papa,
what color is the
sky at night
and how far is
it
between the raindrops?
where is tomorrow and
how many hours are there
in eternity?
why do birds fly and
who taught the
whales to
swim....
papa,
your hand is strong,
your
heart is big,
and sometimes,
you are silent...
i love this about you...
you are the place
where I can bring
my questions
and
you
have the courage
to be patient
to walk beside me
and listen
while I
wander, explore,
discover...
to help me
wait for
the
answers
from
within...
photo is of my brother-in-law and nephew, Seth and Wyeth Talmon
<
"time waits
for no one..."
they say
then her name
must be Thyme,
i think,
as she plunges
headfirst into
each
moment of
her life...
first to rise in the morning --
leaving the night
behind her, she quickly
discards the "what was" amongst the
rumpled quilts and
warm sheets
of her
night adventuring
through the
hills and valleys of
dreams she
wakes from happy
and
eager to extend
into her day
she is
first to dive
headlong into whatever
she has
never done before
and
relishes every
new experience as if she
were
Hillary at the
summit
staking her claim
on the
top of the world
she is
a filly in the pasture,
a trill of
laughter echoing through
the valley,
a racehorse at the gate,
a poppy
leaning into the
sun...
a child, a girl
a woman
a sprite...
she is
Life....
lived as Love...
she is
light dancing on
water,
the wind through the
willows,
a hummingbird
darting among the aspen
leaves on
a clear Colorado
morning,
never looking behind
her,
always
moving
just
because
she is....
Spirit's
daughter...
"rapture: [from medeival Latin: raptura
meaning: to seize and carry off]
(noun) a feeling of intense pleasure or joy;
(verb) to transport from earth to heaven
at the coming of Christ;
to be raised or lifted out of oneself
by divine power."
i have known
rapture
it comes in the
silent hunger of a
heart that
yearns to know and
be known
there is a moment,
a coincidence,
where we finally surrender to grace,
and are caught up,
carried into the weightless,
burdenless,
space of spiritual trust...
when knowing the answer
is less important
than feeling like a child
in the arms of a
Parent who
knows All...
and
it is enough.
it is peace,
but more...
it is bliss,
but without reason...
it is poised
ecstacy...calm and
consistent...
it is flight but
without the beating of
wings...
the rising...
and still rising,
unhurried on
the thermals
of the unseen...
it is light holding hands with
the darkness and together
watching the changing faces of
the moon like
sisters
who know,
that
in the presence of
one,
the other
is
a miracle,
a divine surprise,
a moment
of
pure
rapture...
"our lips
must only blessings know..."
- Mary Livermore
what will you
let pass
through this sacred
door when
the words..or actions... of others
feel like a dagger in your heart
and emotions run
high and the self is torn,
ragged with
hurt
do you allow anything that
is said to you,
or about you,
incite your anger,
give you permission
to leave your post...to let
an unkindness
pass your lips,
cynicism slip across the threshhold of
your consciousness,
gossip cross your tongue,
criticism seep through your words,
sarcasm drip like a slow
poison over your
heart....
imagine a small child
sitting at the
doorway of your lips...
would what you say
make her smile with delight
feel appreciated,
nurtured,
adored,
blessed....
this child is
you
and she deserves the
very purest,
clearest,
most
sweetly perfumed
atmosphere
for growing in...
let your lips
only
know blessing
and
the child you are
will
smile with
pleasure,
twirl with delight,
live in
peace...
he stands besides
his oldest friend
wondering
how did we get
here...
only yesterday she was
his sister's pal, the
girl with the
locker across the hall,
someone he could talk to
when it was
important,
laugh with when
no one else
thought it was
funny...
this place,
this day....flowers,
music,
vows and blessings...
these were the things
of movies and
other people's lives
these were not the
dreams of a boy who
slept with his
baseball glove...
or at least they weren't
until
her face
came into focus and
suddenly he
saw his future in
her smile
his heart is racing
towards
where she stands bathed in
lace and
light....
each step closer to
a dream he never imagined
and a
place within her
heart...
his hopes have
somehow become
hers,
his desires no longer
his...but
theirs...
then she is there
her hand
in his...the words
"i do"
are sweeter
than honey in his
mouth...
and when she
repeats them through
whispered tears
he knows
that
they've only
just begun
what
started before
he
even
knew it
a promise
fulfilled, a
dream come true...
in the
breath of
a
first
kiss as
his
wife
"and he was
moved with compassion
towards them..."
