Alabaster Jar

Alabaster Jar

An alabaster jar
sits empty upon
an unknown shelf—somewhere.

Three tiny flowers are
dipped in its
hollowed walls
while the sweet
scent of perfume
lingers upon the
jar’s smooth lips.

Yes, lips that once
poured out their
fragrance upon a
body being made
ready for its burial.

A Beloved follower—
‘She’ knew~~~BELIEVED
the words spoken.
Her heart broke open
as the ‘expensive’ perfumes
mused with her tears and
fell ever so gently
upon His feet.

Her hair
desperately attempted to
dry the ‘balm’
comforting His being.

A moment of
Transformation
—sweet fragrance
—lifeless wonder
—eyes opened.

The Alabaster Jar…
I believe I smell its
lingering aroma—still.

Mary’s Lamb Named Ewe

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.

Infinite Wonder

Infinite Wonder

My heart steeped in dew
barely rises in between
each breath.

So heavy, my heart, in sorrow.
Still, it knows the
joy of bliss.

A red bird sings.
Its voice soars
echoing through
the mighty branches
swaying in the breeze.

My heart lifts to reach
for the song
it knows it can sing for
itself. YET, not now.

For now the heart listens
allowing the music of
the bird’s song to fill
a breaking heart.

Tears…
they do not stop—
for so many reasons,
they fall.

Love—
yes, love is why it hurts
so very badly.

We live in a world that
has everything—(in some places)
yet, we ‘cannot’ hear
the sounds of our elderly.
We do not hear the cry of the poor.
We cast out those different
and exclude them from
what we ‘think’ belongs
only to us.

This—this Creation
is a gift to ALL…
NOT only humans.

We think we are the
privileged ones.

My heart aches
for more than it can
possibly hold.

I don’t know how to carry
it.  I lay it down
while two playful robins
flutter so near my feet.

They seem to want to
carry this woe of mine
casting it into the air
returning it to the vastness
of Life~~~ Infinite Wonder.

My thoughts so finite
stretch to embrace a
new dawn…

My heart…I hear
it beating as the tears
roll down.

Rain Drops

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.

Sophia

Sophia

Upon the shore
balancing on the rocks
like a trapeze artist,
‘she’ was all around me.

Each wave
rolling over and over
spraying me—filling me with glee.

I was soaked in wonder.
We played
hide and seek.

When I caught her,
I held her knowing
I had to let go
for she could not be contained.

When ‘she’ caught me,
she embraced my soul.
She pointed me in the direction
of the sun’s light.
I was blind,
but for a moment.

I saw.
I could see what
for so long had always
been, but I could not
grasp it…

Now I held it
letting it go again and again.

She breathed her
wind through
my hair.
My being shivered
and yet I was
so warm inside.

My heart laughed
and the seagulls
chimed in—
a symphony written without notes.

Others passed by
stopping for a moment to
look…they, too, saw her.

Then Sophia rolled
in her clouds
clapping her hands
in a thunderous
roar.

I did not want to
leave, but I knew
as I waved goodbye that
she was far from gone.

A Girl

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.

PARTICIPANT

Participant

You…
have set my ‘feet’
knotting them—
telling me a
Woman
where I
can and
cannot go.

You have
held my
voice~~~
‘sealing’ it,
allowing me to set
the table, prepare the
food, but you hold me
back from sharing
the words.

You decide what is
best for my body even
after it has been broken…
abused and yes, beaten.
Yet—
‘One’ who is BEYOND you
speaks through the
wind…
whose breath has
blown its way into
my soul, into every
fiber, cell, pulsing
in the transformation
of my being.

I am stretched
though you try to hold me.
I reach connecting to all creation
which fills me with life.
I sing for my voice can no longer
be restrained.  My refrain—endless.

My body
like a tree
is planted in ‘sweet’
surrender…
Still, the soil
holds me—
the birds nest in my arms reaching,
soaring in every
which way.

The sun warms me
while the rain bathes
my essence.

The snow freezes my
shell, my bark—yet,
my core, unseen
EXPANDS.

When leaves grow,
they join my
song—

You can try to ‘hold’
me—
yet, you’ll
never stop
the
‘moving’

I am a
participant in
the JOURNEY.

 

 

 

The Tempest

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.

