"Blessed are they which do
hunger and thirst after righteousness...."
~ Matthew
yes,
I am your mother...
but,
I will
fail you,
disappoint you,
let you down...
not willingly,
or with intention,
yet still...
I will leave you
reaching,
grasping,
stretching...
hungering and thirsting for
a love that is
even deeper
and more
reliable than
I could ever,
in all my
frail humanness,
even hope
to be...
no matter
how hard I try,
or how
many
tears of regret
I
shed,
on bended knee,
or
curled in on
my
self-questioning
I will never be
All,
in
all,
to
you
but,
I do believe that
this is my
job.
to not be enough,
I am here
to disappoint you,
to fail miserably
at being
all that
you once thought I
could have
been...
do you
remember those days
when
you were so
small and
I seemed so wise and strong?
when it
seemed possible
that I might be
able to
be
all that
I
really
wanted to
be
for you...but
couldn't
I now know
that
it was my job to be
"not enough"
to
give you
just a taste
of
the real thing,
the genuine,
authentic,
unparallelled
kind of
love
only She
can
deliver on...
a love
that knows no reason,
a love
that heeds no bounds...
I was sent
for a holy purpose...
to let you feel the weight of
a tear upon your
wounds,
to know the fierceness of
a love
that will
stare down a tiger
and send
it cowering
into
a corner
away from
you
that was my job
to give you just a taste...
but for
it to
never be enough...
I
was not,
nor will I
ever be,
the
real deal...
do
you
remember when I
failed to have all the answers,
prevent a heart break,
silence your
tears
my love
was only a hint
a glimmer,
a glimpse
of what you
would soon learn,
that
you can not live
without
I was only a whisper of the Voice you
would always long for
in the
"dark night
of you
soul."
but
I would never
ever
be enough to
sate that hunger,
quench that thirst,
to answer that deepest
of calls
for
something
more
I wasn't meant
to be...
It was my
calling
to leave you wanting,
hungry,
unable to
be satisfied with less than all
of what you somehow
knew real Love
must be...
a love without condition,
reason, or
rhyme,
a certain Something
even deeper than
the love of a parent for her babe,
the love of a lioness for her cub
and
I hope
you
never
forget
that
I was
always
just a hint of
the love
you
really
needed
the love
that
God
feels
for Her
child....
for you
"...for they shall be filled.”
― Jesus
"Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt...
I had a beehive here inside my heart.
And golden bees were making white combs, and sweet honey,
from all my old failures."
~ Antonio Machado
I couldn't
breathe...
my heart
so pollen-filled...
I choke on every
sad mistake,
my failings fell
like
dust upon
clear innocence,
and
my blossoming
was once again
weighed down with
the heaviness
of what
once
seemed like nothing
more than downy grains,
but gathered into a chorus,
a threatening
cacophony
of
caution..
"i could be ragweed,
or a rose..."
wipe it all away
but
it finds its way
into my
lungs and I am
doubled over with regret and
grief...
it irritates my passage
from sense to
soul,
and inflames my sorrow for
a self that always
did the best it could,
and still
failed to get
it right
but then,
a small soft humming
graced my
heart...
without a word
she
gathered the dust-like
grains of
scattered dreams and
shattered hopes
and
took them
home...
on diaphanous wings
and buried in
the soft-bodied
warmth of
her
tender
heart
she takes them
to the consciousness she
harbors within
her
and turns
it all round right...
she
finds the blessing
in the curse,
she mines the diamond from
the dust,
and takes a rosebud
from the thorns...
on the wings of
her loving...
the once
irritating pollen found
floating on the air,
sifting down the the landscape,
crying from the deep-thoated
flowers,
weeds,
shrubs,
trees...
of my garden,
back alley,
dark forest,
wilderness
heart
becomes
something
beautiful and sweet
she turns my
sorrow into singing,
my grief into repentance,
my hunger for beauty into a love
for the divine.
my pollen into honey,
the water into wine....
"The taste of things recovered
is the sweetest honey we will ever know.”
― Paulo Coelho
“I must be willing
to give up what I am
in order to become
what I will be.”
― Albert Einstein
really?
I thought this was a process
I thought I was building
towards
something...
line
upon
line
precept
upon
precept
success
upon
success
demonstration
upon
demonstration
was I so wrong?
really,
give it all up...
for what?
for Me.
give up all you have done,
accomplished,
demonstrated,
achieved,
become,
gotten,
accumulated...
for the vastness of my
Love,
for the breadth of my Spirit carrying you
beyond the boundaries of
what you can imagine,
lifting you above the glass ceiling,
"ayont hate's thrall,"
over the rubble of a shattered past,
a broken heart
and
into a place
where
there is no
process,
only
revelation,
radiance,
My Love at the
center and circumference,
the core and
carriage,
the concept and form
of My
purpose for
you...
right now.
