary, can you see?
I know that you BELIEVE.
You always understood the way
and what I had to do…

Mary—
raise them well.
Teach them always to BELIEVE…
open their eyes to TRUTH
and let them always know they are free.

Mary…
don’t ever be afraid.
I’ve sprinkled the stars to light your path.
I hold the sun to make you warm
on the coldest of winter days.

Mary, can you see?
Wipe the tears from your eyes—
bathe in the pools where you have cried.
Lead the Way.

It will not be easy.
Still—lead the way.

Many will not understand.
Still—lead the way.

Mary—
Mary—
I know you See.

A Wedding Feast In Cana

Did you hear?
A wedding feast in Cana—
what a celebration it was—
they actually ran out of wine.

We know a woman was there.
For ‘some’ reason she took
it upon herself to go and
tell her son—
Yes, he was at the wedding as well.
But, she told him the sacred juices
had run dry!

Wait…you want to know whose
wedding this was?
Where was the Bride?
Was the mother in the story
addressing the groom?
Was his Beloved
hidden behind a veil?
The fear of exposing her could lead
her to the same
torturous death her Beloved
would face…
His death—a result of the
‘sin’ in the world.

The curtain in the Temple
torn in two…
But, wait—back to the wedding.

She who is
is the one behind the veil
secretly removed from the story.
Yet, she is in between each line.

What is this I’m saying?
Blasphemy…I hear it.
Another fairytale—
Yet, perhaps there are “truths”
in these fables.

The Beloved seeks union
with the one behind
the veil.

A wedding at Cana—
A communion of love.
A Gospel Message
longing to restore balance & harmony.

She waits…a reunion—
A time, once again for
the veil to be torn in two.

Time for New Wine.

Dissolve

Who am I?
I sat in the darkness
of a room
whose only light gently flickered from a candle’s wick.

The flame danced
left then right
as it swirled again and again
casting a performance on
the walls…
a ballad
designed for only this moment.

A tear formed in my eye
and ran down my cheek
at the exact moment the
wax of the candle
spilled from its edge.

In that moment
we were ONE
dissolving into nothingness
yet, finding ourselves in the
absence like two lovers
intertwined as if for a first time.

I touched the flame
yet, I was not burned.

An ember kindled a blaze within me
unlike any other I had ever
known and in this moment
cannot begin to grasp.

I’m dissolving—like wax.
Will I find me NOW?

Mary’s Lamb Named Ewe

Mary had a little lamb
She chose to name her Ewe.

No one knows the story of where Ewe
came from—not even Mary.

Every where Mary went, Ewe seemed to follow…
Ewe listened to whatever Mary said
and did whatever she asked.

There was something very different about Ewe.
Ewe was not afraid to be out in the pasture alone.
She enjoyed grazing.

Other sheep would join Ewe…it was then that
there always seemed to be a celebration.

Mary encouraged Ewe especially as she grew
to go out into the world and share all
the kindness, love, tenderness & mercy that
Mary had shared with Ewe.

Ewe went her ‘way’—others left their familiar
pastures and went a new way with Ewe.

More and more grazed with Ewe, but
there were some who were suspicious of Ewe.
They did not like the fact Ewe was showing
others where they could eat freely
and live abundantly.

These others were used to being in charge
of the other sheep and felt like they were
losing their stronghold.

Ewe invited these others to ‘see’ a new way
where all were welcomed—all could enjoy
a banquet of plenty if all were to be accepted
as participants in the wonderful mystery of life.

The sheep heard Ewe and went out to set a snare
to trap her—She, Ewe that is, was too wild,
thought the others, and will lead lambs astray…
We must get rid of her.

Ewe knew her end was near…Mary’s heart was broken.
Mary taught Ewe ‘goodness’ and tears spilled down
upon Ewe’s wool as Mary wept
holding her lifeless lamb.

Mary carried Ewe to a quiet place laying Ewe in a
soft bed of glorious flowers—Ewe loved flowers.

Ewe’s closest friends gathered beside Mary and they
stayed in the pasture of flowers until the
setting of the sun.

Days later…
Mary came to the place Ewe was laid BUT
Ewe was gone.

Mary stared in disBelief—
who, what could have taken Ewe’s little tent of a being?

