Passions

I know that I love what I love.

My passions are many.

The sound of thunder ignites my soul.

The scent of simmering soup warms my heart.

My passion overflows for clear glass bowls and jars,

Shelves full of home-grown goodness,

Baby smiles and sighs,

Forest trees and critters,

Gardens full of life and love,

Friends and family,

Krishna’s promise of another day of light and joy and

My lover’s heartbeat at midnight.

My passions consume my heart and fill my soul and body

Leaving no room for sadness and negative thoughts as

I have no passion left for them.

Between Seasons

The forest is different now,

Everything has changed.

The sky’s blue is colder,

The north wind is stronger, and

The trees’ summer green has faded.

Their leaves, lighter green now, are studded with hints of red and gold, brown and yellow.

My garden plants are lying over

As if to say “enough”.

They are entitled, they have given me all they can.

But nasturtiums, marigolds and impatients are troopers and refuse to let go.

They will stay strong until the frost’s icy fingers drag them down to rejoin the earth and sleep.

Summer’ song birds have long since flown away, and in their absence

All I hear are the crickets and the crows.

Autumn evenings are chilly and quiet, the silence broken by the occasional lonely bark of a fox and the haunting calls of the owls.

Heavy wind chimes hanging in my forest have been silent all summer but

Now sing with the strength of autumn winds while thistle down floats by in layers of life to be.

This season between the seasons is one of slow change but with an inevitable end.

There is no turning back, no chance to stay and nowhere else to go.

But in spite of this certainty, there is no turmoil, no angst or resistance among the trees and flowers for they know

This is how it should be, how it must be,

How it has always been.

One season losing its grip and

Sliding gently into the next.

My Hands

My hands are softer now,

More wrinkled but softer.

The physical strength of youth has faded

But the strength of endurance has remained.

Life is softer now too,

Also more wrinkled but softer.

Youth’s sharp edges have been dulled,

Made safer by times wearing.

Just as water over rocks smooths and polishes them,

My physical shape too changes with time but

My inner song remains the same.

 

God Space

The night sky displays

A sea of stars that shine as

Pinpoints of hope in the darkness.

It is a sweet darkness,

A still darkness in the arms of God.

He holds his creation close to his heart and

Gives it space to grow and spread His promise of love’s light.

The confluence of our channels of prayer and the gathering of oms has the power to

Open the sails of change.

Sails that steer ships with hulls full of enlightened souls

Through the welcoming love of God’s thoughts

Populating the emptiness between the stars

And the heart of the Creator.

It is through us that His word becomes manifest

And His darkness is empty no more.

His Words

Some words are hard.

Their sharp edges slice and leave

Smooth slippery cuts, deep and painful.

Some words are afraid.

They bend and give,

And slide away in the heat of the moment,

Too weak to last and too shy to stay.

Some words are bitter

And stay bitter long after they are spoken.

These bitter ones are hard to accept as they are often spoken in anger.

They are vile and spiteful and

Cling and control and hurt without end.

Some words are strong.

They can be good or bad, right or wrong,

Truth or lies, it doesn’t matter as

Their strength alone makes them believable.

Some words are soft and warm,

They heal and hold, love and give,

And are too often mistaken for weakness.

But the most important words remain silent.

As when speaking the greatest truth, there is no need for words.

No hard or soft ones.

No bitter or strong.

And even the soft and lovely can be left behind.

So leave them all behind and let your soul speak the truth with your actions and heart,

uncluttered by words and their convoluted meanings.

Learn to live in that place where the universal language of love and peace speaks in silence,

The place where we all are one in His light and love,

Where sorrow is left behind, words of humankind have no power or meaning and

Love is all there is.

Words are way overrated.

9/2/18   Happy Birthday Lord Krishna, Hari Om

 

 

Good Enough

I can’t get to it all,

But its good enough.

I can accept that now.

The urgency for more is gone.

My time is well spent, and it is enough.

Less means more.

More time for each one,

Each bean, each tomato, each seed.

The rows welcome me to the garden

Each day filled with goodness and grace.

Jars, 6 at a time with more tomorrow, gleam on the kitchen counter.

I savor the moments of steaming pots and boiling beets.

Summer heart shared with fogged windows and pinging jar seals.

It is more than good enough.

Summer Sweet

Mist clings to the clover

And rolls as breath among the gardens.

On sultry summer mornings,

The air is perfumed with the essence of savory herbs and

Delights the senses of the trees.

Heavy air holds the flavor of flowers and

Slips in silence over webs woven between blades of grass in midnight’s darkness.

Hay fields stir, awakened by the morning’s sun warmed breezes and

Another summer day begins.

August

August, a month of

Heavy air, morning mists and summer’s last hurrah.

Its sultry nights are drenched in humid air and thunder

With light shows between the clouds at midnight and

Rain hissing in the dark on the forest green.

Late summer dawns are still and thick and hang over

Flowers spent and gardens full.

In late August the earth speaks to me in fruits and vegetables,

Hay fields and corn rows, empty fields and full root cellars,

Reminding me that Summer’s end is near.