The Stone

The Stone…













I was traveling
down a roadway
cruising about 65
when suddenly before
me I began to
see vignettes—
road signs—
images of my life—
years gone by.

My speed began
to slow down
as I gazed
‘beyond’ each scene.

Sometimes I had to
close my eyes
caught up in moments
only to open them
quickly enough to
hold the road.

Looking ‘into’ painted
No matter what had
taken place—
I paused, realizing how
those days gone by
brought me here, NOW—
Yes, to this moment of GRACE.

Then my vehicle came to
a stop—an overpass
up ahead~~~
Graffiti sprayed ‘into’ the cement…
truly it was a work of ART.

The message read,

All the scenes of my life~~~
the past…
brought me to this AWAKENED time.

Nothing impossible—
For I AM Possible
As are YOU…

Choose your signs
and what you follow.


A Potter’s Field

A Potter’s Field

Let’s begin
by removing the
Elephant from
the room.

I’m certain you’ve
heard the cliche’.

there is ‘space’

the Potter’s Field
was ONLY open
to foreigners.

You know—
the social misfits…
the ones who did
not belong.

Oh, let’s just say it—
today’s homeless,
prostitutes, illegal aliens,
I think we could name
many more.

The Potter’s Field
was purchased for
30 silver coins—
today it is known
as the Field of Blood.

A burial ground
for the outcast—
the Ones not ‘chosen’…
the Ones NOT in the
right group.

The 30 silver coins
a temptation
for the fellow
who walked beside
hoping he would
bring about change.

He did not
grasp the ‘message’
his brother delivered—
Have we truly understood it?

His pain so deep
he returned the silver coins
BUT the tempters
could not take back
what had been given.
They wanted to
BUT they did not want
blood on their hands—
easier to find the ‘scapegoat’.

Consequences so dire…
The Potter’s Field
soils ‘holding’ foreigners—
it is no wonder
that ‘they’ surely will

Healing the Ear of the Servant

Healing the Ear of the Servant

a collective ‘ONE’—
A Royal ‘Priesthood.’

The Christ, (Cosmic)
everything BUT a priest from
the Tribe of Levi.

When Peter swung his sword
in the darkness of the
He cut off the right ear
of the high priest’s servant,


The Christ, placed his hand
upon his ear—
his right ear,
a visible sign (maybe),
an act made ONLY by
the priest
under the law
marking the selected~~~Ordained.

Still—this simple itinerant
performed an action
ONLY the priest could
endow to enact the
sacrifice—the atonement.

Only a few droplets of blood
on the servant’s shoulder
and then they ‘removed’~~~in chains
the ONE
who ‘ended’ the meaning
no longer necessary.

The old ways no longer—
a new WAY begun.

Yes~~~‘One’ Royal Priesthood


never really alone

Please…Don’t Judge Me

Please…Don’t Judge Me

In between the words
a silent pause—
an unspoken truth
not written.

why spill the ugliness
of what has
already been done.

Don’t judge my
Look in the mirror
and face yourself.

Who is your God?
Name your ‘idolatry.’
Do you belong to a
certain ‘tribe’ to
justify your
sorry self?

Find your ‘I AM’
in all—
Then you can spend
less time
trying to ‘read me.’

Please…don’t judge me.
Try loving yourself
and begin to
shoulder your own
blame for all
you think you are not.

Then you may be able to
stand on your own
two feet
before your earth is gone.


Almost…time to set Sail



Come, come now
little pups

Do not tarry.

Trust…when ‘we’
arrive there shall
be an abundance
of crumbs.

you shall eat
until you are full
because you do
not ask for more
than what is
your worth.

The worth
of my child
cannot be ‘tagged.’

The value of
any child
should never
heed a price.
Every child Is

Every ‘living’ creature
a treasure
far more precious
than diamonds or pearls.

Come now
little pups

You no longer
have to drag
your tails.

Wag them
again and again
until the message
be carried
by the sweeping
of your endless joy.

