Divine Artistry

O Divine Artist,
whose brush creates for us
this perfect blush of burgundy,
these shades of green;
inscribing a delicate calligraphy
of light and shadow,
balanced each to each
as if to say,
see?
Even a shadow can be beautiful;
even a tiny patch of sunlight
can reveal a moment of pure joy...

Let your divine artistry echo in us,
that what we paint or draw,
sing, play or dance --
with pigment, voice, or instrument;
through body, pen or camera --
that each uniquely rendered song of dark and light,
of shadow, shade and flame,
may allow some fortunate observer
to see the spark of divinity that ignites us all.

* * *

Which is real?

So tell me:
is this art imitating life,
or life imitating art?
Which came first,
the painting of the sheep
on the side of the shed,
(say that three times fast!)
or the sheep --
or did she somehow mold herself
in the image she sees
in what she thought was a mirror?

I knew my own tendency
to be a mirror.
But could it also be true
that I use others as a mirror,
assuming their truth is my own?
Time to get grounded;
to sink into the deep green grass that feeds me,
to breathe in its fresh sweet smell
and decide: is this really what I choose to eat?


* * *

Lapping at resistance

Whatever made me think
some flimsy structure I'd erect
could withstand the flow
of seasons, tides
and wind-blown sand?

The spirit has its own rhythms:
any attempt of mine
to block,
or redirect
must eventually fail,
casting as it does so
a long shadow
across the beach at the edge of belonging.

Yet still you lap at my boundaries,
inviting me to join the flow:
Dive in, and swim: spread your wings
and lift your feet
away from the shifting sands
of time and ego.


* * *

Aging

Like some huge and convoluted chessboard,
its darks and lights grown unpredictable,
life spills out before us
its invitation to adventure.

I forget:
are we only supposed to step on the lines?
Or is it that we avoid the lines?
The music's playing in my head --
step on a crack,
you'll break your mother's back --

and what dark impulse is this,
rearing up before me,
that wants to trample randomly
each crack that it can find
except, of course,
they're all wiggling out of control,
liquid reflections of a journey I've yet to take:
abandon control,
all ye who enter here,
and begin that reckless slide into infinity.

* * *

Glow

We who are born
to transform and transport
are dormant in darkness,
restored in the darkness
but function in light.
When the light hits you,
it will be your turn to glow.

Stop clinging to this dark harbor:
Illuminate your world!
Glide out into the sea of possibility!
Whom do you serve,
while remaining in port?
Only yourself.
Not even yourself.



* * *

In the laughing of the ducks

This is my promise:
that I will be with you always --
in the dark,
in the light,
and all the gray times in between.
When the world seems to reject you
I'll be there to protect you:
let my loving arms enfold you --
I am here, in your heart.

In the hugs of your father,
In the smiles of your sister,
In the laughing of the ducks on the lagoon.

In the lift of the tides
And the wind in your sails,
In the rising and the dying
I will always be with you.

* * *

The memory of light

There is a heart-shaped longing
at the center of this life,
an emptiness behind, below,
the lush green spring-filled wonder
of love and life and growing.

These tender fingers which caress,
the arms enfolding,
the whispered endearments --
all remain firmly outside
this aching void,
which, left untended,
sends a crack
that threatens to shake us to our roots.

But as the sun curves through the day
carving its great bright arc in the sky
the hole fills briefly with illumination
and then subsides again into darkness,
a darkness warmed
by memories of light.


* * *

Fountains of Joy

In the heat of the moment,
all my senses on alert,
I roll up my sleeves
or strip for battle
preparing for resistance,
certain there is no choice
but to fight, to challenge;
to duel to the death.

But sometimes --
if I stop and turn the other cheek,
or rest for just a moment to consider --
there'll be this burst of joy,
an outpouring of refreshing thought
that douses that angry fire
and leaves me drenched in wonder.


* * *

What lies at the heart?