- Matthew
compassion
is not a choice
it is not a honed skill or
an educational
outcome
it is not something
known by few, and practiced
by fewer
it is not a gift,
a special calling or
unique to any one person,
sect, faith, or
theology,
age,
race,
society...
compassion is
as universally inherent,
as impartially natural, as
a flower's turning towards the
light,
the roots of a tree seeking
water...
it is the gravitational
pull of
the heart
it is as native to
man
as an infant searching
for the face of
Love...
it comes unbidden
and it
moves us...
it is
useless to
resist its imperative,
its impulsion...
let go,
and watch yourself
be
moved,
danced,
oh so gracefully,
joyfully,
effortlessly
towards one another
with compassion....
and you will
know
what it
feels like to be
alive to
your
purpose...
a universal
purpose...
compassion
mornings seem
different here,
in this place where
even the
eartth rises up to
touch the
sun
in a swell of
rock and
prairie grass
snow fields and finally
a summit of
yes,
here....touch my
face,
my open ranges,
my
shadowed,
tender valleys
with your
warmth...
birds do
not
greet the dawn
tentatively
here...
it is as if they
are sitting
all night
warming up,
waiting
to
burst into
song at
the first hint of
blue light in
the East
a
chorus of
alleluias
to
celebrate
what never becomes
old here...
another
glorious
mountain
morning
alleluia...
i love you
i love you beyond all that
gives me reason,
beyond all the deserving...
i love you
over and above
all that
makes sense,
and still i love
you
more....
i love you,
but not because...
there is no because...
there
is
no
this is why,
or
of course, don't you see...
i just love you, and
it catches me by surprise
as much
as anything I have
ever known
or felt
or never imagined....
have you ever come
upon a scene
so lovely,
so full of wonder,
that it
stops you in your
tracks and
you are barely able to
breathe
for fear that it will break
the spell,
the winged doves will scatter,
and
the sky itself will fleck
and disolve into
a canvas without color or
cloud...something
gray and
textureless...
but it
will not...
each moment
of it's shifting beauty
is a miracle
unmeasured.
a sweet. sacred
opening in the
crack between heaven and
earth...
that is how is how it
feels to love you...
that is how I know
it is love
it is
without
reason,
without the need for reciprocity,
without response or desire
i just love you,
but not "because"
it is as
unbidden as
breathing or the
heart's
pulsing
rhythm
loving you is like
holding my
breath
while watching
the
sky open wide to reveal a
slice of heaven
so lovely
i am rendered
speechless
that is how
loving every
single
one of
you
makes
me
feel....
tacking farther
out of reach,
beyond the harbor's
view...
she is not afraid...
she has a compass,
the sun,
stars, and
she has
that line where
sky and sea meet in
a sliver of
pink light at dawn
she waves
goodbye,
as the tendrils of yesterday
unfurl their grasp
along
the
immovable moorings
of an old self-certainty --
barnacle covered
pilings that stand like
tired
sentinels of
all those onece-upon-a-time
plans for
neverland dreams...
breaking free
from the tentative hold of
what's famliar,
she launches out upon
a sea of
questions...
listening,
always listening
for the next
breeze to catch,
a correction in longitude,
a degree to the north,
the next horizon to
steer towards.,
a star that shifts her course,
a point on the
compass to reach for...
the call of
Love's adventure
to be...
sailing away from
all that
seemed so
set-in-stone,
and
into the sweet
unknowing....
and yes,
if there be
dragons....
she will sing to them of
cousins
who frolic in the ocean
mist, and of a boy
named
Jackie Paper...who
loved them...
she will
feed them
on a
endless
trail of
luminous
hope...
and plot her
course
one
shooting star
at a
time
i tell myself a story
of "why," and
then believe that
it is the reason I cannot
live my dreams
my hopes,
my "yes, I cans....
as if I were a
gullible,
silly
someone who
couldn't ask
myself
that most important question:
"is this really true"
but this story
I tell myself
of
why I cannot be all that
I have dreams of
being...
is not true
it is not even mine,
it is not the truth of who
i am, or what has
contributed to where
I have landed,
or what I might become...
it is just a story,
a fairy tale,
a myth...
and
if the first chapter
doesn't start with:
"In the beginning God..."
it is not my Truth,
it is not what defines my
past,
my present,
or my future....
it is fiction...
plain and simple
it is fiction
it is not my biography
it is not my true life story
it is make believe,
a fabrication,
a lie...
my only truth is based
on the Truth
the Truth
about my relationship
with God
this
is
all
that
defines
me
period
sure,
i can lie here in the dark
and weave a story
full of intersting details,
wide-ranging plot lines,
beautiful settings,
fascinating characters,
chapters that build towards a
climatic revelation,
and strive
to connect all the dots
but it's still just a
story
or:
I can rest upon
the Truth,
the one and only Truth,
that God is the one and only Author,
Cause and
Creator,
of my true story.
