The Summit

The Summit

I climbed a mountain—
finally reaching the top.

No, not the top of the mountain—
but, yes—the zenith upon
which I was meant to arrive.

My eyes beheld all that was
around me
and all around me beheld
the one standing in its midst.

We were so at One—
there was no distinction
in our being.

Truly, there was never a
moment of arrival—
it was as if it
ALWAYS had been.

I don’t remember
or recall beginning—
I was not here.

Or, was I?

When I was not trying
to understand “nothingness”…

I WAS—as were You.

Now…in search
of meaning—arriving seems
almost daily.

The summit…
we are always
upon it—
if we can ‘see’
without standing
on its peak.

I Lost a Friend Today

I Lost a Friend Today

The note came in the mail.
I opened the seal not
expecting the weight I discovered ‘within.’

I lost a friend today…
I suppose you can ‘read’
this in a myriad of ways

But, I’ll make it clear—
Although ‘somethings’ are
never quite clear…

I buried her little boy
years ago.
We did not speak weekly,
monthly or even yearly,
still…we were ‘in touch.’

When I read the ‘words’—
Heaven’s doors—here, now
pushed open.

An enormous wave
formed from a source
unknown and a
kaleidoscope of tears
enveloped me.

I did not hold them back—
they spilled all over
me… I was soaked.

I sat
drenched in grief.
I sat …eyes swollen
and the milky substance
still finding form—
salted the edge of
my lips…

I walked later that day—
the rain pelted my cheeks…
washing my face now
mindful of death’s sting…

LATER…
I drove along a
winding trail—
trees stretched out their branches
and the sun burst
through the windshield’s
pane pressing itself
upon my chest.

I was warm…
filled with an
impregnable heat—
I never wanted to end.

Pulling the car to the side
of the roadway, I stopped—
the light still cast on my being.

I smiled
without realizing it…
my very lips curving
so far they
created a ripple in
my skin causing my
eyes to squint—
the sweetest ‘squint’ I
ever felt

AND— in that moment

THIS ‘present’

I found my friend
ALL around

Far from gone.

Ebony & Ivory

“Ebony & Ivory…live together in perfect harmony
side by side on my piano keyboard Oh Lord…”  Paul McCartney

Let’s keep singing the words until they come true…
Oh, Lord—we can, can’t WE?

Old Woman

Old Woman
Why change her way of ‘seeing’
simply because it does not coincide with yours—

Dear Pope Francis

Dear Pope Francis,

I AM writing this
missive because the
poetic muse in my soul
bleeds outward
and yes, inward as well.

The chasm within me—
so deep.  While I
know this may never
pass through the
Papal doorway,
I WRITE—
my words, my voice…
my spirit.

I hear you…
I see you out on
the highways and byways…
You stretch your arms—
an extension of PEACE.

I want NOTHING more
than to BELIEVE that the
Olive Branch you offer is
loaded with the ripest
of fruits.

I wish to UNDERSTAND—
really I do…
while you unite with
leaders trying to bridge
divides, inviting people to
‘see’ beyond separateness.
(some might call it non-dualistic thinking)

How, how can you NOT
begin to build a
bridge over
SEXISM.

How can you not even
be open to discussion—
the inhumanity,
the inequality,
the injustice—

While I have the
freedom to pen these
words, I have
sisters
across the great pond
secretly writing
THEIR STORIES—
if caught…
their lives
would cease
to be…

BUT, they share
their STORY…

Why don’t you
address that?
Do you know how
many women come
to the well
in the middle of the day?

BRING them/us
a NEW SPIRIT,
a NEW TRUTH that
the CHRIST message
began.

Please…how can you look
into those eyes of innocence
and say, “You can be
involved in so many ways
BUT you cannot be a
PRIESTESS
for the God who dwells in You.”

If the God
incarnate in each of us
DWELLS
how can you say,
“NOT IN THIS CHURCH?”

Universality—
ONE holy apostolic…

When will you remove the nails
and unshackle the doors
so ALL might be WELCOMED?

Women are speaking
and MORE importantly
they’re LIVING
the GOSPEL…

I’m NOT asking to
erase HISTORY—
I’m asking to begin
to write on fresh paper—blank lines.

Let’s write a story
for this generation
and future generations
‘showing’ TRANSFORMATION
is real. It is ALIVE
in this Church.

Can we look in her eyes
and tell her—Yes…
the call you have—
it IS your vocation!
“Come, come enter this ‘reign’—
well done, well done
daughter of mine.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

He did not turn off the T.V. or the radio…
He did not close his eyes imagining all was better
when PEOPLE were denied
freedoms because of the color of their skin.

He rose—and OTHERS with him…
they WALKED—in a spirit of truth

AND

they were brutalized—

But STILL

they ‘marched’ onward…
a united choir—
peace in their souls.

They dared to DREAM
with eyes WIDE OPEN.

Let freedom ring—
and then “…joined hands and sang
the words of the old Negro spiritual,
‘Free at last! free at last! thank God
Almighty, we are free at last’!”  Martin Luther King, Jr.

May His voice rise in our hearts today and everyday
UNTIL
Freedom rings.

 

Songbirds

Songbirds
If the world around me should one day grow silent…
I pray I never forget the sound of the morning’s songbirds
filling my heart with their music.

In Pursuit of Meaning

In Pursuit of Meaning

I hurried outside
in search of meaning
when suddenly I came upon
a solitary leaf
transfixed to Earth’s bed.

