too small…

8 12 2018

Above the Clouds

We live too small, too often –

small world,

small dreams,

small mind,

small spirit,

small heart,

within small words like “either” and “or”.

 

This, the way of a heart cloaked within scarcity –

where fear and control is the currency;

where the wages are integrity, authenticity, and self-worth;

where enough is inadequate;

where expectations gather like hungry wolves.

 

We feed these wolves too often,

unaware it is our own souls we throw into their midst –

believing we can stave off such appetites –

satiating hunger…

starving ours.

It feels safer for our egos to live in the familiar…

 

Yet…

 

The Light in darkness;

the breath for the breathless;

the hope for the hopeless…

is that there is more to this life –

a greater freedom

a greater openness

a greater Love

a more voluminous way to live…

into expansive words like “both” and “and”;

each moment as sacred.

 

It is a paradox, I know.

Backwards to our minds –

where controlling leads to narrowness

and vulnerability leads to Life;

where leading with a yielding heart –

rather than grasping and manipulating,

births freedom;

where embracing the unknown is the way to Unity…

 

This is the Way –

to more…much more…

so much more than scarcity allows us to imagine.

 

How do we want to live?

a small question…

But in the asking –

a journey begins…

to live not too small…

Advertisements




like winter trees…

24 11 2018

Cades Cove 2 2

Open, exposed, naked –

I long for such vulnerability, transparency –

to be broken…stripped.

I know, in part, what I am asking…

I am aware – I do not know all that I ask.

 

Hidden for too long…

Protective for too long…

Closed for too long…

Too long captive to fear, guilt, and shame.

 

I have nothing more for them to take.

Stripped down to authenticity…

there is nothing more…

there is nothing more.

 

I sit on the edge of Cromwell’s meadow.

A sparrow sings songs of freedom as it flies across the barren field –

a sparrow being a sparrow.

So vulnerable…to be just what you were created to be…

how freeing.

 

True Life is found within this vulnerability…

this authenticity.

Real Life and freedom are revealed among the open, exposed, naked…

found, too, in my own barren fields.

 

Open, exposed, naked…

I wait for a sparrow to sing –

Knowing, in part, what the waiting means.

Knowing that I cannot know all that waiting will bring…

 

A Chickadee lights on the seedling in front of me…





meadow sapling…

10 11 2018

 

 

DSC_0003edited copy

I sit again at meadow’s edge.

A sapling reaches just above wildflowers and weeds.

Day to day, it does not move –

soaking in the sun’s joy;

bending to the storm’s gale;

bathing in life-giving rain;

standing introspectively in a snow-covered field.

Accepting what each moment offers…

knowing all leads to the hope and trust of the next moment.

 

Waiting.

Being what a sapling is…a tree –

yesterday, tomorrow, in this moment now.

Gifting oxygen to the likes of me.

Offering hospitality to its meadow community.

 

I wonder…

what difference would it make

if my soul were more like this meadow sapling?





So many words…

28 09 2018

So many words being spoken today…

In Ireland, Iran, North Korea, Netherlands, Russia, Rwanda, Malaysia, Mexico, Bahamas, Burundi, Kenya, Kuwait, United States, and United Nations…

In courts, in state houses, in congress, at the White house, in politics…

Within religious communities, within businesses, and within schools…

On TV, on radio, on social media, on our phones…

In my house, in my family, in my head, in my heart…

 

I wonder if there is as much listening?

I hope so…

Friends Chairs





depth’s longing…

14 09 2018

From what depths does this longing flow?Gettysburg Fence

What secret story do my tears wish to share?

I am not sure of where I am going…

I am not sure of who I am…

 

 

Maybe this is the beginning of an end?

Maybe this is the end of a beginning?

I stand outside myself – a visitor.

Is this the “losing myself” I was taught early Sunday mornings?

In losing myself, will life be gained?

 

I am trying to live this moment – this now.

I am trying to “consider the goldenrod of the meadow” where I sit.

I am trying to trust the soft vibrations of a deep, Loving conversation.

I am trying to trust the unknowing woven into my living.

 

Worries would have me believe they are masters of the now –

dislocate me from this moment;

deliver me to the regrets of yesterday;

have me wallow in the anxieties of tomorrow.

 

Love, though, is immediate –

the Creator of each moment.

Love, a river, flowing – always…

through me…through you.

What a laudable reality.

 

So within this nameless longing;

within this craving for deep awareness;

I learn – to let go…

to let the now be what it is;

to notice the miracles around me now:

raindrops,

music,

friends,

the sound of my hand drawn across my unshaven face,

my breath…

Love.

 

And in this prayer poem, I am changed.

 





breath . . .

30 03 2017

Swamp Trail B&W

It was 2:30 a.m. when I arrived;

just hours from her last breath.

 

Her chest rising and falling in nomadic rhythm –

a mirror of the relationship we shared – joys, struggles, oblique love:

some known;

some unknown;

some still to be discovered.

 

She did not move, eyes closed –

peaceful other than her dissonant breaths;

a peace that had alluded her in her living.

 

But not quite yet –

her journey toward Union,

still earth-tethered.

 

So we sat vigil . . .

waiting . . .

What else could we do?

Just being with . . .

Being with us.

 

Silence interrupted by occasional conversation –

with each other – seeking some normalcy;

with mom – seeking to help an emancipation,

“It’s okay to go mom.

We love you.

I know dad is getting excited.

Your family is waiting…”

 

When breath, life, and love

becomes so clearly focused,

I do not know what else to trust but Intimacy.

I do not know another to trust

but the One in which we all have breath.

 

To live within this kind of trust is a constant craving.

 

Then, watching, I saw mom begin to trust the One holding her.

Breathing rhythmically now.

Breathing with the One.

Slowly bringing her breath into One.

Until her body had no need for earth’s confining atmosphere.

 

Now her spirit breathes pure Ruah;

breathing in the One who first gives breath.

Now the “i” breathes within “I AM”.

choptank dock midnight 2_edited-1





A photographer captured…

8 02 2017

 

cropped-mountain-sunrise.jpg

Creation gifts me –

I do not know why I deserve to be such a recipient.

From the expansive waves of Blue Ridge Mountains to

an iris’ intricate design.

Moments of Essence kiss me daily.

 

I am gifted by what I have no claim upon.

I have no commentary other than it is gift –

not to be selfishly guarded;

not to be kept in cellophane wrapping – saved for another day.

 

Still –

I desire to remain attached to these moments;

This deep beauty;

This unnamable peace;

I want this palpable Essence to linger on my tongue;

 

I want to settle here;

abide here;

build a monument;

hold onto it;

capture it.

 

So I raise my Nikon and from a 52mm sphere

I try to capture these measureless moments;

knowing, intuitively, that the “trying” is energy displaced.

Essence cannot be possessed, held on to, captured –

we cannot enslave Essence.

She is gift – ever present – woven intricately into our being.

 

Yet, I am stirred deeply –

life’s meaning whispered to me on a moment’s breath.

That oneness with the One permeates me endlessly,

my mind cannot comprehend.

 

I lower my “moment-capturing-device”,

take a deep breath,

and lean into the trust that Essence is already stirring within me –

each moment.

 

Maybe I am the one needing to be captured?