I deal in words.
Words are cheap.
Saying things doesn’t make them real.
Words can mislead, lie, and twist the truth.
Words were never meant to be taken literally.
Category: light
Take Care
There is peace in my body,
Light in my eyes,
Love in my heart, and
You in my soul.
I am an interesting mixture of
Timelessness and words.
Hold me close and I will enlighten you,
Love me deeply and I will give you heaven,
Hurt me and your thoughts of me will stain your soul
Forever, so, take care and
Be mindful of how you hold me.
Winter Loneliness
Stars swirl in a midnight sky as
The forest tiptoes through darkness,
Aware only of itself.
The owls have returned.
Their voices in chorus give life to the darkness.
A fox barks back to them in welcome,
His winter loneliness forgotten.
(4/7/16)
Silent April Snow
The early spring silent snow
Fits my mood.
It is a white dusting of truth
Accentuating every little branch and twig,
Making every little lie all the more obvious.
The silence into which the April snow is falling
Seeps through my eyes and into my heart
As if to smother and quiet its
Telltale beats.
It comes as blessing and a curse by
Prolonging the inevitable with maybe that one last chance.
But I know the sun will come out and
It will all be just a memory …
Once again.
Easter’s Promise
Snow flattened grass
Reawakens in the spring sun.
Snow banks dwindle and melt
Like arctic glaciers.
Crocuses brave the still icy winds to prove their faith in spring.
Still leafless branches sway and clack together in spring’s winds
While sap flows up from their feet and warms them from within.
Objects left outside since late October emerge from the snow, preserved as if having been in an altered state of timelessness.
Time stood still under the snow while the world and sky above
Flowed seamlessly from one season to the next, one viscous winter storm passing silently on to another.
Lawn chairs I last used in November have returned, appearing as if just back from vacation.
The chairs stand in a circle around an old, rusted fire pit with welcoming extended arms and empty seats. So I join them once again as a new season of light and promise begins, today,
Easter Sunday.
Easter is a day of great joy and hope to millions all around the world.
A day to celebrate the defeat of death and the promise of eternal life but
I see evidence of His promise every day, in early spring tree buds, in the yellowing of willows at the end of winter, in the greening of the meadow grasses and the songs of the returning summer birds.
Spring springs eternal in Gods promise to all beings, not just the human ones and not only through stories in a nice book written so very long ago …
So take a moment each day to stop and look outside and see that
Easter’s promise is everywhere, not just today but every day, in every being and
Every season.
A Play of Stillness (2/24/17)
I sit on the stage.
Darkness surrounds me.
The audience, if there is one,
Is silent.
There are no props on the stage
Only layers of black curtains.
Although I don’t remember auditioning for a play,
Here I am.
It’s odd that there is no music or
Other players.
So I sit in my darkness for what seems like forever
But there is still no sound, no movement, no life.
Just stillness and a mild sense of confusion.
I feel the space in front of me more than see it.
I sense it is there, curtains in a circular shape
A boundary perhaps but between what and where?
The other side is unknown and unknowable
Until the show begins.
But will it begin? Still there is no script or other players,
No music or lights.
I run my hand through my hair to prove to myself that
I am still real in this sensory deprived place.
But what is real about an empty stage, a wordless play,
A playerless story?
I begin to realize that
None of those things matter.
All is stillness and non-duality.
The “show” never begins and never ends.
The circular curtain and empty stage contain eternity
And this space is an empty place within me.
There will be no play, no script,
No lights, no audience.
This story is mine, the darkness my stillness,
The only witness, me.
Just me as part of the universal consciousness
Acting out a play of well-rehearsed lines without ever saying a word.
Each player a part of the whole
Never separate from the others.
All joined in the cosmic drama
Of existence.
The curtain rises on one story, one actor, one consciousness
In an act that never ends.
The Stones Will Remember (March, 2017)
| Evening shadows shift
Through broken windows.