The gentle night...
a deep, sweet silence to wrap the
beauty of a well-loved day
in the star-strewn velvet
darkness of a midnight
hour...
does not resist the dawning of
a day...
does not
need to drag
the day before into
a new
morning and
its
promise...
So,
open your hand
let it go,
loose it from
the
death grip of
"mine"
and
be ready to receive
all...
and I mean all...
that is
Mine.
then
who will you
be?
you will be
Mine.
And that is
enough of a career,
an identity,
a name...
for You...
my perfect,
glorious,
lovely,
wonderful,
extraordinary,
simple,
joyous,
profoudly
amazing
child...
"Who are you?"
they ask.
"I am His,
only His."
you answer.
It is enough.
"Knock, and He'll open the door.
Vanish, and He'll make you shine like the sun.
Fall, and He'll raise you to the heavens.
Become nothing,
and He'll turn you into everything.”
― Rumi
"Lord, free me of myself
so I can please you."
- Michaelangeo
sift me
free from the chaff
of who I
think
I am...
shatter the shell
of
"me,"
the ego that
needs to
have
become
something,
someone...
a name,
a place,
a title, role
an office,
an address...
she is not
what lies within
she is not the one
I feel pulsing with Life
in the middle of
the night
when the darkness
frees me
from her face in the mirror,
the boundaries of
skin and
history,
the patterns written
on strands of
DNA or
just another story of
how she's
always...or never...
been
shake the chrysalis until
the not-so-fragile
self-encasing of
"this is me, and this is not"
gives way to
what I could never have
imagined when
crawling,
inching,
gnawing my way across
a limited landscape of
the
leaves and
dreams
I thought were
all I'd ever know of home and
hunger...
but there is sky
and wind,
and I am surprised to
find that I have wings
still moist with
the tears
of what I thought I'd lost in the
black soup of
remorse and despair,
the night space
where
I became nothing
but
the silence of
a hope
that would not
die,
a thread of
consciousness
that wanted
nothing
but
its
right to
steep in the
presence
of
nothing
except
perhaps
just to love...
not to love
something,
or someone...
but to
love without
reason,
to love without
condition or
deserving,
to love
simply and
without
reciprocity or
recognition...
to love...
sift me,
shake me,
shatter me free,
free
from
me...
the me that needs to
be a character
in her own
love story
"Knock, and He'll open the door.
Vanish, and He'll make you shine like the sun.
Fall, and He'll raise you to the heavens.
Become nothing,
and He'll turn you into everything.”
― Rumi
"We cannot tell the precise moment
when friendship is formed.
As in filling a vessel drop by drop,
there is at last a drop which makes it run over.
So in a series of kindness there is, at last,
one which makes the heart run over."
- James Boswell
she was there,
standing
in the reception line
waiting
to shake his hand,
on the cusp of
something magical,
we were
there to celebrate a legacy...
an evening filled
with
heritage,
gratitude,
appetizers and
sparkling
cider
under a canopy of
lodgepole pines
strung with
starlight
her dress the
color of a clear
mountain
lake,
earrings that dangled,
and shimmered,
and
sent streaks of dancing light into the
soft blue dusk of Colorado
twilight
already fragrant with
pine dust and
aspen
flowers...
I took my place
behind her
and wondered
if the girls with flaxen hair and
pale eyes...or the boy who
held the youngest's hand...
were
hers...
they were
she smiled,
i smiled
a few words exchanged
almost thirty
years ago
the beginning of a conversation
that has bridged hopelessness
with compassion,
repaired heartache with the silver threads of
gentleness,
diffused frustration with laughter,
and softened the blows of
judgment with
unconditional love...
drop by
blessed drop...
a kindness here,
a smile there...
eyes that understood without
the need for explanation,
arms that comforted without
contagious sympathy,
prayers that saw me whole and
free of self and
sin...
drop
by
drop
song
by song
over the river and
through the woods, beyond the
valley,
across the continental divide,
sunrises
sunsets
snow storms and
the searing sunshine
on our
shoulders...
drop
by
drop
heart ache
to
heart ache
chapter and
verse...
a trail of
inspiration,
compassion,
salvation...
till one
day,
phenomenon...
the cup overflowed
with tea, and tears,
and laughter
enough minutes to
hold a lifetime
of
being silent in
the other's
company and having
it all
said without
a word...
miles of
singing with Carole King
about a life that's
been a tapestry
of
rich and royal hues
and
remembering
a dress the color
of a lake
in summer
and the sound of
silence
when it's
all
being said
without
words
"...and at last,
there is one that make the heart run over.”
