Quiet, quiet, quiet
Quiet as a mouse
I am the quietest
One in the house!
Our old patterns sneak back into our lives with unyielding persistence. We can’t keep them quiet. We don’t even see them coming till they are shrieking in our ears and we find ourselves back in the same old conundrums.
Good morning, Holy One.
Thank you.
For the morning.
For the quiet.
For the hope of a new day.
For the beating of your heart deep within mine.
For your call, like the pull of the ocean current, unseen, irresistible.
For life – full of fragile beauty.
Thank you. Continue reading
I can’t seem to keep my mind from wandering without my fingers on the keys. Something about watching the letters fall upon the page helps me focus. Somehow watching what has just happened lets me see a tiny bit into the future – thinking my way to the next word as the last one falls into black and white.
So I put myself in that space – in that little place of ‘nexting’ – letting it open up a focused opportunity for encounter. I am hoping for Your interference. Will You come? Are You there?
I can hardly sit still. My spirit is jittery, anxious, chattering away with irrelevant noise. I am afraid of not being able to do what I have committed myself to do: too much work, too many projects, too much responsibility, too many obligations.
I shudder before the altar to Should. Great God Should, my master, my hard taskmaster. High and lofty Should – you are an altar made of my own fashioning, covered with my dreams, like sheets of pounded gold – strong, overbearing, threatening my doom. My own hands have made you, but I cannot find a way to take you down. Continue reading
I am seated back a bit from the fire. Around me are other travelers, all weary from the walk of the day, glad for a rest, glad to be together. We are an odd lot, tossed together by happenstance (if there is such a thing) and by the juncture in the roads. Now, nestled among the trees just off the roads, we sit together.
Those around me who are talkers are telling their stories and I, a listener, am listening. The stories weave in and out among each other and there are common themes and nods of understanding. We have opened our packs and bread has been shared. We nibble at the last of the crusts, for we are full but the crusts are good. Continue reading
This day, this day is yours
thank you.
Gather it up in your arms
and me along with it
cuddle us together in your love
fill us all with the fragrance of your Spirit
let it dust our days and tickle our souls
and whisper in our hearts
today, this day,
as you unfold it, is yours, is ours. Continue reading
[photo “Ragged Coneflower 01” by Al per cc 2.0.]
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//
[The beating of my heart
lub-dub; lub-dub
pulls forth my words.]
Big pit
No hope
No strength
No joy
My fault
Again
I cry
And wait
For you
Quiet Hope 