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…

Jesus 2020: Let Nations See Love (Again)

Do you know Him? Beloved OneSpirit formed, mother born, refugee child who crossed miles. Rules broken. Light BearerVisible speckles of light burst forthin the darkest of times. Hope given. Thirst QuencherCrystalline, living water wraps freelyaround walls of stone. Renewal found. Story WeaverA golden thread of Wisdom talestell the goodness of God. Love taught. Pilgrim FriendWalks the long road step by stepwith graceful gait. Presence held. Seeker of SolitudeMoves to quiet places to bewith Divine Love and fill. Peace sought. Lover of the LivingCelebrates children, honors women, notices fig trees. Inclusion modeled. Flamed by InjusticeTables flip with bold honesty to question…

Curator of My Space

I am the curator of my hidden space.The revelations come as a trickle, a wink —a river of stars while I dream.Ideas are heldin the secrecy of growth,near the fruit of the womb,under the cloak of becoming. While I carry hiddenness,I no longer hide me.I’ve taken off the gray cloak of doom.Vibrancy is my outfit of choice.Even as I glow —My antennae explore the room for discernment.What is necessary to share, to refrain from speaking?With this inquiry,I become the curator of my open space. Sensitivity to myself and others is a gift I hold.I do my best to meet others…

The Sacred Third

Somewhere between day and night,where fireflies shine — in the middle space ofright and wrongwhere dog wags his tail — peeking through the black and white,where zebra emerges — on the city streets betweengood and bad,where mosquitoes only smell blood — in the wrestle match of yes and nowhere cats have no care — at the family feud ofgirl and boy,where male seahorses give birth — in the fist grip of interior and exterior,where turtles move with ease — is a thin placeof the Sacred Thirdwaiting to receive — “Hello.Welcome You!Come sit with me for a while.Will you?There’s no rush.Let’s…