In dreams, an invitation

In dreams, visions evolve:
one moment this,
and then the colors shift
and we are lost in some other world,
and, waking,
still imprinted with your love,
which colors thought,
we are encouraged --
as if we had been listening to your voice --
to let the colors speak through us,
through art:
they fly onto the page,
inviting us to balance;
to rise, and to converge.


* * *

A seasonal response

Light and life are rushing by,
pulling me into the frantic,
and so I photograph the rush,
and flip it on its side;
make a copy, match them up,
and light becomes uplifted hands;
the rush becomes a prayer,
and when I add
a hint of worship,
the rush becomes a tree
whose star is yet unseen
and I realize again
the seasonal nature,
the perfect rightness
of these worries that propel me
forward into destiny;
into birth that will again
lead us to death.


* * *

When light reaches into now

When light reaches
into now
and carves its seminal split
between the oneness
we once knew,
and the separation that is future,
yet also past,
what connections will be forged
between earth and sky
for healing and redemption;
what sea-green forest
will reach into the mountains
and clamor for the moon?
And where,
on this unearthly landscape,
that is both,
that is and,
that is divided,
that is whole
will we ever find our home?



* * *

When shadows point the way

You are the sand
beneath our feet,
the water tracing patterns
in our lives.
Your spirit perfumes
the air we breathe,
And those obstacles you send?
-- the ones that float in on the tide
and out again? --
they cast their anxious shadows
over thought,
coloring each life
with an instructive darkness
that points the way
to new horizons,
new possibilities.

Help us to trust
that each unwieldy challenge
will bring us to a new frontier
and re-form us in your image.


* * *

Born to dance

We are,
all of us,
born to dance;
to sing our own unique songs to the universe,
to allow the light
that is creativity
that is energy
that is love
to flow through us
and out into the world,
igniting all it touches
until all that is
flames with holiness.

Dance!
Sing!
Bless us
with your most
amazing
Grace!


* * *

Lord help us

Lord, help us --
even with all this rich green grass,
We've still got our eyes on that fence.
Help us to see
the blessings here before us.
Help us to know
the protection and guidance
your fence affords.
Help us to listen
for the sound of your voice;
to perk up our ears
at the call to greener pastures;
to follow our noses
to the loving shelter you provide
right here;
right now.


* * *

The art of recycling

Those pieces of our tattered lives --
the ones you crop away --
where do they go?
Is there some grand
recycling bin
where all the lost colors go,
where shapes and lines,
re-energized,
transcribe
some grand and innovative architecture
of a new and unlost soul;
where empty cans
and can'ts
and couldn'ts
become a tapestry
of wills and haves and owns;
somehow transformed
into comfort,
into color
into life?
into love?


* * *