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Posts Tagged ‘communion’

Join Me?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on October 16, 2020| Leave a Comment »

all day I spike my tea

with sky—

is it any wonder

by night I’m singing

love songs

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Less

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , 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.

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One Unbaptized

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on October 19, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

filled with golden leaves,

the pond, and shimmering with sky

and me, too dry, too dry

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One Communion

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on July 13, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

sitting in darkness—

how easily I forget

we are separate

 

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Translation

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , 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.

 

 

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Aspirations

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , 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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Awake at Midnight

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , 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.

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One at the Confluence

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on November 16, 2018| 2 Comments »

for Amy and Devin

 

 

two rivers

become one water—

sound of ten thousands hands clapping

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Attending the Workshop on Implicit Bias

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , 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.

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Walking Alone at Midnight

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , 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.

 

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