― J. Boswell
They say unto him,
"Master, this woman was taken in adultery,
in the very act....”
― John
she
clutches the
torn
robe around her
as
they drag her through the
village streets,
near-naked and
ashamed...
seeing her mother's
face turn in
pain,
she buckles
under
the weight
of what
she's done...
there will be no
husband now for this
gentle daughter,
and where will her mother,
a widow woman,
go when there is
no more flour in the pantry,
oil in the jar...
"she was
our only hope...
she could have made
it all better for
us...
if only she
hadn't...."
her brother's
hot tears
sting his smooth
cheeks,
as he watches
her try to
cover the parts of her
he'd never
seen...
the white skin,
loose hair,
wild eyes that
fear
the worst
with
no
champion to
shield her
from the angry
mob
"where is he..."
the boy
wonders...
his friends are gathering
stones with their
fathers...
stones they will
use to punctuate their
ugly words with
blood, and
pierce
the innocence of
this day
with
a maiden's agony...
"she is but a child
herself..."
her uncle thinks as he
wrestles with
his place in the village,
"do I
stand with her
and suffer her shame,
or take my place
among the
elders,
hold the moral
high ground,
and cast my vote
in stones
upon her soft skin..."
she feels her
dignity falling from her
like the petals of
a rose wilting in the heat of
a midsummer's day...
her heart is shredded,
more than
the tender flesh of her bare feet
"where is he..."
she sobs
in frightened
confusion
he said
he loved her,
he said, he would care for her always,
he said that.....
empty
promises
words that broke
her resolve,
words she trusted
were true
it is
this trust in
him...her trust
in his love,
more than her dignity --
she now knows
will die in the square today...
and she will
give it willingly...
"take my clothes,
take my skin and my shame...
i don't know who I am anymore,
or why my heart still
beats within me...
this shame is
unbearable...."
but wait,
who is he...
why have they brought me to
this quiet man
bending in the dust
drawing beauty in the sand?
their questions are drowned out
by the breadth of his stillness,
the depth of his grace,
the gentle kindness in his eyes...
he does not look at them,
but writes messages of love
with his finger
at their feet...
his compassion pierces their
judgment
with self-knowledge,
humility,
and love...
and one,
by
one,
they drop their
stones
and
leave...
then his eyes find
me
in the
dust, and lift me
from the
shame I taste
like bile
in
my soul
"where are those thine
accusers...
hath no man condemned thee,"
he asks
"no man"
I answer...
and in his eyes,
I find
a version of "man" I can trust,
I find a man so wedded to
Love, so
faithful to
His Truth,
that
loving him leads me to
my own fidelity,
a holy,
sacred
innocence...
in the eyes of
this man,
I am fully clothed in a purity
untouched by
shame,
seen
only as His
daughter...
again.
"Neither do I condemn thee:
go, and sin no more..”
― Jesus
"Who hath measured the waters
in the hollow of His hand,
and meted out heaven with the span,
the dust of the earth in a measure,
weighed the mountains in scales,
and the hills in a balance?”
― Isaiah
“measured in the
hollow of His hand...”
Is
this
how we
measure the
size of
a
heart
on fire with
charity
or,
would you
decide its worth
in inches,
or yards,
a hands breadth
of something
bigger than a breadbox,
but smaller
than
a house...
would you say that it
is too small for
a holy purpose
and dismiss its
contribution,
or too large
for the
simple
delicacy of ideas
that skip
along a page
in small
steps much too
careful for the
somber breadth of
its carriage.
how can we
weigh the power of
one's loving,
the value of his dignity,
the worth of her devotion
to a cause,
a family,
a mission...
does the number of
dollars,
euros,
shares of stock,
square footage,
or pounds of gold,
tell us anything
about
generosity,
kindness,
compassion,
the desire to give,
a willingness to serve...
would a ruler
give us the
accurate
depth of a
fathomless
stillness,
the length to which
she'll
go to defend a
child,
the span of
his reach towards the
Infinite unknown...
there are no
instruments,
scales,
chronometers,
or
yardsticks
in
the kingdom of heaven
no portions,
measures,
limits or
bounds...
infinite,
eternal,
All,
and
All-in-all...
immeasurable,
unfathomable,
limitless,
boundless,
good...
this is
All...
the only portion
we can find
measured in
the hollow of
His hand...
