Shining Spirit

A single star in the morning sky.
A pinpoint of light that fades with the dawn.
Will Spirits weep and Angels cry
when morning wakes, the curtain is drawn
and the solace of night is gone?

I’ll watch as the star fades in the light.
Goodbye, my friend.  May peace follow you
until, in the darkening shades of the night,
your elegant grace returns to my view.
Your remarkable glow makes everything new.

A single star in the morning sky.
Spirits weep and Angels cry.
So difficult to say Goodbye.
But quickly how the hours fly
and night comes round again.

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.

Some people say he looks lonely,
standing there alone among all
the healthy, young growth.
But, he knows he is surrounded
by vibrant life.  And he is at peace.

Some say he is old and of no value,
but everyday tender voices rise
from the lush new growth around him:
“Grandfather, tell us
again about…”

A hiker commented the other day:
“Look at that ugly thing among all
the lovely green life.”
But just then a hawk detoured
off her early morning hunt to
circle the elegant artistry.
Round and round
she flew and each
time she sang a
song of grateful
wonder.

Once I heard that people planned
to cut him down.  Eyesore.
Doesn’t fit the land anymore.
But Life rose in deliberate
defiance.
“No!” said the yellow wild flowers.
“No!” called out the Mesquites,
long stretches of dry wash sand,
birds that heard the threat,
coyotes, nested owls,
reptiles, rocks still
exposed by recent
torrential rains.
In one clear and certain voice,
Creation said “No!”

The tree of majestic memory, bare
and brittle, swayed gently in
the caressing wind.  He seemed to all
around to shine ever so slightly.

“Time,” he said.  “Time.”

No chrysalis, by its design,
constrains the power of life.
Contained within that darkened place
away from haste and strife,
a life form slowly finds its way
into the sacred Light.

And when the moment finally comes,
cracking sounds are heard
across the wide expanse of time,
the speaking of a Word
that splits the fabric, rolls the stone,
a miracle occurred.

A chrysalis, like ancient tombs,
is not a stopping place.
It is a path by which life moves,
evolves and, by God’s grace,
emerges as a radiant being
to bless the human race.

Today I sit in wondrous awe.
In this unlikely thing
was once a creature forced to crawl
who now unfolds her wings
and floats into the crystal sky.
O God, the joy she brings!