Shining Spirit

“Would you explain all this to me?
Why am I tied here to this tree?
And who are all those people there
saying goodbye to that young pair?
Are they going on a trip?

“Yes, indeed, and so are you.
I overheard a word or two.
She’s about to birth a child
but they must travel many miles
to get to Bethlehem.”

“Okay, I see what is in store.
I haul the bags just like before.
Just once I’d like a lighter load.
It’s not a very easy road
from here to Bethlehem.

“Well, here they come.  I guess it’s time.
But wait, why does the woman climb
upon my back?  Can this be true?
A lovely child, and lighter, too,
than all the tents and poles.

“I will remember this fine day
and I will cherish, come what may,
the honor and the gift bestowed
to carry such an easy load
all the way to Bethlehem.

“By the way, what’s the young woman’s name?”

“It’s hard to believe but the news is true.
The choice is made, and they picked you.
From all the stars who wanted to go,
you are the one who will brightly show
the way to Bethlehem”

“How can it be that they chose me!
I’m not convinced I can really be
bright enough to show the way
to the place where Mary and Joseph stay.
What if I burn out!”

“Calm down, my friend.  You’ll shine just fine.
Your light is strong.  You’ll be the sign
to guide the world to that special place
where everyone can see the face
of love in a manger stall.

“Now, get some rest.  The time draws near.
Lay out your course and have no fear
for you are picked from all the rest,
undoubtedly the very best
to guide the world to him.

“And by the way, when you look down
on the sleepy little village town,
shine softly on his gentle face,
hold him in a sweet embrace
and say hello for me.

As we drove home tonight my friend gasped and said:  “Look at the beauty in that golden sunset!”

But all I could see was the napalm glare, then came the smell of the chemical, then the heat from crackling flames.

And all I could hear was the deep, painful cry of the wounded and tortured earth.

And in my mind I walked again through the agonies of hell.

And I wept for the beauty of a sunset’s gift.

And I cried for my friends who could not see it.

In my heart I am grateful for what I see.
In my mind I know searing pain and unrelenting grief.

If only my mind and my heart could embrace and look out upon the world together.

Some life reminders for Second Graders at a local elementary school where I volunteer   Works for adults, too  

Welcome to Advent!  Watching.  Waiting.  Hoping.  Expecting.  Be refreshed in the Spirit.  Welcome to Advent!

Sacred drops of life.  Say “hello” to your history and your future.

Could light exist if there was no darkness?
Is darkness defined by the absence of light?

Is one superior to the other?

In the dawning of each day I will look for commonalities.
I will be conscious of the potential that resides
in the space between opposing views,
in the tender territory where reason can
sit down with emotion and share a
cup of commonality.
Sacred cup.

I will hold the thread of hope lightly
but confidently, and I will trust you
to do the same.  It is the linkage,
the elusive strand that holds us and all things
together in a patchwork of opposites.
“We” don’t exist if there is no honoring the
value of courageous collaboration.

We will continue to grasp the illusion of strength
in foundations crafted on sand if we allow the thread
to be swept away by the voracious winds of
invective, insult, or indifference.

You and I can live in a world that is frayed around
the edges, but we cannot survive the unnecessary tragedy
of careless or intentional unraveling.

When you’re in a bad mood
and life makes you brood
about injustices, insults or snubs,
say to yourself, “By golly, by gosh,
although not thought of as high class or posh,
I’m going to go walk in a wash.”

Really not bad advice.
First, it’s good exercise, and
you know you need it.
Second, once you stop kicking
the sand in frustration, and
decide to act like a guest in
someone’s living room,
you might learn something
about the wash and
about yourself.

I know.  Wild green stuff everywhere.
Unkempt.  Disordered.  Not a garden spot.
And the sand’s too deep, and there’s a
fly who thinks he’s a relative and
won’t leave you alone.
And it’s too hot!
Blah, blah, blah.
Get over it
You’re in a wash.

Look at that yellow weed that thinks
it’s something special.  Show-off.
But, it does add some lovely color,
doesn’t it.  In fact, it’s quite pretty
draping itself over those bland
bushes ad climbing to the top of
that old tree.  In fact, I think
I’ll take a picture and add it to my
Nature Album.  There.  Very nice.

Wait.  Look over there…

See, you’re off and running.
The wash is working its magic.
I predict that by the time you
decide to climb out of the wash
you will have a shoe full of sand,
five or six good photos, and
a smile on your face.

So, when you’re in a bad mood
and life makes you brood
about injustices, insults or snubs,
say to yourself:  “By golly, by gosh,
although not thought of as high class or posh,
I’m going back to visit that wash.

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.