He ‘received’ the
message ONLY after
we crept into
the segregated meeting

At first
our voices were hushed—

Oh…but your
bark little pup
gave way—

I watched my
little child
now at play
catching your tails

scattering the crumbs
still covering the floor.















Canaanite Woman(Adapted by this writer from Matthew 15:21-28)




If The “god”…

If The “god”…

If the ‘god’ you
place your trust in
asks you to ‘divide,’
to choose, to pick…

Maybe you need to
re-think or
even better STOP thinking.

Your mind has a way
of playing tricks on you
especially when it
seeks ONLY what
serves YOU.

Perhaps the ‘god’ you
serve is you
as you turn on the
T.V. and select
the politics that
represent ‘your’ side,
your views—
try turning it off.

Just a thought…
the church you enter
is it open to all?
Does the ‘god’ inside
welcome every person?
If not—stop going.

Are you struggling
while reading these words?
Is the ‘god’ in you
shouting, “Stop reading.’

Listen now
maybe the One who
‘lives’ inside you
finally has your

You will not be able
to go back.

If you choose to
embrace the ‘Source’
dwelling in all of Life—
dualities no longer exist.

You will desire to love
more deeply
and the sweetness of bliss will
melt the scales
from your eyes.


And so they hung wanting to know what winter was like…

As the Springtime of the year arrived, they let go with the touch of the soft wind…
Reborn into ‘every’ today.

A Man Healed

A Man Healed

A story is told
of a man
filled with ‘unclean-spirits’…
demons, if you will,
or Legion meaning “many.”

Perhaps this man
was possessed by
nothing but grief.
Maybe the ‘systems’ (political and religious)
under which he lived,
continued to tax
everything so severely
and knowingly
that this man lost

His wife taken because
of her beauty.
His children removed—
utilized as slaves
of pleasure.
His land stripped
from him.

Each day
this torment
haunted him~~~
hurling him
against rocks.
He—left only in
despair while
his neighbors passed
him by
turning their faces
so as NOT to see.

Then, someone passed
NOT staring.
He took his brother
by his hand.

In a single touch…
a display of
kindness, compassion—
each ‘cemented’ thought
in the man’s mind
began to crumble.

A herd of swine
devoured the crumbled pieces
thinking it food.
Both men looked on.  The swine
had taken in all the ‘spoil’—
and NOW they rushed to the cliff’s edge
and plunged into the water.

How sad.  Indeed,
these swine
devouring such sadness.

The men paused…
looking into the eyes of each
other inquiring without
words, “Did you see that?”

Not a word spoken.

The villagers came out
to see what all
the raucous was about.
The ground rumbled
and they thought it thunder.

They gazed in amazement—
their ‘broken’ neighbor
upright, healed.

He leaped from the
ground rushing to
embrace his community—
BUT, they looked past him.

“Wait” he said,
“Look it’s really me…
I’m well.”

Instead, they rushed
the Other man.
“Leave at once—
Get out of here—
Remove yourself
before we do.”

No one stopped to
‘celebrate’ the joy in
their neighbor’s pain—
Their ONLY concern…
those swine were their
‘source’ of income—
now what should
they do?

The man healed wished to
follow this stranger—
the One told him to
go and tell others
the story—
and, so he did.

The One man
slipped way.
Maybe you heard his story?
He tried and tried—
still some refused to ‘see.’

This story…
real today…
so many going about
trying and trying—

A single touch.
A transformed moment.
There are those who
‘see’ and those
who only count
their loss.

They fill their own
while the orphans
and widows
‘BELIEVE’ and pray.



(Adapted by this writer from Luke 8:26-39)


“…just as a hen gathers her brood under her wing…” Lk 13:34



Woman…you are
not by the flesh
of your foreskin.

No, Woman~~~
nothing ‘cut’ you…
ONLY your heart
broken open
time and again
before life’s beginnings.

You~~~an eternal womb
of life.
A spring alive with
living waters.
You~~~ a part of
a covenant that
lives and breathes
before any chapters
ever put to words.

Still today
your voice, silenced.
There is a cry…
“No More.”

