I shared this poem over email yesterday. It's been a long time in the making, but not necessarily in the writing. I offer it with gratitude and love. I. Sun-glittered diamondsripple across laughing water.You step in,the sky opens:light explodes in and from your heart. "You are Mine. My Son. Precious in my sight. I adore … Continue reading A Good Friday Poem
An ache lodges in my chest late summer. I long to drink in the blueness of the sky and treasure each cumulus cloud drifting overhead. I want to absorb all of the sunlit warmth my body can hold. I want to hold on to the cricket songs and bird melodies, the cicada's thrum. I don't … Continue reading Glory. Glory. And Gone.
"Are you ready?" You wait patiently as I drink another cup of coffee and check today's news and get up once again to look at some or other inconsequential happening. The gentle question holds the hint of a smile As you wait for me to find my way back to you.
For some reason, I'm finding words to be scarce this summer. Although, sometimes you don't need many words. A few will do just fine. A Poem: It sounds cheesy and much too simple, but I honestly believe it is True. The Answer is Love. The way, the truth, the life: this is the Love that … Continue reading A Poem and a Practice: Adored.
The other day I packed up half of my closet. I don't know what happened, but my clothes shrunk. The clothes that used to be just a bit too loose are now too tight. Or even unbuttonable. Sigh. I cried a little. Maybe even more than a little. It felt like I was being invited … Continue reading A Poem and a Prayer in Honor of Expanding
March-- is bird-song melodies coaxing the earth to life again is the maple's red buds and the willow's tufts of white is the beauty of a robin perched and still in swirling snow is living in the tension of new and not yet.
We welcomed the Advent season yesterday. Season of anticipation, of waiting, of hope, of birth. What life, what light, is growing in this fertile dark? Birth is blood, is tears, is strength, is fierce, is tender, and soft, and bruised. Birth is hard work. Without birth, both new life and old die. What are you growing … Continue reading A Poem to Welcome Advent
This poem was my invitation. An invitation to listen. To participate. To dance and play with something much bigger than myself. I firmly believe that this invitation is extended to everybody.
When the shadows grow deep and long, I scramble for the light. For the pocket of sunshine hitting the deck at 1 o'clock, the sun-soaked front step, or curled up cat-like on the window seat. For a brief moment, the blazing maple casts its own glow. Hungrily, I soak it in. The cicadas sleep or … Continue reading October
Some of us grow into thinking that our beliefs--statements we hold to be true--are the most important part of who we are. I'm not saying that beliefs are unimportant or that every belief is right. But there is a danger in defining our deepest self by what we think about things.