Stars swirl in a midnight winter sky,
and the forest tiptoes through the darkness,
aware only of itself.
My owl friends have returned.
Their voices give life to this night’s deep darkness,
while in the distance a fox barks back to them in welcome,
his winter loneliness forgiven.
Outcroppings of rock and
Lichen covered pinnacles of grandeur are
God’s favorite places.
Here he lets us see,
Lets us in on the secret of what makes him happy.
His eyes sculpted the mountains with a glance,
His hands scooped the valleys with ease giving light and dark a place to play.
His breath still powers the winds that sail and howl over the cliffs
And stir the hearts of human kind.
The mountains are God’s sacred place and
A place where I go to feel His power,
To be closer to heaven
To touch and feel His love.
He exists forever in the hard landscape of rock and
In the soft soulscape of my heart.
The sound of rain takes me to a place of inner peace as it
Falls in sheets, slides down the roof and over its edge in a curtain of water.
Tree leaves dance with the weight of the rain and
Flowers wash their faces in its freshness.
The sky is lower on rainy days and
Holds me close to the ground.
Forest sounds are muted and muffled and
Light is defused into grayness.
It is not a sad and depressing grayness,
But a soothing and peaceful shade,
Full of the necessity of remembered sorrows and joys.
I love a rainy day that is soft and dark. It begs me to stop, rest, and be mindful of my surroundings and loves.
It reminds me to take the time to be lulled by the patter of rain on the windows
Into a place of inner stillness,
And there remain, content to just be and
Accept what is.
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.
There is a smoothness to the
Texture of ordinary days.
Ease and effort are the same,
Quiet gentleness and holy light.
Each object flowing effortlessly
Into every other object yet each
Remaining what they are .
“Water takes the shape of the vessel that contains it,
Yet has no shape of its own” (Mooji)
What is my place in this quiet?
I am the water outside of the vessel,
The space the wind occupies between the trees,
The pause between the breaths.
I observe he smoothness of ordinary days and
feel the light that exists at the center of the flower.
And know that he and I have become one.
(Poem #3 of the April Poetry Month’s 30 poems in 30 day challenge)
Stunted trees
Bend and cower from the wind.
Its Winter howling is incessant.
Its cold all pervasive.
The mountain side Bearberry brambles
Grip tightly to the glacier scarred rocks for safety as the wind
Flows in rivers of the sky
From the White Mountains to the sea.
It feels its way with outstretched arms
Solid and real, over a
Path that is well worn and familiar into the valleys
And river beds along the way.
The power of the wind pushes the sound of thunder ahead of it
And Carries the storm clouds on its back.
It washes over the landscape
In partnership with the trees.
It is a force that can move them to dance,
Shake them to their roots, and love them with its allover touch.
Mountains and trees diminish the wind.
They sap its strength with their reluctance to let it go.
They want to hold on, to experience its freedom and lightness
They yearn for a chance to throw off their earthly chains and soar above the land.
But in the end, at the last, the sea is the master leaving
The wind no choice but to rush into its out-stretched arms, to be consumed by the waves,
To become one with the spray, white with its foam,
And in the crashing of the wind powered waves on the shore,
Release its energy back into the realm from which it came,
Completely the cycle once again.
A soft whispered kiss
Midnight love is always best
His heart keeps mine close
2/21/17
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.
I don’t remember auditioning for a play,
But here I am.
It’s odd there is no music or
Other players.
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 no script or 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-separate.
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.
Coastal dunes slide and slip into the sea
As the storm rolls on to the north.
Gulls scurry to grab unfortunate crabs washed ashore by the crashing waves.
Seaweed floats and ripples with the waves like grass in the wind and
Salty sea spray coats the disinterested windows of empty houses on the shore.
The tourists have all left for the season
Leaving the ocean and beach to carry on with their lover’s dance
Un-witnessed and unashamed, with freedom and reckless abandon.
Be extraordinary in your ordinariness and
Marvel in the beauty of everyday blessings.
Notice how snow piles up in leeward corners of windows during a storm
And the rings raindrops make in puddles.
Admire the spirit of sunflower seeds sprouting in
October under the bird feeders.
Let the sparkling morning spider webs on
Summer grass fill your eyes with the freshness of love.
Feel the sweetness of warm, wet, baby kisses and
Hear the snap of clean linens on a spring morning clothesline.
Watch and listen for the ordinary ways God speaks to us
A million times a day and see …
Bees dancing on pebbles in the bird bath and
Crisp autumn leaves ringed with October morning frost.
Hear a Wood Thrush’s echoing, haunting song at dusk and
Watch clear glass jars and white porcelain bowls dry on the kitchen counter.
Notice frost fingers splaying across winter windows and
Soak in steaming soup on a cold December day.
Marvel at sun sparkles on freshly fallen snow and
Baby sighs in the night.
Drink in the light in your lover’s eyes and
Savor his sweet kisses at midnight.
Smile at the tea balls ringing like temple bells in the silverware drawer and
A ring of stateless steal measuring spoons in a baby’s fist.
All just ordinary things but extraordinary in their beauty and simplicity,
Just like you and me.
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