The voices of our
‘packed’ in earth’s clay…
They feel ‘our’ tears moistening the ground.
They are alive
coming again to embrace
their daughters—
their granddaughters.

Women of Zion
sing your song—
Dance with timbrel and lyre.
Let your beauty
seduce the One who
created you
NOT for selfish pleasures
or a mere instrument
that gives birth.

You are the matrix of
the Eternal Now—
A diamond cut again
and again and again.


Rise up!
Rise up!
Rise up!

It is time to gather
your chicks.
Hold them in your wings
as wide as the universe
and beyond.

The token of your covenant set on the
8th day—
Your heart already beating
the same language—A Covenant…
A bow in the clouds—

…it is time to rise
Gentle Sophia.
(Divine Feminine)


A Season reminding us “WAIT”
I’m still here…
While the frozen petals draped upon our hearts begin unfolding.

A Sabbath Day

A Sabbath Day

Eighteen years
bent over
and here it was
the Sabbath.

Her back broken
like a tree
no longer able
to sway in
the wind.

All those years—
She was so beautiful
and they had to
have her.

They devoured her—
relieving themselves
time and time again.

They broke her,
but she still

No one would have
dis-ability left
her unwanted,
rejected, a disgrace.

Why, she,
like so many others
‘removed’ of their name…
“HER” identity.

She spoke—
without words.

She ‘stood‘ bent
over in the Synagogue
on the Sabbath.

A hand placed upon
her—not for want.
A touch ‘setting’ her
free of the infirmities
inflicted upon her.

Every day, ‘SHE’
found moments
to ‘rest’
in the wind
the branches
of her being.















A Woman Healed of Her Infirmity
(Adapted by this writer from Luke 13:10-17)


“Write your own words and let them ‘carry’ you out to sea
beyond the sight of any shore…”

The Temple

The Temple

Have you been to
the Temple lately?

You know
that ‘perfect’ place—
that dwelling place—
where incense burns
prayers heard
chants sung
silence echoes
everyone‘ welcomed?

Have you found that
Are you going about
Are you ‘shopping’ for
the Place?

If you have ever
trusted anything you
have read
or heard—

The ‘Temple’ is
inside YOU…
You are a HOLY
dwelling place—
You choose what resides
in your be-ing.

Ahhh, but you say~~~
“I’m so far
from perfect.”

Yes…it is in your
imperfection that
you discover the LIVING SOURCE
already residing in you.

You are a Temple
of love—
‘Keep’ your Heart’s door
open for all—

Yes, even for the ones who
close you out…

“BE” only a place of welcome.

Why do we rush Winter?

Why do we rush Winter?

Spring is on the
cusp of morning’s endless
horizons and

Winter still dwells
waiting to be

A landscape
decked in a brilliant
white blanket
layer upon layer
of frothy ice.

Down ‘below’
withheld from the
human eye

Earth breaking open
in song~~~
a dance
being choreographed.

Endless, uncompromising
‘births’ taking place
giving way to life
that no Springtime
could re-create.

Settle in—
Embrace the frigidity
of this season
it may warm you—
yes, this tapestry
of snow.

Snuggle into each
unique ‘flake’—
no two are alike.
Hold onto
the brilliance
until it melts
in your hand
and you hold
a drop

Allowing it to fall
back into the land
to taste its
purest wine.


Do You See In Color?

Do You See In Color?

How do you See?
Do you allow colors
to blend, mix
and change
creating hues as breathless
as the morning’s sunrise?

Have you separated
the magic in each unique
holding the ‘grace’ hidden
within the uniqueness of
its spring?

Please tell me we’ve moved
beyond which tantalizing color
is better than all the others—
the one most favored.

The Holy Book led
‘persons’ in the past
to believe themselves of more value.

Why—to even think anything
other than white was not
a person.

Wait—anything white and
male was the only thing to be valued.

White, male—
educated, free to speak, free to
imprisoning the rest of humankind
to be subdued to the ‘colors’ he
deemed acceptable.

Are we ‘seeing’ differently NOW?

Has anything really changed?

I respond with a euphoric, “Yes”
as I catch the setting of the sun


I sink to my knees
and my heart screams—NO!