Just then Mary heard a distinct cry.
Atop a rocky crag—why, it looked just like Ewe.

Mary thought to herself, “I must be ‘seeing’ things.”
It began to leap closer and closer to Mary—it was Ewe.

Ewe has risen.
Just how, NO ONE really knows.
Yet, Mary BELIEVED.

Rain Drops…

My words intermingled
in rain drops.
As soon as the ink touches
the paper, a splash
falls down upon it
erasing whatever surfaced.

How to begin?
One tear falls and then
another—

How can there be celebration
in the streets when
one by one by one
life is taken…
limbs of life lost…
quality of life changed?

A tree branch crashes
to the ground in the heart of
the forest…she bleeds—
no one hears.

Listen…no one has won.
This was not a game.
Life is not a sport.
Creation weeps this
day mindful of what each of us
is losing.

In the name of God
some cast people to Hell.
I think in some ways
‘we’ have become our
own ‘gods’ determining
where one goes in the
end.

Where did you learn your
theology?  Your words
are violence.  They could
never come from a
‘Source’ that loves
what has been
fashioned as GOOD.

Before anything, darkness
existed…it welcomed the
light.  Together they
knitted the great
web of life—the
chain of Being.

The nameless ‘One’
waits, breathing
silently and in the
stillness and noise
HOPES again and again to
Be RECEIVED.

A Girl

Her small voice
hushed the noise of
the T.V. blaring news
of a new Pope.

She looked up at her
mom and, with
utter delight, she
inquired…
“Can a Girl be a Pope?”
Her eyes full of wonder…
her heart awaited a
response to a question
that for years had
been answered with
complete falsity.

The mom…in a soft
spoken voice—
tears slipping down
her cheek even before
the realization of the
words that she would
allow to spill from her
pursed lips said…
“Only boys can be priests.”

The child sat…
thinking only for a
moment before another
inquiry ensued.
“Does that mean girls
cannot help God?”

Do we ‘hear’ the messages
we ‘leave’ for our children?

We set the stage—
their little minds
so expansive.

We have the power to
transform/restrict their
creativity, their compassion,
their desire to do
GOOD—

Her question…
What will our answer be?
Perhaps it is time for us
to break the chain of
fear…speaking truths
only to let the light
that has always been
shine in NEW WAYS.

The Tempest

For a time
the swirling winds
of the rushing tempest
seemed to have ceased.

I walked amongst the trees…
we chatted.
A simple song they sang…
the gentle breeze echoed through
their branches.

My heart space
‘wonder-struck’…
A calm serenity was found
in the still silence.

Then, without notice
pellets of hail, sleet
fell from the sky.
Any subtle form of air
was now a fury
lifting me from any solid
foundation.

I twirled in the air—‘freezing.’
I was caught in the rapturous
whirl.

My mind raced—
I could not turn off
the noise penetrating
through my head.
My being ‘rocked.’

It was no use trying
to fight all the elements
rushing
toward my center.

I’ve known this place—
and this time I am
more aware of myself
within these encounters
of chaos.

In every way I am stretched—
refashioned and yes, maybe
reshaped—TRANSFORMED.

The tempest far from over—
The flying debris leaves me
blinded.

Yet—

I see.

I vision—a way
through this ‘place’…
still, silent, alone
yet, never by
myself.

Hidden within
the tempest I am pushed.  Yet,
I do not resist.
I know I simply
must let-go.

Frigid

Frigid…
I see my breath
in the framework of the night—
it shatters like a thousand
tiny pieces of icicles in mid-air.

The cold
creates pools which form
in the very corners of my eyes…
they slip down
freezing before they spill from
my chin.

The blustering wind
pierces my cheeks
like a sewing needle
weaving its way through
a seamless garment.

Why am I out here?
To listen~~~but to what?
What is there to listen to?
A tree cracks…
a lonely leaf scurries across
the icy terrain.

I’m frozen—
my nostrils await
another breath
before ‘sealing’ closed barely re-opening.

I listen…
and hear nothing.

The silence—it’s intoxicating.
I drink it in
one shot after another
and suddenly ‘inside’
my being I’m warm.
I’m listening to the chill of
nothingness—
and in this moment
it is as a
burning flame.