Hard days of grief press,pain not forgotten My Easter dress hangs limp in the closet. Messy hair, void of make-up, weary with remembrance Sleepy, I make my way into the kitchen. The tomb search begins,traces of light the intent I look for the rainbow everywhere. Gather remnants of colorto disguise the despair This is my urgent offering of love. Earth quakes a low moan,eyes well with tears (again) I never envisioned a scenario quite like this. Seconds are hours,heartbeat on high alert Death sensed in-between the robin’s song. Even as rose petals fan open, fear penetrates All I’ve believed seems…
A Hope for the World
Today, a poem about Mary and Hope. Let us learn from her courage.
The Holy Seed
The seed, not doing work, not making something happen, falls into the ground of being. The seed allows the thin darkness to shield, the oxygen to pulse with a tempo of trust, a stream of water to move in and through. The seed, in its’ ground of being, receives the pouring of light, reaches beyond itself, grows from the center out. • The holy seed,not striving for status,not proving a point,is the ground of being. The holy seed allows the womb darkness to nurture, the human oxygen pulse with a tempo of trust, blood and water to move in and…
The World Needs Your (love) Voice
You haven’t taken a vow of silence. But, you’ve believed there are certain things better left unsaid. When you’ve tried to champion the cause, spoken the alternate view, you’ve been met with resistance, or worse, disengagement. You don’t want to ruffle too many feathers, take a chance on not pleasing the listener. It’s only natural that you’ve wrapped your bruised voice in burlap and steel wire. You stick to the pallid pleasantries of life. (but) take notice. this is no time to remain silent. Those “certain things” you’ve believed are better left unsaid are the very words we need. The…
Waking Up to the Risen Life.
As people who love Jesus, who desire to live into Christ consciousness as best as we humanly can, there comes a call after Easter to live into the risen life. Each year, I wonder, what does the risen life actually look like? Really. What does it look like fleshed out? LIVED. I mean, let’s be honest, if there is a risen life to be lived, I want to be living THAT life, not some dreary, woe is me life. I started to think about waking up to the risen life, a zesty existence that urges me to be fully me….