Psalm in the Shadow | Spoken Word

 

My hidden Shepherd, I've stumbled unsure

amidst rumbling storms and shadow; obscured

pathways, a mist shrouds my searching gaze.

I have earnestly begged to see your face,

Tearfully prayed through troubled nights and days,

Standing under your heavy hand,

Not understanding your painful plan.

I'm like a lamb

to the slaughter.

Have you forgotten

that I am your daughter?

Have you run out of grace?

Left me alone in this place?

And I'm just tryin' to run this race

well, but you disappeared and I fell

into a pit, a dark prison cell.

Please leave the ninety-nine

and get me out of this hell!

I thought, for a while, we had a great relationship,

But it seems the One who held me

has released me from his grip.

Have you abandoned me

to the world's cracking whip?

According to their standards, I'm never enough,

But still I aim for perfection, and try to be tough.

And Lord, I know you use a different measure,

Yet inside your rule I still feel such pressure.

But where else would I go?

God, you are my Treasure.

Jesus, my Jesus, I remember what you spoke:

"Come to me, you who are weary,

Come to me and share my yoke."

But I have no clue how to drop my burden,

No idea how to pick up your light one.

I'm being crushed by the weight and exertion.

All I want is to see you, the bright Son!

I don't know how my soul is supposed to let go

of the load I've carried my whole life, and so

I'll just do the one part I can say that I know:

I will come to you, Jesus, 'cause you are my Home.

Here in the shadow, I speak out my choice:

That although I can't see you, I'll follow your voice.

Forest Song

 

Wildwood, what palace of peace!

Trees towering tall;

Sapiens seems so small

In cottonwood cathedrals

And stately sequoia steeples.

Pines pointing to the Higher Power,

Arboreal ardor amplified;

Hear the festal forests' chorus,

Witness alders' adulations

And junipers' jubilations.

Praise the Prince of palms and ponderosas!

Regal redwoods in refrain,

Rejoice in the Ruler of dappled domains.

Sunlight shining glory gold

Through backlit leaves light green -

A shimmering story told

With winds' whispers fresh and free,

Lungs of the earth,

Alive with mirth.

Listen as they lift high the Lord of lords!

Canticle to the Creator of cassia canopies

and hickory halls -

In chapels of chestnut a chant

swells and falls,

Then streams from new shoots

And rises from ancient roots,

Flying toward heaven's Heart,

Fiery phoenix of the flame tree.

Lightning, rain, and thunder -

Watch the willows bow in wonder

And worship the Maker,

Master of every woodland acre.

All for him, the Forest Song.

Return to Treasure Island

Glistening hot

     white flour

          baked

               with salt

                    and sea oats, stirred

                         by continuous breeze with

                              astonishingly

                                   turquoise water.

But there’s a rest place.

It’s been here all these years.

Why did we miss some?

     And what if we hadn’t?

“Nostalgia” comes from

     ancient words

          meaning

               “return home” and

                    “pain”.

I read a sign.

Those cheerful green parakeets –

          we called them parrots –

     with their short, high, squawking language,

     are transplants from South America,

But this

     became

          their home.

If I had never stopped

     coming down the Florida road –

Family migration for a regular filling

     of delight, excitement satisfied –

Would I feel

     the pain

          of returning to this

               piece of home?

Reflection on the Death of a Saint

As the Great Wave Of Loss bears down,

     sight surprises expectation:

Can even death be all woven through

     with light?

Christ's wake shimmering

     on the sea of sadness;

Morning Star's glory glinting

     on breaker's black crest

As His victory swallows

     the final foe.

At the turning of the gilded page,

     God makes all things new.

Easter in the Northwoods

 
Reflections on a personal spiritual retreat, weekend of Resurrection Day 2012, Boundary Waters, Northern Minnesota

Up the joyous coastline,
     fresh and free all feels,
To the place Adventurous Christians

     may go.
Gloriously

     rugged,
Rightfully

     untamed,
Present with the mystery -
     Easter in the Northwoods.

The sound of my soul
     rises,
     resonating
     with this
     wild freedom.
A million arboreal cathedral spires
     point my heart to You,
Here,
     with Nouwen my companion in solitude,
Sitting on the riverbank,
     edge of holy waters -
Boundary
     between now and eternity.

Strangers welcome me

     in the Name,
Saints draw me
     in to havens of hewn trees,

     Dwelling borne by crossbeams,
Feed me
     what's Real.
Woodstove warms my spirit,
     the rustic restores me.

Your breath in the body -
I've come alive again.