"Allness
is the measure of the Infinite,
and nothing less
can express God.”
― Mary Baker Eddy
"I feel like I’ve known you forever.
Like I’ve held you in my heart for centuries...”
― S. Kenyon
I turn the corner
on an ancient wall
of bouldered stone,
a home with windows
of mica...
of clouded
glass that bubbles with
promise of
light..
and I can feel you
in the shadows
a cool respite from the
heat of an
afternoon in
the Tuscan sun...
but I have never been
here and
you are still without a face
only a presence
in my dreams...
or are they dreams...
could this be a memory of
a time when we
as children,
wandered through the
cobble-stoned
village
bare-foot and
unwearied by the
roles we would one day
assume
in each other's lives....
how long is this
path
how long have we
been traveling within reach and
where did
our hearts
first intersect
were you there
when I learned to
gather grasses on the plains
of a primordial
African
Savannah?
Was your spirit
reaching to me from the
hand of a
mid-wife...an angel-woman,
a sage who
held me while I rocked and
keened at the stillness
of my first born...
Were you the song of the
wood thrush
calling me forward through
the
forest when i was
lost and
hungry,
a frightened peasant child
so many
lifetimes
ago...
were you the breeze
whispering,
swirling,
bending soft branches,
softly insisting that
they
bow themselves to
your will,
dropping apples and
pears
ripe with promise
at my feet...
tell me...
are you the sound of
tibetan prayer bowls,
two hundred chimes,
a thousand violins,
a single cello...
are you
the
rushing,
brushing,
echoing of
winter,
breathing
through icicles
that hang from the eaves,
that
drip from the roofline of
grandfather's cabin
high in the Alps
are you the voice that
reminds me
I am never
alone...
I feel your hand at the
small of my back,
and
know that it has
been there
before...
you were there
in the north wind that lifted my
sails and carried me
across the sea,
in the warm granite at the
base of
the Moher cliffs,
shale and shell against my
back as I waited for
my father to return from
fishing,
there...
in the scent of
sandalwood and cedar
wafting up from the open
chest of quilts my
grandmother brought from
Ireland,
in the nuances,
the middle notes,
the gentle touch of fingers on the
keys beneath the
strains of a
Chopin*
nocturne...
Love is not
constrained by time,
never bounded by its form,
confined to to
a place...
Love transcends all that
would hold it
within the limits of a
name or
place...or the final
sentence of
a single
chapter...
Love is
Spirit...
the unseen,
the ever-felt,
the never forgotten...
"...and, if at last I find you,
your song will fill the air.
Sing it loud so I can hear you...
and you know I will, I will...'”
― Lennon/McCartney
* Yundi Li plays Chopin's Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2.
"Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul,
and sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all...”
― Emily Dickinson
It calls me up
from the hypnosis of magical
thinking,
to leave the
poppy fields
where
sweetest dreams
invite escape
it
begs
us
heed the
incessant,
insistent
echoing
of its relentless
"yes,"
above the dirge
of
"what if,"
and
"it
just
might
never
be..."
this is a song that
whispers:
"today could be different,
better,
a promise
fulfilled,
the question
answered...
today the blighted flower
could bloom,
a dormant seed might take root
in the fallow soil
of your weariness...
today,
you could finally
find your
voice
your soul-mate,
your one
true
thing...
"today,"
it sings,
"the test comes back
positive,
a spark takes
flight,
a flame ignites,
love
is found,
sorrow
lost..."
today,
hope turns again towards
the reach of a
dawning
light,
and leaps into
a strange abyss where
hearts wait
in silent
wonder
watching for the
unseen to lift them, once again,
above the frail
agony of
despair...
today,
hope finds the barren
on her knees,
Joseph bound in chains,
Gandhi turning the
other cheek,
Mandela watching
the sun move
from east to west
through the barred windows of
a prison cell...
hope tells us...pain is
temporary,
love is inevitable,
and
peace is
possible...
it is the thing
that
calls us
to
rise...and
sing
with what
perches in our
soul...
"...and never stop at all.'”
"Draw alongside the silence of stone
until its calmness can claim you...”