I can rest on the fact
that,
as Mind,
He thinks me
fresh and new
every moment,
my only story
is the one
that He is writing,
moment-by-moment...
It might not read well,
it might seem boring or have
an under-developed plot
it may seem messy
and tangential
but
it is the only one I
want to live in
anymore.
the rest is fiction...
and I don't have time
for fiction
I don't
have time for sitting
in a darkened room watching
what is only imagined,
when
Life is
unfolding
its beauty in every
direction --
right
in front of me.
Life is
alive,
real...sometimes
a bit smudged and
disheveled,
but true
a story
that unfolds,
according to
His
will...
my only truth
the only story
of who I
am, and
the Source of
my
desires,
my purpose,
my promise...
His will.
one duffle bag,
footlocker,
suitcase,
steamer trunk...
hmmm...
so what do I fill
it with...
do I spend my days
before
leaving...
shopping and sorting,
mending and
choosing?
what to bring
what to leave behind,
and how much of each...
it says three shirts
and a fleece...
but do I take the green with the
periwinkle trim,
or the more practical black
that never shows
dirt...hmmm...
stop...
all these things will
fall into your duffle
bag in
less time
than it takes to
make the list
but what of your heart...
what are you going to pack
in your heart
will it be stuffed with carefully
folded hours of
regret, interwoven with the
fragile dark threads of
self...
will you slip in a small
portion of the
ego's
favorite perfumes...
sarcasm,
gossip,
a sharp wit,
memories of a better year,
the "right" clothes,
the coolest friends,
places seen,
a hierarchy of
accomplishments to
line up on your
shelf or
parade at mealtimes?
are you going to bring along
your "what ifs" and
"it coulda beens..."
those wandering wonderings about
the
plans that
didn't quite come into focus
don't just leave them behind...
burn them....
yup,
burn them...
don't reduce them to a more manageable,
handle-able,
hideable size,
don't reuse them,
don't recycle them for another summer
when you might just need
something to put in your duffle
something to keep you looking
backwards in
regret...
so that you miss
out on the
beauty
before your eyes
His gift
of
Now...
burn them in the
holy fire of
your desire to live
this moment
with
Him...
okay,
now that you've emptied your
luggage,
let's start fresh...
humility...
lay a foundation of
humble,
grace-filled knowing
that God
has sent you to camp for
a holy purpose...
you have not
earned it,
you are not
lucky or more experienced,
you are not the coolest,
or the best...
you are
just the one that God has
chosen for this post...today...
you have much to learn
and this is your
classroom
use it well....
Love,
bring it,
fill it up...if you have nothing
left for shoes or
gear...you will still be the most
well-supplied you've
ever been...
Love will bring an axehead from
the bottom of a lake,
it will cover you in It's feathers during a
storm,
Love will
wrap you in warmth,
feed you on the bread of heaven...
inspire you with
an air so rarefied and clear that you
will breathe without
effort...
Love will take your hand and
lead you along the paths
of righteousness
and safely guide you home,
it will wake you every
morning with a desire to serve,
to bless,
It will
keep you in the company of angels,
burst you forth as a shower of
joy, and
comfort you in the tabernacle of
its peace...
yes,
pack love...lots and lots of
love...
Every corner,
every nook and cranny,
every side pocket
and crease
fill it with
Love's provision of
love...
and you will
have,
indeed,
packed
well...
very, very
well...
and what of the wind
when she
weaves her fingers through the
branches of the aspen
and
lifts the swallows
high above
the
chapel's eaves...
is she the grand choreographer...the
gentle
school marm shepherding her
little ones
here and there
like scampering
leaves on a brisk autumn day
and what of the wind
when the
face of water ripples with
laughlines and
giggles from the pleasure of her
touch...so delicate that
she shivers
with delight and
once again we know
the wind
was there...like the breath of one
beloved on the back
of her neck
and what of the wind
whose
brush against
your heart
lifts you into service
carries you along the path of
courage,
allows you to soar on the thermals of
affection...
then...
what of the wind...
and her
sister...
