Shining Spirit

I think it possible, perhaps even likely,
that at the Midnight hour,
when all is dark and quiet, as
Sleep tucks the blanket corner
one last time before wrapping
me in her gentle arms,
the mystery will come.

It never grows beyond faint,
but it echos deep within my
sleepy soul.
Not a voice.  Not even an
intelligible sound.  Could
it be a vivid intuition?
It is, with certainty, a call.

I’ve heard it before when
rest has finally settled my
anxiousness, calmed
uncertainties and unknowns.
Then, as the descent into sleep
begins, this soul stirring starts;
insistent, unrelenting,
until I sit up and stare into the darkness.

I light a small candle whose flame is
only strong enough to cast an
indistinct shadow, only the hint of Light
dancing on the bedside table.
But enough.  Just enough.
Enough for someone, somewhere
in a corner of creation, someone who has
awakened into pain or sorrow that
sleep cannot extinguish.
Someone, please God, who senses
that another being lights a candle
for their blessing and imagines
their presence within
The Presence.

May peace embrace all my Midnight Friends.

I know!  I know!
I’ve heard it all before.
I’m supposed to stay on
that cold tile floor.

But let me make
this counter plea:
Try it, Pops, and
you will see.
Put your belly on
that cold, hard tile
then look at me
with your big, broad smile.

I’ll wait here
in this nice, warm chair.
I think it’s
fitting and perfectly fair.
I’ll doze here
a little while.
Wake me up
when you’re able to smile.

Tuesday morning, I think about nine,
I was feeling good, doing fine,
reading a book, completely resigned
to sppppppppppppppppppppp

More recently, at a grocery stop,
I sat in the car while my sweetheart shopped.
I said to myself:  “she won’t be long”,
and I was humming along with a
beautiful sonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

This nodding off is getting me!
What if I’m driving and hit a tree?
Or, eating soup or bending over
to tie my shhhhhhhhhhhh

Isn’t there a remedy
for this malady that torments me?
Is getting old the culprit here?
What really causes me to fear
is the thought that Mother Earth might quake
and souls ascend to heaven”s gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Hello!  Hi!   Anybody here?

Slowly the surface of the water begins to move.
The river is rippled, now agitated by
a moment or circumstance
unexpected, unseen,
unwanted.

It churns and froths so that colorful,
beautiful stones resting so
calmly on the river bed
are no longer visible.
Unmoved, they
wait.

Turmoil, Disorder, Chaos rule the moment,
but only for a time.  Only a time.

Slowly, as it first existed, the surface
begins to relax toward stillness.
The return is slow, but it
comes, moment by
moment.  Until
at last.

With the churning gone and the river’s
surface quiet again, at peace,
beautiful stones, unmoved
and glistening in the
Light, shine with
clarity and
exquisite
detail.

Today, when my mind gives in to churning
confusion, may I sit quietly, wait
patiently, until the clarity
and wisdom of Truth
reappear in my
focus and
faith.

May the Spirit embrace my spirit in
all my cloudy confusions.  Do
not allow me to miss all
the lovely gems of
life resting in
calmer
reality.

I acknowledge the inevitable moments of turbulence,
but they do not own me.

May it be so.

Along the Way today,
walking in and with Imminent Grace,
may I discover who I am,
who you are,
who they are,
who we are.
May I find the answer in
a single word:
One.

May your heart smile as One
brings clarity and peace.

May my eyes receive the
Breathtaking Beauty
of this new day
and the
Breath Depriving Suffering
of this new day.
I need to see both.

May the bursts of Beauty bring joy
May the sights of Suffering
stimulate more than
thought.

I need to see both Beauty
and Suffering today
in order to be
Human.
I need to feel both Beauty
and Suffering today
in order to be
Divine.

May it be so.

In the garden of remembering,
a lovely yellow rose,
the anchor of all that lives and grows,
has slowly succumbed go the calendar’s call.
The brilliance of Spring is the shadow of Fall.

No matter the effort to hold back the clock,
I reluctantly concede
that the hands have raced forward with merciless speed
obscuring the faces that blessed my fine days
before the descent of this gradual haze.

I do not ask for sorrow or tears.
I have no need for gloom.
Somewhere within these darkening rooms
there lives a lovely yellow rose
whose petals will never completely close.