― John O'Donohue
They hover
over the sea
like ancient godmothers -
watching
each stone,
each pebble,
each grain of sand,
find its
way home
to their
feet...
i wake from
a dream,
arms still wrapped around
a looming granite knee,
mist shrouded shoulders,
my heart
ebbing and
flowing,
in and out,
bouncing like a small
child against the hip of
someone safe and
unwavering,
touching, touching,
touching to be
sure...
just to be sure
in my dreams,
they are mine
the cliffs
of moher
their undulating
curves hugging the edge of
a northern sea,
giving shape to the
ever-changing
face of
something beautiful,
fluid, mercurial...as
tempermental as the colors
of slate, and
storm, and a blue without
a name,
only a sound...
it is the sound
of the primeval,
the weeping of the sea,
the keening of
a people
whose dreams are
woven in a
poet's words...
words
stacked
like the lichen-dappled
stone walls
that thread their way
across meadows
and moors,
walls
which sing of a mother's
hope for
clear boundaries
outlines that say
here,
here, is
where you belong...
walls to
hold them in
to hold
them
hold them near...
to frame
their hope
for hearth and
home and the
right to
something deeper
than a county,
or a name...
a granite
place of shale
and sandstone where
ancient mothers
dig their toes into
the core of
the earth,
and the
sound of their
tears
drop like
lullabies upon
the cliffs of
moher
it is
a place of
stillness
at
center of
their souls
a place
where children with
eyes the color
of deep water
call
their cousins
back
to
sleep against
the
calm
promise
of knowing
they are
finally
home...
home
along the cliffs
of Moher
"you have traveled too fast
over false ground;
now your soul has come
to take you back...'”
― John O'Donohue
“...I knew you'd
want to know, " she said,
"they say I am very sick..
but,
I need you to know
that I am not afraid..."
thus began
her adventure,
her journey to a
place where I
could not follow...
at least,
not yet
"If I take the wings of the
morning, and dwell in the uttermost
parts of the sea,
even there shall Thy hand lead me,
and Thy right hand shall hold me..."
- Psalms
I remember standing at the
kitchen counter,
and
thinking, "why her,
why not me...
she has so much more to give..."
and meaning
it...
I was
rattled,
sobered,
frightened...a bit...
by
the depth of
her calm
that day...
"I have decided I
do not want to
fight this,"
she said,
"God is the only
Cause in my life.
whatever this is,
I will accept only this:
God's hand is in mine...
and I accept
His hand,
His love,
His direction
with
grace,
I will let it lead me forward...
forward,
not towards death,
but into a deeper
relationship with Life..."
I wanted to say,
"no, not you...
let me do something..."
but before I could
get the first words out of my
mouth,
she reminded me of
Jesus' words to Peter,
when he tried to protect
him from his divine destiny,
when he tried to deny that this
"crucifixion"
could possibly be
part of his Father's
plan for his friend,
part of
his path
towards resurrection...
and ascension:
"get thee behind me
Satan..."
i yielded,
gave up my protest,
swallowed words
she would not even let me utter,
and let my tears flow
silently to the
floor,
quiet sobs
wracking my bones...
"what can I do."
I asked.
"be my friend,
love me,
listen to me,
learn from me....let me be
your teacher,
let me share my journey..."
"okay..."
I barely made a sound
through
heaving waves of
grief and confusion...
my grief,
not hers,
my confusion,
not hers...
I wanted her
here,
now,
for always...
she wanted Him
here,
now,
for always...eternally
this was her
journey....not mine
she
wanted the Oneness she'd
spent her days
seeking through
study,
prayer,
service to others,
stillness,
charity...
to be her only Life...
she longed to
feel the power of
the Word,
to know
the freedom that comes
with deep surrendering,
to experience a reckless trust in His
care,
a fearless abandon that throws
caution to the Wind, and
yields
oneself
to the divine Unseen.
day after day, she
shared her
journey, her pain,
her courage,
her grace....
day after day,
she
inspired,
transformed,
taught
me
what
trust
looks
like
until....
her journey led
her forward
to a place beyond where I
could
follow...
at least
not yet...
and through her eyes
I never "saw death"
only Life...eternal,
immortal,
indivisible,
remorseless,
unfettered,
undiluted,
changeless,
radiant,
unfathomable,
purposeful
unfailing,
immeasurable,
inexhaustible,
unceasing,
joy-filled,
resistless,
invariable,
unconditional
Love...as
Life..
"...for Love alone is Life,
and Life, most sweet as heart-to-heart,
speaks kindly,
when we meet and part..."
- M. B. Eddy
* my friend's experience is shared with permission - "pay it forward, when you are ready..." she said.
