Here. Where the veil hangs so thin. Ripples and waves in time

Here. The tree of Jesse, pierced and broken-for me, for you

Here. A fountain, a river, a waterfall, doth pour forth in white watered glory and rushes over me

Here. In my humanity the might is diminished; I am not crushed

Here. I am renewed and every cell drinks in the rich mercy of our Lord

Here. I see my own tree. Every branch connecting us-even the ones I wished to prune

Here. From that endless fount I am enabled and pour out your mercy to my kin. Though mine does only trickle, through you it is sustained

Here, we are substained.

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For a moment, I am like Krishna
The infinite universe in my mouth
A white hole where I might escape
Empty myself to take more in
But never emptied enough
And after, palms still burning
Oceans and oceans receding away
I will smile
For a moment
For the moment
I held God in my hands

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I am tossing myself into this rolling ocean of “What ifs”. The smallest and most insignificant of stones.
Still, my ripple may matter the most to someone, somewhere.
I am watching the world play out like some mixed up rom-com tragedy.
The profane and horrific intertwined so tightly with the glorious and good.
I am learning stillness as a world of purposeless fury and desperate indirection buzzes around me-realizing that nothing matters much here, except for Love, and that Love makes everything matter the most.
I am seeing how precious life really is. Beautiful and fragile. Yet it is the choices that shape us, birth us, and make us become. And life – at least as we know it -is only a cover to be shed when all seems lost.
I am frantically making up for lost time. A lifetime spent in self absorbtion and a daily race towards an inevitable demise, now slowing down to live in each moment, knowing it may be my last. Loving each person like they are already dead and feeling the greater love God has for us all, sinner and saint alike.
I am failing every day, but I don’t mind as much as I used to.
It seems to be much more about the try -I hope they will know how much I tried.
And if I  make it ( for all things are possible through God), if I can drown this old self inside, this wrinkled, stinking thing I used to think was me- raising up a Mary from a fallen Eve- then I pray that when I slip under for the last time, my final ripple may become a wave big enough to help push someone else, someone still struggling up on the surface, further up and farther in, and towards their way back home.
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Morning Song

Who can describe a morning?
Who can tell you of the breeze blowing softly through your hair?
Of the dappled transcendence that occurs as you walk from shadow into sunlight and back into shadow again?
Whose words can give justice to the growing warmth of the rising sun against your skin as the coolness of the dawn passes into day?
The honey scents hanging in the air, the sounds of the birds in the sky and in the trees? How the culmination of sight, sound, feeling and thought cause the heart to grow tight with joy and float in dance as you are enveloped completely?

The finest of words, the most eloquent passages of speech can be no more than warm vapor.

Our involuntary emissions breathing death without conversion back to life by these green and good things it trys so desperately to describe.

And so God doth make a compliment from a contradiction and boundless beauty from our endless waste.

And in our silent reverence we too may enter into morning’s song.

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This Dance

Sometimes we’re spinning so fast it takes my breath away.

You move me like the rapids and sweep me through the days.

Other times we are slow lovers. Close as heartbeats to your song.

The tempo fills the the air around us and I am dancing right along.

During dark days I strain to hear a whisper-your voice above the roar.

Stumbling minutes through the foggy day -clumsy monotony across the floor.

But today there is a symphony of golden webs between the veil.

I am an acrobat between their strings, sailing through the air.

My arms are full of graces I can pour back to the world.

Orchestral notes reverberating in each kindness I unfurl.

Knowing I can make it though the days when I cannot hear your song.

Remembering the notes you gave , I’ll hum the tune and sway along.

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To Suffer Well

I do believe that I have suffered greatly

Stoically, pathetically, presumptuously

Foolishly across a lifetime

But now, if I may be so bold

Still emerging from my spiritual birth

While the lanugo and vernix  doth still cling

Dying  in my infancy

I offer myself up

To You, for You, and for my own

As a living sacrifice

To be made presentable in your care

And laid out upon this coffer’s crib

Used as it may be most fitting

To serve Your purpose

As piece by piece I go

And I  will suffer greatly still

But finally, I might also suffer well


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When I look at them
My darlings, my babies, my sweet little ones
I wonder
At how he must love me like I love them
But more-and perfectly
And how it must hurt sometimes
How his heart must ache
When I fall, when I hurt, when I feel lost and alone
How he must wish he could make all the bad stuff go away
How he wishes he could take me to a safe place and keep me there
And the sadness he must feel to know that though he can offer comfort, Love and support
He must let me go through this
If I am to grow
If I am to become
And when they look back at me
I wonder
How they must see me like I see him
And I know
If I am to love them
Like he loves me
Then I must become more like him and less like me
And I wonder
  If less like me, is really more like me
      After all
         At least
            The me I want to be
                 When I look at them
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