I wonder …

sunriseI wonder …
and when I do, judgment falls to the wayside.

All the fingers of my mind,
That try to grasp and hold – and fix – reality,
Release their grip.

Gentle wonder
Wakes to beauty
Rests in grace.

I am held in the open palm
Of God’s dear hand

In the twinkling of an insight,
I am changed.
My soul is released into the mystery.

I find that I am held
Even as I am freed.


[Thanks to Maria Popova in her post on gentle wonder as a corrective …]
[photo is my own]


rabbit’s question

rabbitOne day, there was a rabbit that came to the Master with a question. Being a rabbit, she really didn’t have words to ask, but she came close and thumped her back feet and looked into the eyes of the Master in a way that he understood. He reached down and brought the rabbit close and whispered in the rabbit’s long and very sensitive ears.

“I do love you,” the Master whispered. “I always do.”

And the rabbit, after realizing that was indeed the answer to her question, curled up beside the Master and went to sleep. And this was the rabbit’s dream:

She was in a rough country, stormy and dark, very little grass, no gardens. She wondered why she should be journeying in such a place and whether any good could come of it.

And the master whispered through the dream, “I love you, always.”

And the rabbit began to hop along the path that appeared before her, stopping, on occasion, to eat a lonely sprig of grass beside the dusty path. She hopped on, unsure of why and where she was going, only sure that the path was there in front of her.

She kept hopping along for quite a while, until finally, she noticed that the grass was a bit more abundant, the sun a bit brighter, and there was small stream beside the now-less-dusty path. She stopped for a drink and to eat her fill. There was a hollow log beside the trail, so she snuggled in for a nap.

And she dreamed within her dream that she was again beside the Master, that he held her close and whispered in her long and sensitive ears, “I love you.” And she realized this was still the question that she most desired to ask, and the answer she was seeking. This was the reason she kept hopping along the trail, and this was the destination.

And she slept on, with a rabbit-smile in her heart.

[photo by Robert Allen per cc 2.0]

true or false

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?

Paul’s solution?
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.
It’s done.

[photo by Mirjana Veljovic per cc 2.0]

holding pattern

beneath the tree

Oh, Holy One,
I sit beneath the tree of my imagination.
I hold my troubled heart in my hands.
I don’t know what else to do.

You sit beside me.
You lean over and wrap your hands around mine.
You lean down and kiss my heart.
I offer it up to you, mostly out of desperation.
And you smile.

That, at least, is good; seems right;
Not righteous on my part, but true.
That smile softly changes the contours of my heart.
I move from grasping fear to gratitude.

Your smile tugs at the corners of my own mouth.
I feel my hands relax around my heart.
I feel my soul relax around my quandaries.
Your presence beside me is enough.

Indeed, it is more than enough,
I release myself into a surprising fullness,
My questions are not answered, but they are quieted.
I am held in you.

[photo by Felix Dance per cc 2.0]

a change in plans

A change in plans
Can be disconcerting.
It suggests that I’m not really
The one in control, after all.

Imagine that!

It also reminds me
That my focus, all too often,
Is on the circumstances,
On things to do and places to be.

I have a to-do list,
Not a to-be or to-be-with list.

But, when plans change,
I am reminded
That the richness of life
Lies in the continual dance of relationship.

Circumstances are just the medium
Where we dance that dance.
Life is not really about what, but who.

And I am so grateful
For those who dance this dance with me.
They touch my soul with grace
And open my eyes to the deep.

With these companions,
Plans are dance steps drawn upon the floor.
When you are actually dancing,
There is joy in creating the dance together.

Change is where the life is.
Let’s dance!

[image modified from photo by Jeremy Keith per cc 2.0]

Those slubs

raw silkThe mirror of my mind’s eye
Is much more flattering
Than the one framed on my bathroom door.

My imagined goodness, too,
Contains all the contemplated kindnesses,
Not just those actually done.

My projects are better when I plan them
Than when they reach completion,
With all their wrinkles and flaws.

The problem is
When I am content with imagining
Nothing really happens.

I must embrace the flaws
If I am to love the life that is,
If I am to live at all.

Like raw silk,
The slubs are part of its beauty.
They add richness and grace.

Those cracks, dear Lenard,
As you knew so well,
Are where the life gets in.

[photo by mary per cc 2.0]


cave on the beach
In this quiet hollow,
In this deep, still, place
My heart at first is quieted.
It gives up the rumble of my days
And the persistent picking of my thoughts
And the undertow of worry.
All these are splashed upon the shore like foam.
They dissolve upon the great beach of your
Until, at last, they simply flow in and out without
much noise.
They come and go, but do not call to me.

I find, at last a quiet space to be.
And there I sit and listen to my heart.
And to your whispered presence
In its hollows.

2 27 01

[photo by Kate McDonald per cc 2.0]