Pauses

So much waits to be born in
The silent pauses out of which
Everything flows.
A breathless audience, anticipates
The first note as the conductor,
Posed with raised baton,
Gathers the orchestra.
Dancers in the wings
Stand hushed, ready to
Fill the stage with movement.

Artists ponder before blank canvases.
Gardeners gaze upon
Resting landscapes, white, frozen,
Soundless, waiting, open.

The greatest gifts emerge
from silence.
Words springing forth
from quiet hearts, more easily
speak of love.

We forget the
noiseless background from which
All creativity emerges, all being
Manifests. Let us seek the quiet
In order to belong to ourselves.

Our true home is in the pauses.
In stillness
Our name is revealed.

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The Orchestra

In the silence before
It all commences,
We gather the scattered
Fragments of our lives.

Poised to fill the soundless canvas
Of the room, each life
Stands in bold relief.

When the music begins
A hundred forms of joy will
Blend into one expression,
The lonely experience
Of endured suffering will
Rise in a communal cry.

Together we rage in deep bass,
We laugh in joyful tripping notes.
In that moment we are one
In spirit, in the truth of the music,
In the glory of our shared dreams.
Perhaps, in love.

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Root Vegetables

Carrots come in all shapes and sizes.
They have no shame.
Why should they?

Sometimes they are
Joined together,
Long legged and shapely manikins
Waiting to be dressed.
As if male and female, they emerge.
Fashioned in rocky soil they remind us,
Just to live is holy,
Even though times be hard.

We marvel
At what mother earth
Brings forth,
When treated with love and care.

Rutabagas grow
Large and plump or stay
Small and wizened.
Hard to know the “Why?”

The leafy tops of beets
Green and veiny, are delicious
First fruits, early on harbingers.
How rich the red fruit grows
Floating atop the ground,
Sinking its mouse tail deep.

The potatoes thrive in darkness,
And then, like earth daughters,
Are born to the light of day, carefully,
With fork and hands, while

At the edge of the woods the
Sentinel trees stand with blazing
open arms, welcoming all.

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Psalm 42

This living in the time of
“Why?” and “How long?”
is tearing the soul from my body.

I’ve called, written,
Texted, emailed, sent out
A thousand prayers, and nothing.
Where are you? Where have you gone?
Answer me, please, do not leave me
To do the impossible, surviving
Without you.

I remember the good times,
The honey of your presence,
The eternity of our togetherness, your Word
Spoken over coffee in corner cafes,
The burning of my heart, the longing
Even then for more of you.

I go on hoping for the
Spring of your return. Am I crazy,
Holding onto you in this
Winter of desolation?

If I did not know you,
If we had not met in our
Hearts’ depths, there could be no
Faith left in me.

All around me the world
Is falling apart. Am I falling apart too?
Wounded beyond repair?
Starting once again to see
Enemies everywhere I look?

I hope in you, my friend, my lover.
So many have asked about you. Others
Taunt me, saying, “Where is
This lover of yours?

I look into the fog
And know I shall see your face again.

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Bewilderment

In the season between green and gone*
When the circle breaks
And the loose ends point downward
And upward at the same time, we
Enter a dance of a different sort.

How necessary this breaking
Our closed circles of certainty,
This opening of spirals,
Of never again returning
To the same starting place.

To ascend to Spirit
Given new eyes.
To descend to Soul
Finding welcome.
In dreams we fall while rising,
Rise while falling.

How baffling this giant
Urging of everything into
Darkness, this beckoning
Of all toward the light,
This journey through
Perplexity.

Yet, how seamless when
We sense the arms of darkness
Embrace us, and feel
the kiss of light
on our cheek.

What faith it takes
This dogged trek to new heights
This enduring pilgrimage to deeper depths,
This answering the great pull of life,
Never looking back.

*Brian McLaren, Naked Spirituality (New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishers, 2011) 142.

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Tree of Life

It is such a simple act
This walking in the woods
This stopping to gaze on a tree
It’s naked branches
Topped with snow
An old nest revealed, and
to say with clarity,
Filled with hope, “This is indeed
A marvelous tree. Its dark branches,
Clothed now in white, will
Soon be green with life
And home to birds.”

In a different forest of tangled webs
We sit watching what passes for news,
And it is not so easy
To say with clarity, grounded in hope,
“What I am hearing, clothed as the truth,
is indeed a lie, told by liars,
But one day the green truth
Will be revealed.”

It is not so easy to seek
Day after day the luminous
Tree of many branches,
And deep roots of vital connection—
That inner space
Where there are no lies.

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Praying

Love, Love, Love,
Self-giving love.
Let us be reduced to

Love.

Let us be thankful,
Our giving thanks expanding.
In the saying, our becoming

Grateful.

Awake, awake!
May we be awake,
Journey to the
Room of silence
And therein find the Friend.

May we take the world in our hands
And bring it gently
To our breast
Becoming compassion.

In everything—in the
Thinking, in the doing—
Let us be transformed into
What we already are,
What we were always
Destined to be.

Let us become the answer
To our prayer.

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