Posted in Uncategorized, tagged light, poem, poetry, prayer on January 7, 2019| Leave a Comment »
The more light you allow within you, the brighter the world you live in will be.
—Shakti Gawain
So I invite lanterns,
candles, torches, tapers,
street lights, spotlights,
glow worms, lasers,
wood matches, lighters
and one small prayer,
and at last I notice
it’s brighter around here.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged breaking open, Joanna Macy, poem, poetry, prayer, star on December 4, 2018| 7 Comments »
The heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe.
—Joanna Macy
Give me a heart that breaks—
ears willing to hear the difficult news
and legs that do not choose to run from it.
Yes, give me a heart big enough
to accommodate a wrestling match inside,
a mind that knows no one wins a war,
hands that move to help no matter
what the mind might say.
Give me a heart that opens
long after it thinks it’s already open,
and lips that know when to listen.
Give me a heart that knows itself
as other hearts. Give me feet
that will stand when someone must stand
for justice. And a spine flexible enough
to turn and see all sides. Snow falls
on all my thoughts. It sometimes
takes a long time to melt, a long time
before I remember again to pray
to be open, to pray for a heart that breaks,
to notice the stars shining from the inside.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged larkspur, poem, poetry, prayer on July 10, 2018| Leave a Comment »
just outside my window
larkspur erupts
into generous blue—
in me blossoms
an old prayer
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, poem, poetry, prayer, snow angels on February 15, 2018| 1 Comment »
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, prayer, walking on August 27, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Before you slog the next mile,
God sits beside you
and rubs your feet and ankles,
tells you jokes,
and spills his heart to you—
the next day,
still exhausted,
you find yourself laughing
grateful to have feet.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, prayer, silence on April 26, 2016| 1 Comment »
in the beginning
before the word
the silence
*
walking the other
direction it’s so obvious,
that waterfall we missed
*
in my pocket
this laughter—all day
I pat it to check if it’s still there
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, prayer, showing up on December 29, 2015| 1 Comment »
Before I pray
I do not wash
my hands—
not out of disrespect
but because
I do not
want to pretend
to be any cleaner
than I really am,
this filth,
this patina of depravity,
this is part
of why
I have come
to pray—
if I waited
to wash the stains
from my skin,
my lips, my sleeves,
I might
never pray
at all.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged lost, poem, prayer on December 20, 2015| 1 Comment »
When we know
we are lost
it seems
so obvious
to stop,
pay closer attention,
ask for help.
May we always
see
how
we
are
lost.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged garden, poem, poetry, prayer on November 6, 2015| 2 Comments »
One by one,
I rip the roots
from dirt and shake
them clean.
Stalk by stalk,
I clear the garden
walk of all
the brittle stems.
And who might come
to pull from me
whatever’s brown
and dead?
My own hands
always find
another task
another garden.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged door, open, poem, poetry, prayer, surrender on October 1, 2014| 2 Comments »
If I prayed, which I don’t,
then we could say that I asked
god to open every door that I
had shut, every door I did not
know was there.
Why I asked this, well,
this will make sense to you
or it won’t, but every closed
door I was aware of
had became a point of suffering.
And with every open door,
I could feel congruence,
the world rushing in to create
more space in me.
And god said to me, though
we could not say that it was a voice,
god said, Open even the door with people jeering
on the other side, their faces twisted
in hate? Even the door to an entire
forest of sorrow? And because
this conversation was not really
happening, we could not say that
I said yes to the questions, but
we could say, perhaps, that
the yes began to root in me
and it was not so much a matter
of someone opening the doors
but that the doors more or less
dissolved. And what I had thought
could separate me from anything else
was shown to be nothing at all.
I would like to tell you that I felt grace
in the opening, but the truth
is I felt such terrible ache.
And god did not come put a hand
on my cheek and tell me
everything would be okay.
In fact, if anything, the voice
I did not hear told me
there are no promises.
But I felt it, the invitation
to keep opening doors,
to not close my eyes,
to not turn away.
And though I do not pray,
I said thank you, thank you.
