Love Is Here (Easter Blessings)

Swirls of celebration make their way over the dusty road,a heart traveling in the center,a heart that stands for justice,flips the common story of wealth as King —this Love kneels at the feet of the traveler,this Love gently washes the grime away,this Love hovers over the lonely,this Love invites the one who never fit to a feast,this Love holds the space with love.On the day when violence comes to destroy,Love says, “I love you.”In this, everything changes.As Love rains down on those who have ears,they in turn,pour love over Love,wet the seeds of Love,sit vigil and wait untilone day, after…

Invitation to SEE in the Dark

Shady black rolls into town —comes as stripes of darknessthat infiltrate the spaceThis story begins with the line,“On a dark and stormy night,”it’s an ancient story told —one you may have heard beforewith death as a central point When this thread is told,a cloak of grief descends,a dappled blue fog of sadness hangs,may even lure one towarda grim alleyway of lostnesswhere black is on trial Of all the hues, you see—black is the edgy oneit’s identity has been up in the air for some time— is it all pigments mixed togetheror the absence of light? this confusion has turned black…

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…

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…