I love the gift of words.
They romp and cavort around reality, giving me a tool to see its form.
They light the crevices and illuminate the vastness of truth, stretching my mind to new horizons.
True words, words of life, bring me closer to the wonder of what is. Continue reading
What is the good news?
Is it that the very deepest truth of creation is joyful love?
That you invite me to join you in the process of loving creation?
That it is ok to open my soul to life, because it will not destroy me, despite what I fear?
That I can trust your goodness to keep me safe?
That ‘safety’ is really only the first step? Continue reading
And so I sit, a small golem-like creature in the dark cavern of myself, hiding from you, even as I long for connection. I shiver in my hidey-hole – cold and alone, peaking out from the crevice and then quickly withdrawing, lest I be seen.
My fingers are as cold as the stone they touch. My heart has lost its beat, my eyes, grown large, are still afraid to see. I huddle in my corner, closing my eyes and holding my hands over my ears, until I can stand it no more. Continue reading
I enter the warehouse where the shelves are filled with boxes and bundles. I have a long list in my hands and as I walk down the rows of shelves I take a box here and there and place them in a shopping cart.
Yet, these are just boxes: brown cardboard, wrapped with tape or string, or bundles wrapped in brown paper. I cannot see what is inside of them, nor does my list reveal the contents. I am just selecting numbered boxes from the shelves and stacking them in my cart and moving on. Continue reading
I am a young girl playing on the beach. I run from shell to shell and dreg to dreg, washed up upon the shore, picking up one thing and then another.
Bending low, squatting on my haunches, the wet sand makes shiny rings around my feet. The receding waves suck at my footprints and smooth their edges.
It seems, oh Holy One,
That you are tapping me on the shoulder
That you are whispering in my ear
If I were to stop and listen
… what would I hear? Continue reading
There are so many things that concern me. They stand in line at the back of my brain waiting their turn to pester me. They push and jostle and twiddle their thumbs. They threaten and cajole. Like folks in the bread line in the scenes of the great depression – they stand in sepia-toned sameness, tattered at the edges, always in need.
And now that I have turned to look them fully in the face, I am overwhelmed. I, too, am in the photo. I, too, have ragged edges and a gnawing need. I, too, have my hat in my hand and my eyes full of empty want. I, too, am begging on the curb. Continue reading
Done.
Thy will,
Done.
The veil,
Torn.
The breach,
Healed.
Hate lost.
Love won.
And today –
All creation is reborn.
4 5 15
I find myself opening a drawer full of long neglected junk: some trash, some treasure, some pencil numbs and safety pins – small items tucked away instead of cleaned or organized, lost to usefulness by neglect.
This is my soul, oh Holy One, and I am tired of the mess.
Thumbing through my photographs,
I stumble upon a sunrise.
Its golden glow of hope
rises again within my heart.
Or was it, perhaps, a sunset?
Same golden glow –
but where’s the hope?
The tenor of my heart is changed.
Quiet Hope 