And when you choose to look within
do you assume you are a bird,
easily startled,
and so you look from far away
with telescopic lens,
keeping your distance
for fear this wild and tender heart
take wing and fly away?

Or will you know
yourself to be a flower,
rooted on a sturdy stalk,
cupped in green
and quivering in the wind,
and so draw close
and closer still
until the scent of love
breathes through your dreams
infusing them with color?



* * *

See right through me

This house,
that always feels so out of place --
open when all else is closed,
wild and bright
when all surrounding seems so dull and staid --
this fragile skin,
this increasingly brittle structure,
these spots and wrinkles
I so determinedly ignore --

Let me remember always
that what to me is purely a temporary resting place
has always been home to you:
warmed and treasured,
filled with spirit
til glowing with the fire of your presence --
a glow I cannot seem to see --

and all the love I ever sought
flows in and through like light:
you see right through me.


* * *

A touch of evening

Evening,
and as the light dims
it lingers on your shoulder
and calls to me
as if to reassure;
a guiding, loving hand,
resting with a touch of breeze
before the night falls:

Forget me not,
Forget me not,
For I am with you always,
even in the night.

And, as darkness falls,
that last touch of light calms me still.


* * *

Not born to the narrow way

We're told to straighten up and fly right,
to walk the straight and narrow way,
to stiffen that upper lip and get in line --
so many of the messages
encourage discipline.

But I
like a cat,
was born to tense and spring;
for measured bouncing,
for elaborate spins and twirls:
how else could I deposit
the occasional mouse at your feet?

It's true:
sometimes the road narrows,
and I,
like a bird,
must pull in my wings a bit.

But I was born to soar and lift,
and to that I will return.


* * *

We bind unto ourselves today...

If you would thread this needle --
pass through to the other side,
that we might stitch our life together --

You must first interweave
your own strands:
gather up your disparate parts,
bind them together as an act of love;
make of them
a single
solid
rope of oneness.

Any loose ends,
any frayed connections
will surely prohibit entry
through this narrow gate.




* * *

A Prayer of Thanksgiving

For the sun,
and all the other gifts
that rise, illuminate, and die;
for blessings and dear friends --
the new,
the familiar,
the old and the remembered --
for opportunities
to see, to breathe;
to taste and feel,
to touch and grasp and lose --
with all the wisdom that can bring --
For all that we've been given;
all the promises of life --
the seedlings, the budding and the bloom;
the blossom, the fruit, and the dying away:

For all our sacred fortune -- good and bad --
let us give thanks.

* * *

Communion

We thank you --
every Sunday --
for feeding us in these holy mysteries;
we gather at your table
to peck at your grain
and drink your finest port
like pigeons
waiting for a handout,
forgetting all the while
that these ARE mysteries:
that somehow there is always enough;
that somehow what has been set aside for us
is always consumed;
and that the words,
however quickly spoken and echoed,
each cradle a universe of meaning and blessing,
both meant for all,
and for each of us alone.

* * *

Where do you belong?

Where do you make your home,
and can you leave it?
To what or whom do you belong,
and is it worthy of your dignity?
What makes your heart swell --
and what makes it shrink?
When the rising tides
are lapping at your door
do you feel safe,
or do you cringe in fear?

If you know about global warming,
do you continue living at sea level?
If you know that love
can also bring
abandonment and pain,
do you choose to love anyway?

Where is your home?
Where -- really -- do you make your home?


* * *

Ancestral blessings

I bless the ancestors
whose foresight,
all those many years ago,
resulted in these lovely parks --
brief respite from the wild entangled grays
of concrete, cement and asphalt;
from the noisy competition
of neon and billboards.
They speak to us of simpler times
when nature was merely tamed --
not eradicated --
and beauty was a gift to be shared --
not hoarded --
and even the walkways underfoot
could serve as a blessed reminder
of Divine Balance.