Love
referenced in this post: from the "Glossary" of Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures by Mary Baker Eddy:
WIND. That which indicates the might of omnipotence and the movements of God's spiritual governance, encompassing all things...."
The Greek word for wind (pneuma) is used also for sprit..."
"the verb, "to adopt" in Hindi means, literally,
to take into one's lap...in fact, God's lap.
The symbolism of nurturing protection
and promise is so powerful.
I love that Hindi is such a deep and meaningful language."
- Ian Forber Pratt
yes,
this makes sense
from this most ancient
language comes the key
to more
modern passages of
spiritual wisdom...
"Having been predestinated
to the adoption of children..."
yes,
this makes sense now...
we are all adopted,
there is no other
Truth
God is the only real parent...
the only Father
or Mother
of anyone....
and as we sit deep in His lap,
sisters and brothers
of one
divine Parent
we reach towards one
another in a spirit of
adoption...
we share this broad, warm
expanse of
His lap,
Her bosom,
and realize that we are
all predestinated
to adoption...
I adopt you as my husband,
you adopt me as your friend,
we adopt a community, a neighborhood,
a youth center,
a puppy....
adoption is our natural state
of living,
if we are living
in the lap of God...
adoption is the verb behind
"our Father..."
since "our"
means we never do it
alone...
ahhh....to share this
lap...to pull
one another into
our own lap, within
His lap....
such a cozy space
filled
with infinite
promise....and possibilities
for
blessing...
it's as
real as it gets...
there is no hierarchy of
connection,
nothing more "natural"
than sharing
a one, and only divine
Parent...
biology is just a story
we've created to
justify
what we think
we've seen....
it's a lovely story...
but it's just
a story...
"never born, and
never dying..."
thank you
Ian...
*the Scriptural writings of Paul, and the writings of Mary Baker Eddy, were referenced in this poem.
so,
what does the sun
feel like to
the small something that
emerges
ever so gently
is it white with
pure promise,
golden with value,
brillant as a diamond...
transparent
as the Truth?
does she peck her way
free from the
quiet darkness of
the place she's outgrown,
and wonder
if she could just pull the
shards of shell, or papery fibers of
the chrysalis back over her for
just one more day...
just long enough to
relish the silence of the darkened
womb,
instead of
railing against it...
day
after
day...
or does she feel the
warmth and
turn her face, like
leaf to light,
and bask in what will soon
be her native air?
what does she think when
the sun
breaks through
the first crack and ignorance is
no longer an
option...
and the darkness she has
only,
ever known,
disappears forever....
does she close her
eyes,
feel the
warmth
on her face
and
sigh...
"ah,
so
this is
Truth..."
i knew from the first time
i heard her
voice on the radio...
that
she had it
she had
whatever it took to
draw you in and make you
hold your breath
and
sit still for the next
leg of the journey,
chapter of the story,
segment of the report...
whether with
central american refugees or
stevie wonder in the press tent for
the release of his new album,
calming a child huddled in his closet during
an inner city riot,
or listening to the heartache of a man in love,
living on death row....
she could make you
weep with
empathy, and clench your
fists in anguished
anger....
but that afternoon,
standing in the kitchen,
listening to a voice
i'd known since before she could talk,
i knew....
she was reporting
on a man who'd been given
hope
and then had it wrenched from
his heart
right in front of her
you could feel her pain
well up to meet
and match
his...
and I knew...she'd
found
not only her voice,
but her
mission,
purpose,
platform,
life's work....
i am her sister
and
i knew
i always knew
she would
be the
one to give a voice to
the voiceless,
stand up for those
who were
being held down,
beaten,
forgotten
maligned,
abused....
i knew...
i always knew...
Today, my brilliantly talented sister, Nancy Mullane, received the 2011 Edward R. Murrow National Broadcasters award today for her work as a bradcast journalist, with her This American Life broadcast titled, Life after Murder. I always knew...
there is a question
hanging in the air...just
over there
can you see it?
it lies beyond the answers
i have been
setting my compass by
for oh, so long...
it is where my heart is
leaning
it is the place i
dream of when the
house is
quiet and the floorboards
breathe beneath
my feet...
i have walked beyond the
answers i have
held so dear...the ones i'd set
my sights on
and used
to pull me towards
a destination i thought would
be my resting place
but as i passed the
rise in the meadow where
all my certainties
stood waiting for
me to
unpack and snuggle in...
just when i
reached the softly
curving lane that led to
their front door...framed in
roses and tucked up with
lilacs and pickets in the perfect
shade of
butter yellow...
i heard the call of the
question...
and the question...