Our system—
of which I AM a part
divides, conquers, competes.

It ‘sees’ ONLY the right colors—
it goes off fighting ‘just’ wars
it keeps brothers and sisters
in the closet—
when they come out they’ll pacify
them…oh, BUT they will not change the RULES.

Women will hear how grand they
are— bridges being built!
Oh, but still stay on your side
of the bridge ‘beautiful lady’—
the altar side is
NOT open for discussion.

What colors are you seeing now?
Search deeply…stop pretending
it is ALL RIGHT!

Let’s paint the sky.
Let’s bring the color back
to its Original Blessing.






Empty…the True Full?

Empty…the True Full?

You’ve heard the question,
“How do you see the glass—
half full or half empty?”

Accolades have gone to
the ‘viewer’ who sees
the ‘content’ half full.

What if…
the one who truly is the
‘seer’ is the one
who views the image

The empty glass
its deepest essence
no longer having
to pour out endless
ideas, filling every
moment with
mindless activities—
‘our’ ego’s need to
feel so important.

What if not a
single drop trickled

We could not keep
immersing ourselves in
pools of yesterday’s
pasts from which
we truly do not wish to
be parted.

If empty—
maybe we could NOW
ONLY be happy!
A moment of bliss
and not an
opportunity to even
sneak a quick dribble
of supposed fullness.

When we are finally
our real journey begins.

All we are meant to be
is now ready to begin…

this mind of mine
rambling on~~~
hears the song in
my heart because it
finally can echo
off the empty glass
and sing on and on.

I’m Sorry

I’m Sorry

I’m sorry for
ever having doubted you.

I’m sorry for not
sitting with you long enough
because ‘everything’ else
seemed more important.

I’m sorry for saying “Yes”
when I really meant “No”
because I was worried
I would not be accepted.

I’m sorry for being
so frightened that I did
not act for the ‘good’ of another.

I’m sorry for my silence—
for holding back my voice
rationalizing how I did not want
to hurt anyone
and in reality imprisoned myself.

I’m sorry for seeing only
the giftedness of others
and excusing myself as unworthy
when in truth I ran from the
gifts inside me.

I’m sorry for not recognizing
that true humility is in
lighting the world
not in being modest and keeping
my glow beneath a bushel.

I’m sorry for being
so damn sorry.

I’ve apologized again
and again and you have sent wave after wave
of unneeded

You splashed me
so deeply with
love I’m soaked—
I’m shivering with

Another immersion…
I’m dripping
tears of joy
causing the sand
to glitter
and you gently

“Now~~~follow me.”


Super Bowl Monday I

Super Bowl Monday I

You read correctly
it is Super Bowl Monday I

What is she saying?
Yes, you are reading
and thinking, “Where is
this going?”

It is Super Bowl Monday I.
You turn on your T.V.
(if you have a T.V.) and
every station is focused
on this BIG day…
Especially the half-time
It is going to be

Every radio station is
tuned in…
The internet is not
even attempting to sell
anything but this
Super Bowl.

Teams are in locker rooms.
The chalk boards reflect
all the ‘plays’
that will be attempted to be

The clock is now in countdown
The stadium is packed—
Not one seat is vacant.
Shouts of joy fill
the air
awaiting the victors of
this Super Bowl Monday I.

The whistle blows—
The teams come pouring

The coin is tossed.

Now, one by one
trucks arrive
gathering food, clothing
and warm blankets for those
who live with ‘nothing.’

Everyone is celebrating…
there is so much
No one shall be without.

Those who placed bets on
this Super Bowl Monday I
are cashing in and
bringing in more packages
to load into the trucks.

Out they go
each team out into the
highways and byways,
city streets and market places.

Planes are loaded—
set off to remote
to lands that people do not
even realize others live.

Yes—it is half-time.
People are ‘receiving’
mouths are filled…
people are brought in from the
cold comforted with good

More items are coming
and the fans are
going wild.

All the ‘plays’ are
running as had been practiced.

I look up at the

At the end of the game
the score

Well…it is simple.