Chimney bricks slide down the roof Puddleing under the lilac bush.
Weeds spread into the driveway Reclaiming it for themselves.
When was this house built? Was it ever new?
The yard and doorframes bear witness To the families who grew here.
Long forgotten toys and broken swings Hide beneath the matted field grass.
A broken clothesline flaps in the gray autumn breeze and Sprung clothespins mold and rot into the ground beneath the broken posts.
Feral cats are now the only life that calls this old farm home, But birdsong still fills the rafters of the barn.
The barn that once held livestock Sits shifted on its foundation,
Listing and leaning to the south, Away from winter’s fierce winds.
The stately oak gracing the front yard is rotten and broken, Its fingers through the house roof.
Where did they go, the people Who called this place home?
When the last one left, Why didn’t they clean out the house?
Why not take the toys? Close the windows? Lock the doors?
Did they not know they were Never coming back?
The windmill out back has long ago Crashed into the apple orchard,
Breaking in to pieces as it fell and crushing the trees it had stood watch over all these years.
But in man’s absence The apple trees continue to produce.
The lilac bushes flower every spring in spite of Not being “cared for” in over 40 years.
The forest is slowing creeping back in to fill the void Left when the field was abandoned.
All that remains of the people who once called this spot of land home Is the family graveyard,
Where stones are carved with love and care, Preserving for all time the names and dates of those whose lives began and ended here.
But the lilacs don’t care about being preserved, The Oak is beyond pride and the buildings are slowly returning to the soil,
Just like the bodies beneath the stones. Another 40 years and the stones will be all that remains.
They will be all that is left to tell the story Of a time gone by.
The story of a house built to last a lifetime, a barn crafted with pride, The story of generations of a family who lived, worked and died on this land.
A story only the stones will remember. |
Of Love and Light
Nostalgia weighs heavy on my heart tonight,
And I long for what could have been.
But then I remember why it wasn’t but what makes me the most sad is that I also remember
That it almost was.
So wanting and loving, I sit alone in this night of late winter cold as the music of piano and cello drifts through my head.
The sound of the cello speaks to my soul and caresses my heart.
In the melody, I hear two hands playing together in perfect union and feel that
I am as one of those hands, looking for the familiar accompaniment of the other.
And so in the depths of this late winter evening I am lost in
Remembering what never was, feeling what didn’t exist,
Loving what could have been
In this time of warm darkness, candle light and winter solitude.
Now there exists only a memory of he and I, together yet alone,
Forever wrapped in the spirit of love and light.
Wisdom at Midnight
Last night, at midnight, an Owl spoke in the forest,
And I understood.
Listening I realized how a perpetual misunderstanding was coloring my thoughts,
But not the owl’s as her knowledge is deep and colored by nothing but the truth.
As I lay alone in my bed, I felt the darkness soothe the forest’s heart and hoped, but
It could not touch my disturbed soul.
I couldn’t see, I didn’t know what was next,
I felt suffocated by the inky blackness while
The forest mother was at peace and
Sighed in contentment.
My only peace now will come from learning from her.
To accept her invitation to surrender my will and lay down in her gentle softness,
To use a layer of her leaves as my bed while
Her twinkly night sky becomes my pillow.
I will trust her to protect me, to hold me close and
Put me to sleep with her lullaby of star-shine.
I know its the only way as Her wisdom is deeper than mine, dependable,
Greater than me, and more than just a beacon in this perpetual darkness.
Tell me, did you hear the owl’s wisdom at midnight too?
From The Inside Out
When I take the time to look inside, instead of outside,
I find miraculous things. Things I never have seen before,
Feelings I never have noticed and rules I never have followed.
Oftentimes they are the feelings and rules I have imposed on others but never followed myself.
Others whom I say I know well and in my arrogance convince myself that I know how they think,
And feel but in reality, my assumptions are baseless and I realize
That it is only me who I can ever know…
But only from the inside out.
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