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!
In the somber evening of this overcast day,
while walking among the ancient sentinels
at the base of a shadow etched canyon,
I felt the touch of a single droplet of
moisture on my arm. Slight touch.
Gentle touch.
The stately saguaros tuned to watch my reaction.
A gray dove, snuggled in the arms of
a weathered mesquite tree, offered a
deep throated purring sound as a gift
to the moment. Her audible mummer
resembled what I imagine a smile would
project if it could be heard.
Instead of beading and falling to the
ground, the transparent droplet spread
in shape and size, moving toward my hand
and my shoulder at the same time.
I stopped. Everything stopped. The
universe paused. Creation took a
deep breath and witnessed an extraordinary
encounter. A single droplet bathed the
moment and me.
One drop from the enormity of universal
Mystery, from a Heart that in the sacred
moment beat in unison with my own,
one minuscule, momentous drop caressed
skin and soul with exuberant awareness,
unsteadiness like the plates of earth shifting,
deep joy, startling connection.
One small drop of Grace is almost more
that a human being can bear.
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