 

Be Still

Be Still

Come
sit gently upon
the budding flowers.

Suckle sweetly
the tender juices…in the heart
of the garden’s
abundance.

Be Still~~~
taste and
see
all you ever needed
or wanted
is all
around you.

It is not simply
around you
it is
within you.

Sit quietly
and be still.

Frigid

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.

Our Mother

Our Mother

Our Mother
You are throughout the Universe
strewn in between the galaxies
and infinite solar systems.
You are in every star beaming within
the Milky Way.
Holy Woman is your name.

Your Creation is NOW
and shall be for as long
as you desire.
There is no separation from the
Cosmic Wonders you ordained.

Each day you gift to us…
You, Holy Mother, nurture us with
sustenance from your breasts—
spill milk of a lasting kind
until we are no longer babes.
Feed us with the riches of
spiritual maturity
so that when we fly from your
womb that has carried us,
your love holds us if our wings
should tire
and we fall to the ground.

Lift us again and again
so that the resurrection of
our spirits
sets ablaze our hearts
burning with love’s desire
for you and you alone.

For in you Holy Mother
transformation dwells
awakening our minds
set free from illusions.

Forever and ever
may you birth into life
goodness and kindness
mercy and steadfastness.

May love be the endless
fruit filling us
forever and ever.

Awomen

 

Yellow Flowers

Yellow Flowers

When I was but a child,
I wore a shirt of yellow flowers—
it was so beautiful.

I held it in my hands for a long time
before draping each of my arms
through its sleeves~~~slender shoots.

I buttoned each circular sphere
imaging myself
that very flower blossoming open
with so much wonder…

I could not wait to get to school
so as to ‘show~off’ this
dazzling cloth which my tiny tent
of a being adorned.

When I arrived at school
I was alive, unfolding…
the yellow flowers seemed to shine
from inside my heart.

I rushed to share this bouquet with
my friends, but as I approached—
yes, from a distance
they began to laugh.
I could not imagine what they were
chuckling at~~~it couldn’t be me—
could it?

As I entered the circle,
my joy suddenly shattered—
My friends began to mock, make fun of
my beautiful yellow flowered shirt.

I allowed them to pluck away
the gift of every petal…
the tiny thorns in the stems, not even
visible, pierced my fragile heart.

No one saw the tears that
blanketed my pillow that night as
I clutched the shirt in my arms.

So long I tried to pretend I did not
see the beauty of the yellow flowers…
I tried to ‘fit’ in.  I tried being
someone I was not…it felt like prison.

Then one day, walking alone,
the tears from so long ago slipped
beyond my cheeks and fell to the
ground.  I looked ‘down’ and realized
just how alone I was NOT~~~

Bursting from the earth,
tiny yellow flowers~~~
covered the damp ground
and began to reflect their beauty
upon my soul.

Lovely, these yellow flowers,
gifts given from the Source
of all things created…
and yes, even I am one~~~
budding amidst the yellow flowers.

What Gift do you Bring?

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 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.

Somehow—
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.
WAIT—imagine
BELIEVING in your
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
night…
visions, illuminations, transfigured
awaiting a sign.
Yet, no sign need come
nor message be
had.
BUT—if one
discovered…
a treasure at last.

So…
sleep peacefully
tonight and, if you
hear the sound of
hoof beats, close your
eyes…quickly~~~FAST.

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…

Pufffffff…

Pufffffff…

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…

So…
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
birth…

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

Incarnation

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.

Get On

Get On

Quick, quick
come quickly now.

Yes…it’s time.
You know…
You see…

Come…get on—
that’s it.

Now…
all together.

Listen…
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
spinning…

You have it…
Get on~~~
the dance has
begun.

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
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—

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.


Desire

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.

 

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
and
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

She Hung There

She Hung There

It was time
did she really understand
what it meant?
I think not…

“Still,” she set her silky
tent
She spun it round and round herself—
it was a ‘perfect’ fit…for now

She thought to herself…
I could stay like this forever
BUT…something began to happen
in the silent, waking months

Her cocoon, a warm safe haven
was simply too snug
so she pushed, stretched, and caught her
breath…yes~~~she heard her breath

She burst from her dwelling
a hidden womb tucked in
the branches of a
tender tree

The tent…now an empty
tomb
and she a ‘transforming’ image
of the One who first formed
her to Be

 

HOODIE

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

 

Whooo Said…

Whooo said…

Who said one must color in between the lines?
Did they ever really take the time to look
up into the sky dancing with magical creatures
in the puffy white clouds~

Who said one must sleep during the night
and miss the splendor of the darkness
and the stars shooting across a sea of
blanketed velvet glass?

