In these dark places

Standing within and before us
bathed in light
you extend a constant welcome
to our souls,
and yet we linger
in these dark places,
hoping we might find
that ache of fullness
for which we hunger.

And so,
as days grow short and dim,
help us to take this time to pause
and kneel before your throne
in humble application:
bless us Lord,
and come into our hearts anew.
Help us yet again to know
your beaming presence
in a life grown cold
with sacred longing.


* * *

At the water's edge

Seaweed tangles
at the water's edge;
shorebirds tiptoe
through the tide
while the gray cat peers
from the long grasses,
golden eyes gleaming orange
in late afternoon sun.

One dead goldfish
floating by,
released from prison
with a burial at sea,
mourns the loss
of his freshwater bowl,
staring one-eyed at the sky.


* * *

In the gray between

Much as I like to think of myself
as a mini-Galileo --
looking to the heavens,
finding inspiration in the stars --
there are definitely days
when the real me
seems to have much more in common
with the evil machinations
of this prince, Macchiavelli,
and, far from wondering
what the world might be, and become,
I find myself trying to control what is
and fend off what will be.
Instead of "Hmm, what if...?"
it's "Hmm. What if..."
in a far more speculative tone.
Fortunately I mostly live
in that gray and unformed space between the two...


* * *

Beyond the furthest star

Beyond the furthest star,
enchanted,
bemused,
a loving ear is listening;
each tender cry held close
to a heart worn smooth
by countless longings.

Below the deepest sea,
earth beats her steady drum of wonder;
waves echo across the water
their endless song of love.

Behind the tallest mountain,
crouching, furtive, in the shadows,
waits the dark of all between-ness,
the illusion that is endings
and beginnings;
that is separate;
that is
Now.

A wild-embracing hymn

Let every stone and tree,
each grass or shell I see,
invoke epiphany:
that You are there.

In every heart,
weak, wild, or bold --
all humans,
young or old --
may each of us behold,
that You are there.

In troubles and in pains,
in sorrow, loss, or gains
let knowledge still remain
that You are there.



* * *

Lindsay, lost

Where once three lamps
lit up the night
with bright intelligence
and thoughtful hearts,
now two remain,
the third snuffed out;
and those who linger still
will carry light,
now dimmed
but richer still for having known
a presence and awareness
that lives on.
For those now left behind
-- who lost a child, a friend,
a love,
or struggle still for life --
and for the one
who bears responsibility,
hearts pause in silent tribute
to those paths forever changed
in a single crossing.


* * *

Getting beyond perfectionism

The problem
with being a perfectionist
is this:
even when you're doing something new,
for the very first time,
you can't give yourself permission
to make mistakes
and you keep wondering
is this okay?
and will this work?
and am I doing it right?
and how did SHE do it?
and how will this measure up?

And when you're done you think
I should have used a finer pointed pen -- and then you realize
you didn't pay attention to a single stroke.
Perfectionism
just gets in the way of
BEING.


***