Wise ones tell me that there is a true me and a false me.
The true me is the one formed in the image of God
And gifted is particular ways
To reflect that image.
The false me is the one that I think the world wants to see.
It is the one I want to see,
So that I can feel that I am ‘worthy.’
The same is pattern seems to be true in collections of people.
There is a true family and a false family.
There is a true church and a false church.
There is a true society and a false society.
The whitewash is not working.
Our efforts to be ‘right’
Are, so often, so wrong.
So, how do we learn
To step aside
From the false companion?
Step away from the question of worthiness.
Put down the chore of living up to the law
And accept that you are already accepted.
When I was a kid, I thought of this as ‘do-overs.’
But that just set me up for another round.
When will I learn?
It’s not do-overs.
[photo by Mirjana Veljovic per cc 2.0]
Why should I be surprised that I cannot understand true mystery?
True mystery is not something that can be solved.
It cannot simply be puzzled out and then set aside.
Instead, it burrows deep, pulling me with it,
Until, amazed, I find myself somehow at peace with what I cannot know.
I cannot know – yet I am known.
I cannot grasp – yet I am held.
I cannot find my way – yet, in that way, I am found.
It is, indeed, a mystery.
[photo by Andrew Birch per cc 2.0]
Would that I might age so gracefully,
leaving seeds for the next generation to grow.
[photo from a wonderful blog, nature has no boss, by Mike Bizeau used with permission.]
For the redemption of my days
For the times when my fumbling attempts at kindness
Hold a tiny hint of true grace
And the words that stumble from my lips
It is God’s warmth,
But my lips.
I am grateful for the gift of connection
That comes from such an offering:
Connection with my friend
And the connection of us both
With the love-beat of the universe.
This small offering
Is but one thread in the great tapestry.
But it is one thread
And the full tapestry is made of threads
[photo by marc falardeau per cc 2.0]
When you sit
With your hands open in your lap
You can manage
To open your mind
You will begin to see beyond
You have accepted
And if you are quiet
For just a bit longer
Your heart will open, too
And you will find
That there are no boundaries
It will find you
And fill you
You will be full.
You cannot hold it all.
You will overflow.
Love is like that.
[photo by Molly per cc 2.0]
The wind chimes
Hang outside my window
And when the breeze is low
I can barely hear them.
My ears are deaf
But my heart is held
By their quiet, soft, round tone.
They melt into that hollow.
Before the world begins its clamor
And the responsibilities click in place
I am held by unspoken beauty.
Even at noon
When the wind is still
And the chimes hang limp
The beauty of hope remains.
And in the evening
When the cool and breeze return
My heart is reminded.
I find I am held, still.
May you hold your own heart gently
As you make it through this day.
Sometimes it is enough
Just to breathe, just to wait.
Words, even tears, are not required.
Those hollow places are sacred,
Holding room for the grace
That quietly surrounds you.
[drawing by Bill Rogers per cc 2.0]
The hall of mirrors where I wander
Gives reflections of the broader world.
Yet, those reflections are often distorted
By my own attempt to fit them in a too-small frame.
Still, despite distortion,
There are truths that can be seen.
Whether stretched or compressed,
My hair is still turning gray.
My eyes still look back at me,
No matter how quickly I look away.
There is no way to look in the mirror
Without looking back at myself
I need other eyes
To catch another angle;
To expand the frame.
Can you help me out?
What can we see together?
I think we are both stuck in this fun house, anyway.
[photo by Lauren Coolman per cc 2.0]