Who said the deepest truths and mysteries
in life have all been discovered?
Was ‘anyone’ really there when all
matter was formed, when energy flowed
in directions that never moved in any
way other than everywhere and nowhere?

Who said the first ‘breath‘ of life
was experienced by a human?
They’ve never seen a flower push its way through a solid rock and
blossom like it is the only thing
existing in this very moment.

Whooo said, ‘Owls’ only come
out at night?
Certainly not I…

I may not be as wise as
our ‘feathered friend’—
Yet, we can all reach for the moon.

Who said it has not already reached us
and ‘touched’ us with its magnificent GLOW.

Who said, “All things are Possible…”
Do you BELIEVE
Who said

Red Bird

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!

I Think I’ve Lost You…

I Think I’ve Lost You…

All these years
I can barely count the seasons past
I’ve been worn by the weathers
and yet it is grace that has
gently kissed my aging skin

I have known you
discovered You in countless ways
Your name endless and yet is
in my every breath whispered again
and again and again

Yet, somehow in this silence “You” seemed
to have vanished~~~
vanished entirely into my soul
I no longer have a name for you
all my knowing matters not at all
it is in the absence of knowing

I ‘realize’ it makes sense—
In losing YOU I’ve let go of
everything make believe
and yes, discovered you within me.

A HEART OF ‘SEEING’

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

Prepare the Sail

Prepare the Sail

Prepare the Sail
the sun is rising
its blaze coloring the sky
like an airbrush gone wild
with endless hues of transformation

Prepare the Sail
for truly the earth is the one
dipping downward inviting the birth of dawn
The sun does not move—it radiates
and earth bows, genuflecting
inward and then ascends as dawn
is sprung from an eternal womb

Prepare the Sail
yet, don’t get ‘captured’ in all
the busy-ness…if you must find a
moment, several in fact,
to hear your ‘breath’
listen as your chest rises
and falls…”feel’~~~turn off the mind’s activity
of all thoughts that it tells itself
it must get done

Prepare the Sail
the moon’s cycle
imbued with shadows created by
‘her’ dancing mystery
She circles…spinning
changing the tides~~~the waves crest and break to her silent song

Yes…Prepare the Sail
The voyage~~~uncharted…climb aboard, yes, get on
travel to where you really
are meant to go
get off where you thought
was your destination
it is then that you have arrived
departing
only to set sail
again and again

 

A Door Closed This Day…And

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

Skeletons in the Night

Skeletons in the Night

Erectly they stand
all holding their own unique postures
weathered by creation’s seasons
through time

Curved, broken, upright
Some placed so distinctly apart from
each other while
there are ‘others’ whose branches
intertwine as if
a union of souls

They share the same ground
which before our eyes appears flat
yet, from a distance you can
see the curvature of the MOTHER
who holds ‘her’ tiny seeds

giving them life
watching them grow to fullness
and yes, even watching them
ripped from ‘her’ being
as if they hold no purpose

‘Her’ tears fall from
the heavens
while her children
stand as silhouettes in the night sky

In the hush of winter
barren of their clothing of lovey greens draped in
spring and summer
bedecked in oranges, yellows, and reds in autumn
their skeletons so visible
adorned by a fresh blanket of snow in this
winter

Oh, lovely skeletons
so naked and looking so
empty~~~
in this time of creaking shadows
‘You’ are more full NOW
than when you wear
your coat of dangled leaves…

Yes…some of us ‘see’ you
and ‘see’ HER who created you

You, skeletons of the night
call us to stillness and wonder

A Bridge

A Bridge

I stood upon a bridge
staring ‘outward’

Before my eyes I witnessed
the trees swaying above my head
I saw the water swiftly moving
beneath my feet

As I gazed to my left
and then to my right
I saw the beginnings of the bridge’s path

What was the beginning?
Or the ending?
Or where the path began?

