And if it’s true we are alone,
we are alone together,
the way blades of grass
are alone, but exist as a field.
Sometimes I feel it,
the green fuse that ignites us,
the wild thrum that unites us,
an inner hum that reminds us
of our shared humanity.
Just as thirty-five trillion
red blood cells join in one body
to become one blood.
Just as one hundred thirty-six thousand
notes make up one symphony.
Alone as we are, our small voices
weave into the one big conversation.
Our actions are essential
to the one infinite story of what it is
to be alive. When we feel alone,
we belong to the grand communion
of those who sometimes feel alone—
we are the dust, the dust that hopes,
a rising of dust, a pitch of dust
the dust that dances in the light
with all other dust, the dust
that makes the world.
Posts Tagged ‘communion’
Belonging
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged belonging, communion, connection on June 11, 2021| 12 Comments »
For Brahms on His Birthday
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Brahms, communion, connection, darkness, music on May 8, 2021| 2 Comments »
For your birthday, Johannes,
I listened to your first piano concerto,
my heart trembling like a tuning fork
as the ivory keys and nylon strings
conversed about tenebrous grief and loss.
No one hissed in the audience
the way they did when your concerto
debuted. In fact, in my kitchen,
I sighed. I gasped. I thanked you
for the turbulence. What a gift when our sorrow
meets a sister sorrow so beautiful
we forget our own story, our own name,
and we tender what’s left
of our aching hearts to the blooming dark
that even now opens around us, inside us.
Hearing Aid
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged body, communion, ear, hearing, heart, love on March 15, 2021| 4 Comments »
I slipped my ear
into your pocket
close to your heart.
It wanted to be near
the steady thump
of those chambers,
a rhythm more reassuring
than any lullaby.
My ear likes it there
against your chest,
likes the warm hum
of your voice floating
over it, your words
indistinct through the cloth.
Forgive this eavesdropping
on the pulse of you,
but it is the only news
that interests my ear today
while the rest of me
works far away.
Yes, the only thing
my ear wants to hear
is the red song of you
like a faithful drum beating
here, here, here.
We Are All God’s Poems
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ars poetica, communion, god on March 7, 2021| 2 Comments »
I want to read the poem of you—
want to hold in my breath
your intimate rhythms
want to translate in my lungs
the silences between your stanzas,
want to feel in my heart
the sharp tug of your turns,
the communion of your inner rhymes.
I want to follow
the ever-emerging form of you,
want to know which words
are appearing even now
in the divine cursive
that writes us all,
want to wander in your ambiguities,
wonder about your secrets,
marvel at your beauty,
be wrestled by your oppositions.
I want to recite your lines
again and again and again
so your stories
are the allusions that inspire
the emerging poem of me.
This is the poem in which I admit
every poem has the potential
to break open the heart—
imagine the size of the book.
This is the poem in which I remember
the heart was made to break open.
Star of Wonder
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged astronomy, communion, connection, planet, star, unity on December 23, 2020| 3 Comments »
I don’t want us to be
like Jupiter and Saturn,
slowly moving toward each other
only to find ourselves
slowly moving further away.
When we conjoin,
let it be that we find
our paths not crossing
but merging, moving
us forever in the same direction,
our light uniting so brightly
others might imagine
it signifies a miracle—
and they will, of course,
be right.
Winter Evening
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, friendship, grace, laughter, memory on November 21, 2020| 4 Comments »
Though I sit alone
on my couch at home,
I’m somehow also sitting
with Rachel and Julie
and it’s summer and
we’re laughing, laughing
until we tumble
into each other’s laps,
laughing as we collapse
into a puppy pile of giggles,
laughing because it feels
so good to laugh—
even now I laugh aloud
with no memory of why
we were laughing then,
but many years later,
it’s still contagious.
Sometimes we tumble
so wholly into the grace
of a moment
that it opens in us forever,
continuously blooms
and spreads its perfume
like night-blooming jasmine,
christens everything
with its fragrance,
even this empty room,
even this tired woman
now so surprisingly awake.
Join Me?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, love, sky, tea on October 16, 2020| Leave a Comment »
Less
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, nakedness, self on February 25, 2020| 6 Comments »
Today I can see how I wear it
like a velvet dress, the dream
of wanting to be somebody.
It’s so easy to forget I am wearing it.
Because it is lovely. Because
it feels good. But life
hands me a hanger and asks me
to take off the dress
and move naked today
through my inner rooms.
It’s not as if anyone else can see,
but I notice, as I must,
how much easier it is now to know
the self as sunrise, as apple seed,
as cinnamon, as you.
One Unbaptized
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, baptism, communion, poem, poetry, pond on October 19, 2019| Leave a Comment »
filled with golden leaves,
the pond, and shimmering with sky
and me, too dry, too dry
One Communion
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, darkness, poem, poetry on July 13, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Translation
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communication, communion, gratitude, poem, poetry, translation on May 19, 2019| 3 Comments »
Once I would say “table,” and mean
“table.” Once, I would say
“broccoli” and mean “broccoli.”
I would say “stone” and mean
“stone.” I really did believe
that things were separate.