* * *

Dive into the river of oneness

Come, Spring;

Run your warm fingers through the snows
until they turn to liquid at your fiery touch
and cascade down the mountain side,
a silver stream, leaping and tumbling
joyfully down the rocks
to merge in ecstasy at the water's edge:

All that plummeting and rushing and sound
suddenly quenched
with a final dive
into the river of oneness
that swells with delight
and moves inexorably
to the sea.


* * *

Rebaptizing your faults

I don't care if it's Mothers' Day:
some days
you just wanna throw out the baby --
with the bath water, doncha know --
especially when she's one of those inner voices --
you know them,
the really annoying ones,
the ones that whine when things don't go their way,
the scaredy cats,
the snooty little mean ones...

But try this:
instead of throwing out the baby --
and the water--
how about a little re-baptism,
a little acknowledgement
of all the good, challenging work
those kids have brought you over the years?
Even if you prefer to imagine
filling up a water balloon
and tossing it at them --
just be sure to give them an extra hug when you're all done.


* * *

Divine Web

O Divine Web,
that weaves us all together,
each to each,
with silken threads
of love
and fear,
of joy and loss,
of happenstance,
illogic,
and the rain and wind
moving in and through
our fragile beaded lives --

help us to value our connectedness,
the spaces and the lines,
the movement of the breeze
and the weight of the dew;
to see the angelic shape,
the halo of existence
that enlightens and enriches
even when we are torn and broken.


* * *

Fountain of Blessings

Fountain of Blessings,
exploding within me,
fill me to bursting
with spirit Divine.

Fountain of Light,
bless these dark caverns
with mercy and grace;
remind us of Hope

Sacred Springs Within,
Overflow with wonder,
imagination,
creativity --
Help us to see
the lushness of possibility.

Fountain of blessing
I bathe in your holiness,
revel in liquid light,
rejoice in your everlasting love.


* * *

The infinite landscape of love

It is as if
each day You ask me
what is real;
invite me out into your world
to explore the universe
that lies beyond my door,
yet at my feet;

And then --
each breath,
you show me,
has a life and color of its own,
and with each step we have the chance
to disturb what is already there
or stop and see
the infinite beauty that surrounds us all,
that is joy,
that is love,
that is birth, and death, and life
all flowing into one eternal landscape
that is You.


* * *

Cherry-scented air

For just a while,
the world glows pink,
and if we did not know
the petals would soon coat the ground
and fade into the grass,
would we rejoice as much,
or breathe so consciously
this scented air?

How much of what we love about our days
is colored by the transience
we know -- or do not know?
How differently would we live,
if we could be always conscious
that each moment that we breathe could be our last?


* * *

Wounded

How like an arm --
this branch that bars my path to you --
it is as if you will not let me through
until I grasp the pain
this image represents;
until I comprehend
the magnitude of suffering,
the gift of Love
that, stripped to sinew, wound and scar,
dripping with remorse and sweat,
will bravely hold the world at bay,
protect us til we see at last
it is our own indivisibility
that is at stake
and sink in gratitude
upon the forest floor.


* * *

On looking down when stepping down

With each step could be
a breath;
internal resonance --
a spirit moving in and taking hold...
But no. There's just
this conscious,
practical,
controlled watching: a desire
to keep from tripping over
those long, unwieldy trains of thought,
to keep my balance
or to avoid
stepping in it --
whatever "it" may be...

When will I learn to trust
and keep my heart and eyes
trained on you?


* * *

Peace offering

These eyes,
so tender, so Divine,
offering this moment of peace...

this gesture,
these fingers that so gently hold
the dove with wings
so trustingly outspread...

this space,
so cluttered with the trappings
of a world always determined to possess...

And through the dark within still shines
the light of love and offering,
an invitation to a life
that could, despite the clutter, still be true.


* * *

Beings of light

We who are born
to transform and transport
are dormant in darkness
restored in the darkness
but function in light.
When the light comes
where will you be?
Still clinging to the safety of darkness?
Or gliding out
into the sea of possibility?
Who do you serve,
tucked safely in the harbor?
Only yourself.
Only yourself.


* * *