I sat now upon the bridge
drawing ‘inward’

Suddenly, I realized the “ONE”
created both distinct ends
and calls us
to the middle
the center

To the depths of where both points
meet and there is no longer division—
instead, perfect union

 

 

 

 

 

What if

What if…

What if all the
streaming bodies of water
came from the tears
of those whose lives

fashioned the earth

What if they cried until the
depth reached fathoms
too deep to measure

What if their flow created
the majestic waterfalls
that, to this very day,
spill over
with a power and strength
that truly comprehends grace

What if we ‘plunged’
into these ‘baths’
of hot springs
mindful of their beginnings
cherishing their mystery
honoring the holy drops

and then, perhaps shed a few
of our own and recognize
our ‘Oneness’ in and through the other.

 

Distractions

Distractions

Distractions…

Then the silent pounding of heart strings
Cares, worries, anxieties
Then a hushed breath in, out, in
A symphony of noises playing in the mind
THE SILENCE~~~sweet, tricky & luring

COME BACK…I know you’re there
The echo of events
Then back to quiet refrain

Is this the ebb & flow of my deepest prayer?

Can this be the calm, the chaos
BONDING
my inner stirrings to ‘see’
in all things your
‘simple,’ ‘uncomplicated,’ intoxicating wonder?

First, the push, and then
The pull…back in, back in~~~it’s safe here

BUT the ‘tent’ no longer holds
The sapling within
Bursting~~~stretching with every ounce of unforeseen ‘newness’
Life happens

It happens while we are in it~~~

See…see with eyes “closed”
The ‘Divine’ breathing in you
Your blossoms ready to
Sprout
and the beauty you
Already bring
Only now truly
Beginning~~~
Transforming


Darkness and Light

Darkness and Light

The crown of darkness enveloped the sky’s canopy…
its face hidden with delight
as if never to be discovered

Ahhhhh…creeping in
like a match to a wick
a light tore the
velvet blanket of black hues

For a moment the two
jostled poking an elbow
here and there
attempting to make room…

Then suddenly they both
grasped the magic almost
instinctively

Their colors blended
casting shadows too brilliant
to erase

Their ‘joining’
rid distinct lines of
separation, boundaries, divisions~~~

While they understood
their own uniqueness
they embraced their oneness

The light shines because
of the darkness
and the darkness gives way
for the light’s truest manifestations

Shadows subtract
the lines drawn
in the sand

No One Sees

No One Sees

No One Sees
and it scarcely matters

During the night
she muses
from deep within her
the loom
‘inside’ yields
the thread
anticipating her masterpiece

Hung between
a frame of branches
she spews ever so
freely
a wave of silk
dangling row by row
transfixed by playful
extensions of herself

She moves
without thinking the
pattern, trusting the
design

She herself does not even
step back to gaze of its
magnificence

Her tangled web
visible
most especially when
caught in its
weightless clutch

Daylight reveals her
hidden revelation
the sun highlights
the inner shadows
while dewdrops
sit hung upon each
fragile yet resilient
shelf

No One Sees
yet it scarcely matters
‘creation’
a gallery alive…free
and so few
dare visit its
splendor

Sanctuary

Sanctuary

In the sanctuary of
my soul
the opening service does
not begin with
the cascading sounds
of bells chiming in unison

No, instead it is
the song of the cicadas
and the symphony of forest
insects all echoing at once
a dance of rhythmic
sounds

The sweet incense is not
the smoke from a candle’s
wick ascending through
every living, breathing cell

No, instead it is the
tender pine draped in
drops of falling rain
filling the air with
aromas never to be duplicated

The first reading
followed by the second
a responsorial psalm
flows yet without words

Each sentence a blade
of grass lifting its head
to the reader who ‘sees’

Each chapter a leaf
especially the one falling to
the ground, dying and yet
rising to a newness beyond
understanding

The Gospel…
mountain peaks,
treacherous terrain
an invitation to
an inward descent
pausing
in mystery
re-framing all
that once seemed
to make sense

Communion…
the lotus flower
floating on a clear
pond
its soft pink petals
‘bread’
it roots filled
with the sweet
essence of
‘wine’

I taste
the goodness
of creation
in this
living sanctuary

No doors
the entry way
an invitation
for all

The table…
endless
alive
the supper
in this sanctuary
always open to
receive

 