And nameable. Now,
every word that comes
out of my mouth, no matter
how many syllables, no matter
the tone of voice, no matter
my intention, I’ve come to understand
that every word
is really just a translation
for thank you,
thank you for this moment.
And every silence between the words,
regardless how brief,
is really just the sound
of one hand in gratitude clapping.
Aspirations
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, dissolution of the separate self, love, poem, poetry on February 24, 2019| 7 Comments »
I wanted my love to avalanche,
and love said to me, be flake of snow,
I wanted my love to be tsunami,
and love said, be water in my glass.
Be crumb of bread, be scrap of cloth,
be ray instead of sun.
I wanted to be enormous.
Love said to me, be one.
Awake at Midnight
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, moon, poem, poetry, shoveling, snow, winter on February 20, 2019| Leave a Comment »
The snow was light and the moon was near full,
and the shovels skated across the drive.
The rest of the world was asleep
except for the shoveler and her shovels and the moon.
The snow was light and her thoughts were quiet,
quiet like leafless cottonwood trees
with branches that tangled with the forward moon.
There are nights when though we are alone
we are not alone,
nights when the darkness doesn’t seem so dark,
nights when our work feels not like work
and we step out of our homes, then out of ourselves,
and we are somehow unsurprised
by the way everything shines.
One at the Confluence
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, marriage, poem, poetry, rivers, union on November 16, 2018| 2 Comments »
for Amy and Devin
two rivers
become one water—
sound of ten thousands hands clapping
Attending the Workshop on Implicit Bias
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bias, communion, poem, poetry, unity on October 29, 2018| Leave a Comment »
It’s hardwired, says the instructor,
explaining that all of us tend to identify
more with people who are more like us.
It’s a survival tool from ancient times,
she says, to put people like us in an in group,
and to label the others other.
I take notes. Raise my hand. Participate.
Do exercises that show that although
I say I have no preferences, my limbic brain
has its own opinion. And so
I dedicate myself to finding
the ways we are all alike, uncovering
the ways we all mirror each other—
vulnerable, strong, curious, cautious,
I pledge myself to our common humanity,
to notice my bias and question it.
It’s a survival tool for the present time,
I tell myself. Every one of us, a sliver
of divinity.
Walking Alone at Midnight
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alone, communion, night, poem, poetry, rabbit brush on October 24, 2018| 2 Comments »
The moon was hidden and the scent
of rabbit brush was thick, so thick
a woman could be hypnotized by it—
it seemed to come from everywhere,
the garbled light, the sage-sharp scent,
the sound of every step she took, and
every step she took felt like
a baptism, though into what, she could
not say—herself, perhaps, but more
the world, and yes, it was
the kind of tenderness
one only meets when we’re
alone and somehow lost
inside the night, amazed that it
can be so warm, so gentle,
shocked that we can be so slight
we almost, almost disappear—
but ah, the sound of every step she took
reminded her that she was here—
and sage-sharp scent of rabbit brush
caressed her every everywhere,
and led her deeper into night,
soft sound of footsteps, garbled light,
the snarl of squirrel nests in the trees
made visible through silhouette,
and every every step she took felt
like a baptism, like a rite
though rite of what, she could not say,
the moonlight gave itself away
the rabbit brush said here, here, here.
Dear __________,
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, conspiracy, joy, peace, poem, poetry, unity on October 18, 2018| 4 Comments »
You are warmly invited to join our conspiracy of joy,
a growing cabal of strangers and friends who collude
to create delight, who initiate random acts of bliss, who
scheme of ways to help all others find authentic jubilance,
who tear down walls that would separate us and them.
If you enjoy such subterfuge, there certainly is room
for you. To be clear, you may be charged with pleasure,
ecstasy, and truth. Next meeting, now. And now. And now
The Field Was High and the Sun Was Low
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, dark, light, poem, poetry, wallace stevens on August 30, 2018| 5 Comments »
after The House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm by Wallace Stevens
The field was high and the sun was low
and the woman became the light; and the evening
slowed its pace perhaps to let the light remain.
The field was high and the sun was low.
She moved as though there were no night
worth fearing, as if the field could hold it all.
She leaned into the goldening, the way
the light itself leans softly on the world.
The night, a gentle friend, meandered quietly
across the land. There were no words
that could be said. The field was high
and the sun was lower. Slowly, hushed,
the wind a sigh, the field surrendered
all its lines. The darkness gathered
everything, the field, the woman, even
light, and made itself an offering.
Walking Before The Midnight
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, darkness, poem, poetry, question on July 21, 2018| Leave a Comment »
in the dark
you lose track
of any lines
that say
you are here—
and the night
holds you
like a lover
with hands
somehow
everywhere,
and the stars
keep thousands
of secrets
and sometimes
they spill,
and if you have
a question,
it comes to meet you
whether or not
you’ve dared
to ask it.
Anywhere at All
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, poem, poetry, silence on May 1, 2018| 1 Comment »
I find the silence
between your words
and set a cushion there
and close my eyes
and find stillness in that quiet
place in you
that speaks to that quiet
place in me.
Within a single conversation
we’ve shared communion
a thousand times—
is it any wonder we cry
when we say goodbye?