communion ~

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memorymine

it was the way
I felt
when I dreamed
of nothing –
not the road ahead
nor the turning round
to ease the path
of forgotten lessons –
light from somewhere
just beyond
my hands to grieve
as hearts to flutter
dare my feet
to dance again
was here we swayed
in sweet communion
– a waltz
recalled as light
to dream

. . .

days we journeyed ~

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homereturning

As I get older, I’m more and more aware of time and the measured beats by which it slips away – between our fingers, loosed within breaths, tangled between the bed and wall………. All that we’ve held, but for fraction of eternity, and yet, still, until there is nothing left of us for holding to.

Eventually, we are no more than the sum of those who have loved us, those who grieve us when the night is long and the earth so very cold, who glory the sound of our name, regardless the passing of days (or lifetimes) between.

This morning, I spoke with a dear friend whose father passed yesterday. We’ve talked before about daddies and love that seems most cherished between a daughter and father. When she came to me today, it was with her arms open and eyes spilling over. She knew I would know, that I would feel the pain of her loss the same as I’ve relished the wonderful fullness of her life before this day.

She may not feel it now, but in a few days, that fullness will be her salvation. It will be the reminder of just how rich we can be, with only the presence of love in our lives, spilling to encompass everything we know.

In that fullness, I pray for her tears of gratitude.

Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed.  Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace and gratitude. ~ Denis Waitley

how far from this
were days we journeyed
paths grown over –
weeds divine
mark the way
where once we tarried
beneath the bounty
of love’s design

. . .

rivers from the sea ~

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Rainy%20Window

how softly sings
the morning rain –
a pit of willing patter
as tears along
a length of tin –
buckets from a ladder
rain me down
drown me here
lest I the same become
a threat of storms
beyond the creek –
as rivers from the sea
sorrows
I have given claim
as paid with joys for me –
let it rain
tell I am clear
then let it rain
again

. . .

paper hearts ~

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whereIamknown

OF ALL I’VE KNOWN
AND THERE A FEW
WITH NAMES
I DON’T REMEMBER
A SCATTERING OF STONES
AGAINST MY HEART
EVERMORES
FORGOTTEN NOW
THE WAY FOREVER LINGERED
TOOK TO ROOST
A HOME BENEATH MY BED
ALLOWING SOMETHING
MORE THAN I
POSSESS THE NEED TO ALTER
BOXES FILLED –
PARCHMENT PAPER HEARTS
OF FADED LINE
AND ONE MORE TIME –
THE LOWLY EVIDENCE
OF MOMENTS
WITHOUT WORDS
TO SPEAK –
FOR FEAR
THEY MATTER ONLY
IN MY DREAMS

. . .

beyond the firelight ~

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If you know me, you’ve come to understand that much of what I believe to be true I learned early, nurtured by love and surrounded by nature. I rarely read anything without finding another perspective, one in which the lesson is made clearer, sweeter, with a foundation as dear as old roots and ancient stars.

Yesterday, I read something about grief and immediately determined another point of reference (simply of love).

Some of my favorite childhood memories are of camping. Earlier this week, mama and I talked about some of those times, those which are as near today as they were then (close your eyes, brother).

One such endearment lies within the process my mom and dad had for getting us to bed at night. Mom would take us to the bath house earlier in the evening (before dark), and we would return to sit around the fire after supper. As it got later, at some point, daddy would fill a dishpan with warm water and would, one by one, wash our feet and carry us to the tent. What a wonderful memory!

Truly, in retrospect, I’ve come to understand that this was likely an effort to protect the tent from dirty feet…………yet, still……..

The thing I read about grief compared death to the extinguishing a lamp before going to bed. But my immediate point of reference was to nights around the fire. If you’ve been camping, you know that people tend to retire slowly rather than all at once. I recall lying in the tent, listening to conversations taking place around the fire, mesmerized by shadows dancing on the canvas.

What a lovely thought, to think of those who’ve gone on, knowing they are as close as the next room, just beyond the canvas. While we linger around the fire, tending to life, they have retired to dream……….where they wait for us………….

For another dawn, with air so clean it surely is the breath of God, and of bacon frying over an open fire!

. . .

beyond the will
where living still
a fire burns
the brighter

. . .

another past ~

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nearandyetnear

whene’er
the spell of twilight
burns
to steal a sky so blue ~
will then I pause
my heart in wonder
how much of time
tis breath
til you
and I are found ~
when days no longer
move to block the path returned
how many stars
were wishes trailing ~
trade but for some other
spurned –
will find a place
within my soul
reflections of another past
nights
when I was famous ~
even so ~
left my name
amid your secrets
fallen stars
now taking hold

. . .

simply ~

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“Sometimes, in the midst of a crazy day or a crazier week, I get an email from my brother, ‘meet you below the falls in five minutes’.   And just like that, I am somewhere else, breathing in the cold spray from high above, as laughter echoes off canyon walls.   Even now, I close my eyes and hear the wonderful music that is bare feet on flat rocks.”

 

If we’re fortunate, we realize the blessing in the midst of its becoming rather than only in retrospect. In doing so, we free ourselves from bitterness, regret, and a future filled with frustration as we attempt to re-write the past.

In doing so, we erase the illusion that is time.

While the body may be tethered to the advance of hours, years, seasons, love is not.  As someone near and dear to me commented recently, ‘How time dissolves in the mind, when our frame of reference is simply love …’

Touché

. . .

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twilight descent ~

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thoughtyouhere

4/13/2016
7:15 AM

when leaves don the color
of twilight descent
when night pulls away
from the dawn
when tears all have dried
will you remember me then
as a time
saved for living
divine

will the birds
sing a chorus –
songs known by heart
to fill up the trees
– as breath
with the breeze

that blows through
your hair
unsettling loves
you’ve forgotten
to remember
somehow

will you wake
with a start –
with a longing for home
miles from the place
was forever begun
might I find you again
by another
someday
a light spilling warm
to my face

elusive as memory
at the edge of a dream
where last I was held
in your arms
untouched by tomorrow
a moment of grace
lingers now
on beginning –
my sorrows
erased

. . .

unfiltered ~

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More than one florist tried selling us on roses, on carnations, lilies or gladiolas.

Somehow none of those seemed worthy of the man
who found beauty
in the wildflowers and weeds….

daddysbouquet

where
and I am with you now
no different
than before –
when winds are blown
and waves –
the sea concedes
faultless as a message
left behind
to soothe the shore
know that I am waiting –
a breath
you’ve yet to breathe

. . .

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