It is a win win.

Super Bowl Monday I

Imagine—can you?



My head upon a pillow—
I am still
and ever so silent
listening ONLY to the
hush of wonder.

My mind traces memories
and I recall
their moments
quickly closing their
chapters to rush back
to the ‘nothingness.’

I breathe.
There it is—‘nothing’
and I welcome its

“Stay, stay,” I cry
as another thought
pushes itself closer
and closer.

I honor the disturbance
welcoming its
inaudible voice with
a polished bow
then whisk it away.

“Nothingness”…you are back!
The moments you were
absent I could not
wait for your return.

This feels like a dance
‘sweet nothingness.”
In our togetherness—
yes, in this hushed womb
of being,
I move without moving.
Yes, my feet do not touch
the floor
only they glaze across
its surface as if we were
skating upon ice.

Union with you, nothingness,
is like being born anew…
sweeter than honey
packed in its comb.

The urgency of the day is
before me
and now I am ready.

I have waltzed in your
and licked the last drop
of your essence from
my lips.

Our encounters are
becoming not only moments,
BUT every moment.
‘You Are’—for I am.






“God, God…”
This, a name
shouted in the
frigid night.

“God” (Perhaps you, too
have called except
by a different name).
God…a word taught
to me from
my youth.

For so long I sought,
waited, longed for
and I cried out all
the more…”God.”

Now, a rush of
blustery wind
sweeps the ‘word’
I desperately seek…
“Come, come” but
instead ‘God’
vanishes like a
feather caught in
the wind.

I, now, fall to my
knees laughing.
Yes, laughing.

I have become
as if drunk—
intoxicated by
this name that has
for I have discovered
you in every living being.

I am drenched in love
frozen and still warmed
by God’s disappearance.

You have vanished into
Even what cannot be
seen~~~ I see.

Are you laughing
with me?

Go out…out
‘into’ the temple
where creation exists.

Catch your breath
call out a name…
Pray it vanishes—
Everything you once

Now—you are free
only to Love.


Everything Has Its Time

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
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

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

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’

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

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



The birth of winter
here again.
Her frosty face is everywhere
you glance.

The nakedness of the
season uncovered—
The trees once
adorned with leaves
NOW exposed…

Their trunks held
by the frozen earth
while the branches
click a different song
through winter’s
windy blast.

Winter gives time for
silent reflection
and reveals hidden
truths we have tried
to cover.

Our last attempts…
the fading colors
of autumn.

Truth so visible
still some will NOT

They will cover themselves
by the work of
the poor ‘other’
whose tears now fall
like icicles—

They will not expose
the lies…
They will not take
back the cloak
torn from them.

Instead, they will watch and wait
while those others parade
themselves into
singing Alleluia
and the message
preached from a hollowed soul
still waiting for

The cosmic message of
the Christ…HERE~~~NOW.

A warm blanket of snow
christened by the sun.
The chorus of birds
sings while one snow
flake after another
fills the “spot”
where the quiet angel fell.

more deeply in love
with the winter.
Her wings glistened…
Her lashes glazed.

Exposed, yes—
She cannot be anything
but who she is.

And, she knows
in time
all naked truth
shall be revealed.

And, in the bitterness
of winter’s frosty grip—
silently she
grows ‘becoming’
like in no other season
all she has been fashioned
to become.


Did You Hear the Hoot?

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

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
embrace the mystery.

How is it that we as
humans continue
seeking proof?




Stay Awake

Stay Awake

…Advent begins—
they call it a season of
waiting~~~ or AWAITING
what has and is already
in‘ the world.

In ‘many’ ways my spirit
takes in ‘all’ the
not with the busy-ness of
shopping, gift-giving,
rushing here and there—
BUT, rather in the

‘Seeing’ the
fragility of Life—
…a beautiful
mind losing itself
and holding on
in the aging
…a sturdy
companion NOW
holding on ‘for’
a support to
carry her
mighty trunk
and still she
stands with

My being
‘observes’ while I
try my utmost to comfort,
to care.
Still, in this
waiting, I look without
realizing a ‘preparing’ taking place…

So thief, if you are to come,
you can take anything from the dwelling
of my sturdy shelter, BUT you cannot
take the treasure that dwells in the stillness
of my heart in the HOLY moment(s) of
waiting, wonder and awe.



