The Kiss.

The veil touches down in the thin place where 
past kisses present, a delicate sweep of air — sheer mystery. I walk into the fog, formerly familiar, now lit anew, the road reimagined. Where will it take me? Breaking sun, backlit branches, stream through my reckless heart. I consider day and night, their insistence on gathering each dawn. Death and life, not opposing forces, rather 
elbows latched in harmony 
with Spirit. They skip along, capture my curiosity in that profane and sacred are connected, both with a speck of God’s goodness for those willing to mine the mire. Today, ghosts…

Thin Places.

Today is Samhain, a feast day for Celtics to say goodbye to one half of the year (light/harvest) and welcome in the another half of the year (dark/winter). This day also coincides with All Saint’s Day, a day set aside in the Christian calendar to celebrate those in our lineage who have passed on. Christine Valters-Painter has a wonderful article about Samhain here. Below is my offering to you… a poem to consider the liminal spaces of our lives. In the thin places, sacred and profane near. Their energy vibrates, whirls around death and life. Ancient and newly birthed blow…