A weave of thanks giving

The origin of my story is essential. Where do I begin my tale? — at my birth?near the roots of the land I live on?do I reach back to Eve? Or further —when only animals roamed the earth?River veins of Mother Earth from long ago touch my present toes. My soul roots grow into her ancient knowing.I am connected to the beginning.The origin of my being holds secrets of becoming. As I weave thanks giving,I re-member my story. • The origin of our story is essential. Where do we begin our human epic? — at our individual birth?through a historical…

Tears of Healing

At the canvas,I stand as I am,present to the rising,in communion with Divine Love. Quiet pulses in my ears,sadness rolls down —a lost whisper emerges,trickles down my cheek.Wet faded memory. Why am I crying — again?My instinct is to berate myself,apologize for me being me,dismiss the emotion.Today, I choose different. I rest in the pause.Here, I find the voice of tears. They hum,“Feel me. See me.I am part of you.Why hide me? Why hold me in?If you wipe at me too quickly,you’ll never have access tothe blessing I bring. If others don’t welcome your tears,this is not your concern. Afterall,…

Something to Celebrate (More on Soul Care)

This is no ordinary day. Today, she hears it said,“Love your neighbor as yourself.”* (as yourself)(as yourself) This echo ripples through her core. She had never heard it this way.It was usually:Love God. Love others.The end. (as yourself)(as yourself) There it is again. A bell rings within. “If I’m to love my neighbors as myself, How DO I love myself?” she ponders. Her non-stop days of hustle bustle come to mind.Quick eating. Limited exercise. Doing for others. Crumbs leftover for herself. She catches a snippet of harsh self-criticism in her mind;a thought she’d never dare say to another. Hmph. (as…

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…