His question...
pulled me further, deeper,
nearer Home,
than
all the answers i'd long cherished
in my heart,
could ever,
even
begin to imagine
or give a
name to...
and so,
i am still walking
i am still listening
as the
call,
low, sad, and sweet...
draws me
towards a place
i know i
will never reach....
a destination that
is not
an answer
i will find...out there...
but,
a Home
within...
"The lightnings and thunderbolts
of error may burst and flash
till the cloud is cleared
and the tumult dies away in the distance.
Then the raindrops of divinity refresh the earth."
- Mary Baker Eddy
It blew in without warning
bending trees,
driving small birds under
the wings their
mothers, and
lighting the nightsky
with a bursting flash
of sudden wonder...
and as the power fades from
lamps, and fans, and all the ways
we entertain
ourselves,
the silence descends like
a soft white sheet
floating
down around us until
there is nothing to hear,
but the sound of our surprise
we open windows that
rarely slip from their casements
and the sound of rain
gentle, then urgent,
washes through the room
carried on the sweet freshness of
the wind from a summer
storm...
books, candles, the song of
rain, our family
gathered together in the middle
of a big bed covered with
pillows and quilts and
a soft puppy curled at
our feet...
there is a soft, collective
breathing
that fills our home
as the darkness
draws us
close
and the sound of
rain sings a
lullaby
of
summer...
and we know a
power that
cannot be
lost...
the power of Love...
"There remaineth therefore
a rest to the people of God."
- Paul
her infant breath is
sweet with the milk of the
Word....
an innocent hunger that wells up
unbidden
from the
inner space of mercy...given,
extended,
released like the
perfume of crushed chamomile
on the heel of the Master...
trapped for so long
inside her
anger and her regret
she
begins to struggle free
and with
each injury forgiven, each
unkindness
released...she stretches and
grows into something
she could
never have imagined....
today she is
newborn of Spirit
and this new body of
being needs to be nourished,
it needs to be fed,
it thirsts for what will slake
the parched ground
of regret,
anger,
the tight fists of "why"
and it is the Word
that drops upon
the hurt-battered desert of
her guarded heart with its
sweet, insistent
"remember
remember
remember...
you are not the first
to feel this way,
and you will not be the
last...but we have
gone before you...prophets,
disciples, the rejected,
forgotten, stoned,
imprisoned, betrayed...
and we will feed you with our
stories,
we will bring you the living
waters of our lives
redeemed,
refreshed,
renewed in the river
of Jordan,
on the shores of the Galilean Sea,
from Jacob's well,
and the waterpots of a
Samaritan woman...
let our footprints
lead you
to the well within the
wilderness,
the place of resting
on the
cross...
resting
in His hands,
may you taste
the
sweetness of your
own
purity
in
the milk
of
the
Word...
how close is
God
what defines the
"nearness of Deity," and
how deeply
does Love
penetrate indifference to
reach the fathomless
core of the
human
spirit?
is it measureable?
can it be reached,
arrived at,
found
by counting off inches
meters,
feet,
...yards?
plunge yourself
into the
most holy places of
the heart
and can you
find its bottom?
ask a mother how
far will she
go to hold her child
in a dark hour, and she will
tell you
of a love so deep eternity
is not long enough
to travel to its core...
ask a man how much pain he
will endure to see his
brother, one last time,
and he will show
you a
love that neither
height, nor depth,
nor angels, principalities or
powers can
forestall...
the nearness of Deity is as
present as the unbidden pulsing of
your heart, the
sonorous rhythm of an
infant's breath,
the constant, silent
song of
gravity, and
inertia...
Diety is so near,
so far below the surface of
our noticing, that
we search for it as a babe might
search for innocence,
a dove might seek peace,
an angel might
look for purity...
how deep,
how infinitely near...
is
Love?
"Life does not accommodate you, it shatters you.
It is meant to, and it couldn't do it better.
Every seed destroys its container
or else there would be no fruition. "
—Florida Scott-Maxwell
so shatter me,
but do it while the tears
of surrender still
rain gently down upon the
landscape of my heart
do not waste them
they are
for the watering,
the awakening,
of what has been lying
dormant beneath the
hardness of "I must," but can
now break free from,
in the soft tear-stirred
soil of "Thy will be done..."