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



Can you forgive me at last?
Can you move beyond all the ‘pasts’?
Can you ‘see’ how much it has held you
back…holding on
to what is not yours?

Pick up that mirror—
look into those eyes…
that is whom you must forgive.

Go ahead break the glass.
Now look into every shattered piece.

It is You…whole
It is You…alive—
a prayer answered.

You are forgiven—
you always have been.




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—
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
a ‘shot‘ in the not so
we’ll remember
our silent ‘gathering’
only hours ago.

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


One Last Splash

One Last Splash

The sea—
an enormous sheet of glass.
Its ‘silent’ movement
rocked the group
plunged in as if for
one final hurrah.

There they were
like the Rockets…
one after the other ready to
step, kick, glide and then

Their attire—
endless colors
and the hues melted
within the waxy waters.

I was ready…
I, too, wanted to set sail~~~
one last splash
before FALL would welcome
the winter.

each one began to call,
‘Pick me, pick me, oh please
pick me…’

Rising to the surface,
I went down.
We ‘met’
a first time
yet, a first of many.

We danced
like there was no
and, the tide
lured us home.

Take Your Pick

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
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—

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~~~
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.




The movie started
before it actually began.

I had a front row seat.
It was dark—
only the stars seemed
to light the screen.

The sound was a million
insects, if not more,
all singing their familiar tune.
The leaves cackled
and the creatures stirred
as I listened to a click
a clack of a broken branch.

Then something played that was
disturbing to my ear.
I froze for it was not anything
familiar and it carried the
sound of pain.

I waited—there it was, but
what I did not know.
I sat watching—dawn entered the
screen…the sound seemed to drift
until suddenly off in the distance
a thunderous roar.

Down—down the giant tree
came crashing to the ground.
Birds scattered through the air—
the sun found its way into
unforeseen places that tasted light a first time.
Still an end—
BUT, it was not the end.

The death of the mighty tree
haunted my being—
teardrops fell one by one.

I sat watching the film each
day wondering, wondering, wondering.

Suddenly, over my head
a large winged bird
swooped upon the tallest branch.

A raucous stirred.

What was now playing before my eyes?
Two small birds scurried down upon the
winged hawk…it was devouring the
small bird’s young.
All they could do was fly
squealing, but the large beak
would not stop consuming its meal.

Death stung my being.

Could I continue to watch this
film play on?

As much as I wanted to run
from my seat,
I sat.
I heard myself beginning
to breathe again.
A re-birth of my being…
something approached.

I saw movement in the forest trees…
I tried to close my eyes—
did I want to ‘see’ what was

Out she came—
Her eyes fixed on mine
mine on hers.
We sat what seemed for hours
holding each other’s gaze.

We rested—
Her ears twitched
and she made her way back into the woods.
The last thing I saw—her white tail
waving as if goodbye…still the farewell
seemed only a
new beginning
and I paused—
half held my breath
while the film rolled on.




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
Did I write the word

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

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

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.

A Milk Truck

A Milk Truck

Last night
a milk truck traveled
through the galaxies
with no specific destination.

It casually bumped into a
few stars…
banged into a few meteors
creating a shower of cream.

A few planets drank
to their heart’s content
til alas one stop—
a celestial wonder
to behold.

Luna licked her lips
and the milk truck
poured on.











Inspired by the Harvest Moon’s rise as seen over the Harbor. 8/20/2013



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

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—

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.

A Fading Flicker

A Fading Flicker

Sitting silently in the darkness
I watched a candle
begin to fade.
Slowly its illuminating
flicker began diminishing.
Yet, its glow swaggered
from side to side~~~like a solitary dancer
softly taking a few final steps—
the wick no longer
a glow.

For a moment
I held my breath.
“No,” my insides shouted,
but in the painted
black silhouette
smoke began to rise.