Vantage Point

Vantage Point

From ‘one’ perspective
a single view
upon which all thoughts,
ideas, values, beliefs
are born

Then one day
a stirring
as a single gaze into the stars
reveals a perspective unexplored

If only to touch one single
star
and so I climbed
and climbed
and climbed…
the darkness penetrated by
the Milky Way, Orion, and the Big Dipper

I stumbled a few times
my head down so as
to watch each tempered
step

I stopped to catch my breath
only to realize the stars
began giving way to dawn

An orange sky
segued with red and yellow
the sun still a distance away
from the Earth rotating to welcome her brilliance

As I looked ‘down’ into the valley
Splashed as if immersed
in a Holy Baptism
My perspective,
my one single point
shattered

Amazed at the endless
nothingness
linking together
everything

I discovered in the lost
nowhere that yes
I was now
Here

Opened by wonder
mystery and awe…
Everything I’ve come to
know, believe, trust in
vanished as if
forgotten~~~
yet discovered

The Sun rose its head
I was blinded
and yet for the
first time
I saw a point
and then beyond

 

Drops

Drops

The mist
a lure
into the secret
world of ‘nothingness’

Captured, Spirit
now hanging from a
lonely branch of pine needles
drops of moisture clinging
to their ‘heads’

Yet…
nothing here is a possession
all drink freely
awaiting the sun which itself
will sip from the dew
drying almost every last drop
until the dawn

Shadows appear—
once again
vapor moves across time & space
in unmeasured speed
kissing softly not only
the slender pines but, too,
my ‘spirit’

after thinking all was lost
dampened by
the unexpected
drenched as if born anew

 

A Heart in the Woods

A Heart in the Woods

See it?
It is always there
even when darkness
tries to hide its image

See it?
In dawn’s early rising
light seeps into its open
crevices

See it?
A heart
In its center a
towering tree rises from
an earth which holds tenderly
the roots spread like a bed of
laughing dandelions

See it?
Yes, that tree…
It divides one half from another

Oh, but wait
See it?
It does everything BUT divide

See
the bridge?
It is a passage
a journey
looking back at
all the places,
discoveries,
adventures

rolling over
into
a ‘new’ place

where the only thing that
matters is
‘everything’

Everything and yet
nothing

Mind stretched
a self
unraveling from all
it has been told it is
and recognizing
as it slides over this
bridge
who it really ‘is’
for the first time.

 

Holy Ground

Holy Ground

Was it ‘Holy Ground?’
How could it not be…
every step touching the face of the earth
is ‘Holy.’
Mindful of my footing,
I climbed the mountain
where the peregrines lie.
I looked up momentarily and in front
of me…a cairn nestled
beside a red leafy tree~~~

Could it be a burning bush?
No one said, “Take off your hiking boots—
the ground upon which you stand is Holy.”
Yet,
something within me whispered…
NO WORDS NEEDED.

A presence walked with me
every step of the way~~~
truly holy ground.

 

The Preacher

The Preacher

Her pulpit
a rock
She perched on a delicate green
blanket of seaweed.

The ocean’s bounty trickles
upon her feet~~~

Her sermon, only
SILENCE
and she prepares for communion.
She waits, and waits, and waits.

Her eyes wide open~~~
her pupils scan for any motion…

Suddenly,
after all the waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
right there ‘bread.’

Her beak pummels through the water
‘broken’
a fish caught in her paired scissors
and blood flows onto her feathers.

Yes, death
A small fish sustains life.
The preacher digests only what is necessary
to ‘fill’ her belly.

As the sun rises,
she seems to bow her head in thanks~~~
In silence she no longer waits, and waits, and waits~~~

She is ‘full’

 

 

 

Poem: One Single Drop

Before any human eye
Beheld or grasped
One single drop
A splash
Cascading circles
Expanding
On going
and then another drop
and another
Nothing contained
Endless transformation
Darkness betwixt
With celestial bodies, galaxies
Explosions of stars
Sprinkling dust
In the grandness of a cosmos
Beyond understanding

Formations of Life abound
Ripples creating endless newness and wonder
Then suddenly breathed into
The soils of time
Uncharted,
The image and likeness
Of the SOURCE itself
Humankind birthed into
A Creation already born
Opening its arms like a mother
Welcoming her child
Into Life…