I have been overturned,
overturned,
overturned...and it is God
whose right it is to
call me
to His purpose...
to send me
according to plan.
so shatter the container,
dissolve the shell,
scatter the ashes,
melt the mist,
disperse the chaff,
dissemble the past,
revoke those
stories that held me captive in
the self-forged prison of who I've
never really
been....
and release me to
the call of I AM...
the call to be...
just be..
set me free
to blossom, and
grow, and hunger, and
thirst...to
reach for the sunshine of Your
face, the warmth of Your
Love,
the irresistible drawing of my heart towards
your Light...
I am turning,
turning,
turning,
till all I see
is You...
in everything...
"The woman then left her waterpot,
and went her way into the city, and saith to the men,
"Come, see a man, which told me
all things that ever I did. Is not this the Christ?"
- John
You are not the first I have
told
your wives,
your daughters,
your sisters, and mothers...
they too have
heard of this man who
sees through to
a woman's heart
and they have left
their waterpots
by the well,
they are thirsty too...
we are all parched and
thirsty for that
living water
for what will bring to
life the hope
that sits untended
and
domant in our hearts...
to be known...
we want to be known
to be seen as
women of
substance, girls with
promise,
mothers and daughters
who make a
difference...even if the
difference is only
to be asked
to stand with our
truth,
and take ownership of
our lives...our
mistakes and
accomplishments,
our choices and decisions...
to be asked a question
and to know that
how we answer
matters...
that our redemption,
is as important as
yours,
that our repentance
is worthy of
His mercy....to be
offered
living waters...
yes, they have
left their
waterpots for
something more...
they are
seeking,
not to be owned
or kept or
given with a dowry...but
to be known...really known...
without judgment...
and still
loved...
is not this
the Christ?
i am called to the
door by the
waves of sound,
a droning, ebbing,
flowing,
whirr of tones that
pierce, and
yet, today seem
soothing to the soul...
She drops from the
deep eaves of the
maybeck building where I
have an office hours that day, and
I wonder if she has
called me to her classroom
I open the door and find
her sitting on the
pavement just beyond the
threshold and
let the door swing closed behind me
while I sit with my back against
the brick wall and look into
her eyes
she walks towards me, and then
turns to "pull in next to me" so that
we are gazing out in the same
direction towards the
campus lawn filled with
tress and students and
the air still humming with
her brother's call...
"what is your question" she
asks.
i do not have to think for long and
silently query,
"thirteen years underground for three
weeks of life...does that make you
sad that it is so short.."
"oh my child," she responds soberly,
"you have such a limited sense of life"
I lived fully underground, I have known great
quiet and deep peace, I am new to this form,
but look at what I am seeing today...yes,
look out there with me...isn't it
beautiful? Isn't this song of love
amazing"
and I look at the most beautiful sight
thorugh her eyes, thousands of her friends flying
through the warm summer air, singing
out their hunger for love, to be in
relationship, dancing together,
drinking sweet nectar from
the trees...
"three weeks of this is more than
I could have ever dreamed," she sighs,
"it is more than worth it..."
and then I see the shell,
the carcass of what was once her
body, lying nearby, and ask,
"does that make you sad, afraid, or
uncomfortable, to see your former
body lying there..."
"no," she says....
and I knew we were sisters
in the same
classroom....
"thank you..." I said,
and she flew away to
join in the dance
and the life lesson
continues...
when we were
very young
our days were as in step
with one another
as fred and ginger,
nureyev and fonteyn,
baryshnikov and kirkland...
taking turns dancing
backwards,
your hand at my back
my heart in your hands...
sharing a bed,
a dress,
friends, a family...
you were the reason
i learned to ride
a bike, the impetus to
try harder,
the desire to be
more than I could have
imagined on my own...
then one day
we were no longer hand in glove,
two peas in a pod,
fred and ginger,
simon and garfunkel...
we were
each
and only
our selves...without the other
all of a sudden you
were going places I'd never been...and
seeing it for the first time...without me.
in a moment,
you had friends I'd never met,
read books I'd never seen,
slept in rooms we never shared...
you may not know this,
but i've never really stopped
reaching for your
hand in the middle of the night,
listening for the rhythm of
your breathing as I fall asleep,
waiting for you to
follow me through the front door
at the end of a long trip...
