Seeker of the Edge

(A continuation from Ash Wednesday’s poem, Seeker of Ash) • • • Outside,the moon hangs with foresight. Inside,I sit in the basement of the sanctuary, rifle theforgotten book on my lap,flashlight in hand,flip with fury,find fallen phenomenon. Creeeeeak, creeeeeak, creeeeeakFootsteps above me,my heart stops— What if they figure me out? Quiet settles,I keep on,forge for informationof the deep way With roots fixed firm,there she is —arms rise to flexible form,an expansive stretch Gaia, spreader of seeds With flaming heart,there she is —eyes flicker with desire,faces the fable of sin Eve, seeker of solid food With fluid connection,there she is—hands embrace…

Seeker of Ash

Ash Wednesday · Beginning of LentFebruary 17th, 2021 I’m drainedfrom invitations to follow the Light —eyes on the prize of resurrection. As ifthe lightis the only thingwe needto seek,and it’s there. No. (there.) Just. out. of. reach. Separate from me. I try to grasp it. Arms stretched. Fingers. Can’t. Reach. the Blaze. I fall on my knees. Exhausted from Trying. Overhead, silver fingers wisp in the sky;they point to the ground. I take my fingers and press them into soft soil,move them through blades of grass —dirt finds my fingernails;I start to digwithout thought. Soon enough,I’m elbows deepin faint memorieslaced…

Sacred Treasure

I have heardthere is goldbeyondthe dollar,a treasure where deep joy abidesdespite the desperate web of storiesspun to seize. I am toldto seek thisfleck of honeypast the irate voiceswho squawk from one channelof persuasion andwiden my scopeto the holy court where wholeness and grace residesfor all. I learnthis wealthisn’t found inunbendable beliefof the left or right,rather is coaxedfrom betweenmy tears asI sway gentlyto see all anglesof the firm structuresin place. There, at the slim pocket offorty-two degrees,in the region of the heart,a rainbow ribbonof organic delightis glimpsed.Her eyes catch minewith a gaze of love;she reassures“I am here with you.” I breathe…

Creative Advent: Self-Love

Robes of grace glow around her formbetween the doors of the altar,where she tends the heart of creationin the palm of her hands. In the innermost recesses,where the highest priests reside,Mary sews her sacred tale,dares to believe in her creative worth. She is the seamstress of heart, weaves the veil of enigmawith a red thread of love,dares to speak “Yes” to angelic request. Her unwed belly grows.Voices taunt, “You need to be saved.”She knows better than to believe she is broken;afterall, expansion is of God. Instead, she chooses to love herself andthe beating pulse of creativity within. She loves herself…

A Vigil of Love (complete.)

•Beloved, you hold me and whisper, “Be Loved.” I hear your words and hold them in my heart.• You set a spark within my soul. Your radiance shimmers the shadow spaces.• When I am thirsty, you rain abundance. When I am weak, you pour grace.• You weave a fresh tale of hope. A yarn that lifts the lost and lonely.An epic of peace and justice. I hear my story in your words.• You don’t give up on me. You trek alongside on sunny days and moonlit nights. Where others have walked away, you remain.• I find you under the quiet…