I could ‘see’ the many
shadows through the
years gone by.
Maybe, just maybe
until something dies
around us…’within us’
we truly are not ready
to let-go~~~surrender
to the self
waiting to embrace
the formless

When a star dies,
it gifts creation
with ‘carbons’
spreading through the
universe adding to the
abundance of life.

In this darkness
I see the light as
never before.
In its Re-Birth,
there is my endless and eternal Hope.

You Won’t Believe This but…

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

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.

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.

The Dreaming Wanderer

The Dreaming Wanderer

A lonely dawn
awakened the dreaming wanderer
while drops of rain
spattered along the window’s sill.

Lying ever so still
steeped in each ‘pounding’ drop
my heart began
to follow rhythmically the flowing
cadence spilling down from above.

I cupped my hands
as if in prayer
and imagined
a slide~~~the waters
rolling and rolling until
they met the creases of my lips
and I began to drink
of heaven’s pool.

I did not realize how
thirsty I was—
or perhaps I did.

I drank and drank
like a drunken fool
inebriated, yet
longing for more.

It was alright to stop.
I was bathed in silence—
letting-go of so very
many letting go’s.

Holding on…
no more—
All is as it is meant
to be even if the
meaning has no true

I stare out
the window.
A branch dangles
wet in wonder.
It does not ask, “When
will the sun come out to
dry our leaves?”

it cups its branches as it
sips the liqueur pouring

and surrenders
filling only this

The hallowed ground
its Mother—

and my spirit
sinks her roots further
into her eternal dwelling.






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

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…

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

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.

I know you See.

A Practice

A Practice

I’ve heard it said
that singing is like
‘praying’ twice.

As an artist
who likes to breathe
life onto a page of
blank paper,
I believe creating
works of art is
like praying for a
first time…again and again.

A naked canvas—
a sheet of ’emptiness’
waiting or waits
for a touch of a pencil’s lead—
a stroke of paint from
a silky brush—
an uncapped pen splashing
with color.

The artist,
perhaps an ‘image’ in mind,
only discovers ‘something’
completely different
once let loose of
‘thought’ and the freedom
of expression

a masterpiece
the artist whispers,
“From where inside did
this come?”

The work
may be seen by a few
or by many—
or perhaps by no one.

Yet, someone does
this the reason to go
on creating.

This is prayer.
A practice inviting
the person time and again
into sacred nothingness.

Excuses hold ‘one’
back from ‘union’—
that which we seek most
or what most seeks us.

and then in the silence
You simply might hear—
‘Alas, you have come.’

A Wedding Feast In Cana

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.




Not in My Name

Not in my name—
I laced my shoes
taking them off
sorrowfully laying them upon the stone altar.

No more would I step into
this barren womb
glittered in gold
marbled statues—
wooden crosses.

Follow me
that is what He said…
He did not say fall down
and worship me.

He paved a Way of Being
and at His side countless
women without NAMES.

They did not need their names to
be remembered.
Up from the skeleton graves
they rose…
the dirt streets—
their Cathedrals.

They knew the
and pressed on.

Their egos far behind…
Their silence—pure action.
Their very movements
open displays.

They did not seek
glory, fame, recognition.
Yet, their beings radiated

This, the reason—
the ‘higher,’ the ‘rational,’ put
them asunder
to keep them in their place.

Their place is limitless.
A secret—
yet rising.


They are crumbling
as we walk amidst
the rubble…
yes—women walking
over the same paths
as yesteryear’s.

A circular motion
of balance and harmony is
beginning to be restored.

but in EACH and EVERYONE

The stones cry out
rubbing together as they fall
up from the rotting floor boards.
A spark
now a flame
burning with a passion
fueled beyond words…

Rising, Rising, Rising
the sweet incense of mercy—
empty sacrifices

An inferno
hand hewn.
A unanimous
clap of thunder bellows…
it is time

Dusk came
and it began as if from the beginning
illuminating all things
from within the DARKNESS.








In gratitude to June Gould whose wisdom and teaching of poetry inspired my work.



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?

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
—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.

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.

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

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.