you are my sister,
and
it's taken me all these years to
tell you that
I always wished
we'd been
twins...
and although I
know that we are
not
two halves of a whole...
but two
wholes made
better
by one's
hand at
the other's
back...
still, I wished...
there must be
a season when
remembering, and feeling,
and hoping dissolve
into one path...
a season without
then, and now
and someday when
a season when the
veil is rent,
and we
sit in wonder,
rest in now...
whether it seems to come in
cycles of
moments,
days,
months,
years,
decades...doesn't
matter...
it comes...it always comes
a season when every molecule
of our being
moves...like winter
into spring... towards an inner
sanctuary,
a space where
past, present
and future
coalesce
into a classroom
of ordered
unfolding
a moment,
when what I'd always hoped
for,
becomes what
I've known
and all the
good I've ever known,
sits softly
on my shoulder cooing
"here I am..
here I am...
here I am...
I've never left you
as much as you
thought
you could lose me
in forgetting..."
a time of day,
a week, a lifetime,
when
dark regret is washed
away, as all you've learned
comes more clearly
into view, and
your
focal distance
is foreshortened
by a deepening
compassion,
mercy,
forgivenenss...understanding
judgment falls into
the periphery,
when the tears of what we've done,
becomes the
holy water for growing
a once small
heart,
into something
sweeter,
kinder,
gentler,
more "like Him"
there must be a season
so
void of time,
of measurements,
and milestones...a season
where
the only outcome that
matters is a heightened
awareness of
a grander order,
a larger plan,
a greater life of Love as
love...
and into this season of
remembering,
the blossom precedes the bud
and corn spring
ripe and yellow in a day,
the Master serves,
and the parent
sits at the feet of her
child
listening for
tomorrow
and
witnessing
eternity...
"When you are sorrowful
look again in your heart,
and you shall see that in truth you are weeping
for that which has been your delight."
— Khalil Gibran
how to
process these feelings...
except
to simply feel...
to let myself flow into the waters
of love and
eddy within the space of
remembering
memories of
our daughters singing
songs about lions and kings while you
played along,
talking by the side of a river,
laughing over lunch
each year...sharing insights,
a cab..
friends,
adventures, tears...
together we called
a Rocky Mountain valley
home, and couldn't wait to
take our
children there,
so that each year,
they'd grow up like
branches off
a single tree...
coming home to a
place they'd never been
before
mandolins, banjoes,
and steel-peddle
guitars
were the soundtrack of
our friendship...a friendship that
transcended decades,
and mistakes,
and the common loss of
shared friends...loved ones
he will
tell new stories to sooner than
I'd hoped...
when all the tears have
fallen, and I've wept enough to
to lift and
buoy myself above the
selfish sorrow of this loss, I will
become one, again, with the River's
flow, leaving this
softly, swirling place of "remember when,"
for the sweetness of loving his family...still, and
again...
where there is
"full compensation
in the law of Love..."
and whenever a mandolin plays,
or a fiddle sweeps it's bow across the
mountain air,
i will hear his laguhter in the
song of a peddle steel
guitar
and close my eyes
while the aspen
sing
your
song...
"rocky moutain high...
colorado..."
keep climbing,
and I'll see you over the next
ridge...
can't wait to hear
your
stories
*the writings of Mary Baker Eddy are referenced in this poem.
"I think it would be well, and proper,
and obedient, and pure,
to grasp your one necessity and not let it go,
to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you."
— Annie Dillard
"how will I know
what is my one
necessity..."
i ask the wiser Voice within
It smiles back,
"it will be that thing
you once thought you might have lost,
and in the space of your
awakening
realized you could not
bear to live without..."
it will be what waits within the
emptiness carved out by the
sorrow of dreaming
it was nearly gone,
only to wake and
discover that,
you were
just asleep to your own promise....
it will be the thing
your tears have watered
back into life,
called back into beauty,
and brought back
from blight...
it will be all
you once thought
you could, possibly
do without,
surrender,
dismiss,
give up,
and then discovered there
was no "you"
without its
hot heartbeat
just below
your evenness and
calm regret...
what is your
one necessity...
what is it
that sits like
hope...patiently singing
the song without words...
what is
the shaken reed,
the shattered ice,
the shell that opens to reveal
the pulsing,
aching,
hunger for what
could never,
ever,
have beeen
lost to begin with....
it is you,
knowing Me...