I bent to pick her
up when suddenly she spoke,
“No, please don’t move me—
I’ve just discovered my meaning…”

I stood up quickly
looking around—
No one was there.
Was I hearing things?
I ONLY was going
to pick up this leaf.

“I know what you’re searching for.”
Again, I looked around—
no one was there!

“Alright,” I said, I’ll play
along with this—
THIS leaf.

And the leaf spoke,
“Not so long ago
I pushed through a
long branch and began to unfold…
not of my own doing.

The time of season was
pleasantly cool.
I was a beautiful shade
of pinks and purples…

Warm air made its way in
and I grew, and grew
and GREW.

I hung with countless others—
our shade turned a vibrant green.

We loved touching each other
when a soft breeze
whispered—
together we sounded like an
amazing Gospel Choir…
NO WORDS NECESSARY.

Suddenly, a chill stirred—
the green began
to fade into an array of
reds, oranges and yellows.
I was beginning to
CURVE, crackle—
still, I hung on as I watched others whisked away
by the winds.

I cried out to so many—
‘don’t go, don’t go’ AND
some echoed back—‘it’s time!’

I was NOW uncertain if it
were I clinging to the branch
or the branch still
clinging to me.

Days passed
and I beheld a landscape that
I never could have imagined—
Everything around me was so
NAKED…I felt exposed
yet, more ALIVE in this dying
than I knew how to explain.

Frigid air hollowed—
but, to me, it felt like a
tender hand—
it ‘picked’ me and seemed to say,
‘it’s time to go.’

RELEASED

I weaved
and swayed through the
air for quite a while
before landing on this
blanket of Earth.

As light as I was
I’ve made an impression—
‘No, no don’t lift me to see’
it’s my resting place.

The very place I’ll cease
to be and yet I’ll be
One with all that IS.

See—this is my meaning.”

“Stop awhile…
Stop trying to DISCOVER yourself
amidst false ideals…
Wanting to be so many things
BUT who you are.
Stop…give gratitude to the
branch that has held you…

When ripened, you’ll FALL—
and the meaning you’ve
searched for will have
been discovered all along
and you’ll have

RISEN

once again
becoming
the
SUN.”

A Dance with ‘Frigid’

A Dance with ‘Frigid’

The deadening silence
of winter ‘broke’ without a sound
echoing across the terrain’s
frozen dance floor.

I took one small
step and another as I ‘heard’
the frigid Earth
attempting to breathe.
My nostrils stung—
sealed in a tomb
with each inhale.

My legs still swaying—
my body swooning
to the music
I heard in my soul.

I was shivering
but kept on dancing—
‘This’ season, WINTER…
life so empty yet so
ALIVE
down deep.

Tears forming—
liquid moisture in these
plunging temperatures…down, down, down.
The tears skipping
over my pink cheeks
turning into icicles
before breaking
into thousands of pieces
once hitting the floor
beneath my feet—

My final arching twirl
before tucking myself
inside—

I blew a frosty
kiss into the air…
it seemed to be caught—
I’m not certain by whom.

Let’s name it ‘Frigid.’
AND—don’t go just yet…
for I’ll never forget
THIS  dance.

Heart Strings

Heart Strings

Even the weaver finds time to lay the threads down and blend into
the tapestry of her heart’s strings.

Think Positively

Think Positively

O.K.—who has not
heard the phrase “think positively?”
Or—used it?

Seriously…
we need to
stop ‘thinking.’

We use the phrase so
readily, but we are not
in the shoes of the
one whose negativity
may have a lesson
to teach.

Negativity has been given
a bad rap…
The same as darkness
has taken on the root of
‘evil.’

In all things there is
‘some-thing’ that can
be learned.

Have you ever noticed
that the so called
‘positive’ persons
are so frightened to
touch the wounds of
another because then
they’d have to face
themselves—

So we run from
our shadows—
distorting them…
pretending not to
see ourselves.

We certainly
identify in others
the selves we would
never confess to
‘B’-ing.

Positive, Negative—
find the balance
because when you finally
believe you’ve
‘got’ one down,
it’s only then you realize
you have to go back
to the other.

The scale is broken
when the weight of
one side cannot be
in harmony
with the silent
other.

The Sacrament of Story

The Sacrament of Story

Your story is a living
breathing sacrament—

Infused with grace
and abounding in mystery.

Yes—your story is like no
other—no ‘one’s’ story is
the same as yours.

All the chapters—
even if filled with
run-ons, fragments…
belong to you
the author of your life.

Perhaps in your beginnings
you did not have your
own choice—

paths were paved or not
paved for you.

Some roads you may
savor while others you
wish you could forget—
still—they have made you
who you are…

it is your story—
your sacrament called Life.

Keep writing to fill your pages
and yes, even if you
don’t write—create
your story the way you
want it to play out…

it may not come
out the way you planned
or in the time you hoped.

BUT, trust the pen is in
your hand—
unless you choose to
give it to another, or
another holds you
captive…

Write on—write the
invisible, unspoken lines.

I’m told there are only
seven sacraments.  Well—
six for a specific gender…

I’d say there is not
a precise number…
sacraments are too numerous
to count.

Each life is a living
sacrament—every living,
breathing being
IS sacrament…

a story coming to life
dying only to
re-birth itself
again and again.

Truly there are not enough
pages to hold
the story of Life.

Yours, mine—all
ONE innumerable
SACRAMENT.