Foreshadowing

A poem for Ash Wednesday

forty-six sunsets before

Son's rising,

eyes see a foreshadowing

once Radiance beating down,

piercing Light,

now beams fade into darkness

all that brightness descending

below earth-edge,

trails of crimson in the wake

all the more breathtaking

do ash and dust make

Day's death

O God Eternal, O God of Mayflies

O God eternal, O God of mayflies,
Shepherd, Overseer of the long-dancing
     stars' lives
     and the fleeting flame of flowers,
King of the beats
     of hummingbird wings
     and mouse hearts,
Choreographer of continental drifts
     and Grower of bristlecone pines,
Lord of human breaths
     and comet revolutions,
Are not our times held in wise hands?
Ancient of Days,
Who but You has seen
     the rise and fall of seas and nations,
     the birth of the earth
     and all the life her womb has nourished?
Who but You is the Life-Singer?
Who but You, our Beginning and End?

The Last Word

 

Words shook me.

I felt the reality of death in them – 

        stark, unveiled,

        shimmering and pain-laced.

A brief utterance in time,

But the weight in its wake

        bends eternity.

O God of bodies,

Your presence feels our fear;

Our tears

        are Your heart language.

Fragility

        does not offend You.

O God Resurrector,

There’s Light

        coming out the edges

        of The Sentence,

Because You are present there,

        already, now.

It’s just the first clause;

The Word at the end is Yours,

        is You.

O Spirit

Descend and move us,
O uncontrollable Guide.
We cannot manipulate
     the Cloud and the Flame.
How foolish
     are our attempts -
Categorizing the unknown,
Forecasting God.
Do we only like You
     when Your form is small?
          comfortable?
          describable?
Is our allegiance conditional
     on agreement?
          familiarity?
          predictability?

O uncivilized Fountain,
Are we embarrassed
     by Your joy and grief?
Are we ashamed of Your tears,
Humiliated by Your dancing?
Do we laugh when You weep
     and weep when You laugh?

O unreasonable Wisdom,
Do we hush the children,
Do we silence the prophets -
     ignore those who speak from the margins?
Have we doused
     Your refining blaze
And built walls to block
     Your propelling wind?

O ancient Fire,
Thaw our frozen hearts!
O eternal Breath,
Fill our empty lungs!
Expose the limits of our logic,
     our fig leaves of comprehension.
Awake our imaginations
     and nourish us with mystery.

O untaintable Purifier,
Burn up our false power
     that we may know Love.
Blow away our counterfeit hope
     that we may see Resurrection.
Form dust into clay jars
     Holy to the Lord.
Come dwell,
O unparalleled Treasure,
     and flow from us
     as Life to all the world.

Ascension - 4.16,17,19.20

Sun blazes, beams down,
     nothing to hinder, to flicker
          its gaze.
Footstep crunches the glittering crust,
     crushes the gleaming crest,
Twelve points biting
     wind-sculpted white.

Lungs lunge,
     sparse oxygen seizing;
Heart thunders,
     lightning-laced and charged.
Ears catch the whistle -
     wind whipping rock rims,
     the cleft catching the call.

Pause.

     then
Climb.
What else
     can one do
In response to
     all this?

Among

You came and stood
    - among them -
Conqueror of the depths of the grave;

Invited them
     torushinclose
     and touch
     your hands and side.

You breathed
     into dust
     again -
Made them whole:
Peace
     be With you -
          Feel my pulse,
          Believe,
          Be alive.

You told someone like me,
Don't
     Hold me...
                       just yet.
I think maybe
      when she does
She will
     never
          let go.

Apart

I hated standing

Six            Feet            Away  -

The depth of a plague victim's grave.

My body ached
     torushinclose,
     hug and hold
     You
     for a long time.

My substance is disintegrating
     from the withholding:
To feel the pulse of an Other
With One's whole form
Is a holy need -
     We turn to dust without it.

My flesh is blowing away in the wind...
How long can One hold on
     to no one
          before

               f  a  l  l  i  n  g

                                   a      p      a      r      t      ?

12 West Monroe

I breathe
Between
The healing places.

Body of Christ
     to the north,
Right near Saint Francis -
House of prayer and
     house of healing
Always must go together.

Across the waterfall,
     under the Great Mountain,
Is the Saint's cathedral -
Pulsing green with a blue dome,
Teeming with his Sisters and Brothers,
     and it's a wonder
And no wonder
     the baptismal waters
Flow into the heart of the city.

That's my southern border -
The place I learn to die.
It's also where I rise from the River,
     and feed on the Body and Blood;
Where my blind eyes see
     and where I stretch out my withered hand
In the presence of the Body, the Saints, the Family.

North and east,
West and south -
There's restoration in this house
     and all around.
That is why I breathe here,
Invited to heal.

Confessional About Those Parts; or, Eve, What Have You Done?

I think they look odd -
     Those parts and the one down below
I'm not sure why they're there
I've never been sure if they fit the rest of me.

I don't think they look quite right
I don't know if God sewed them on
     As much as that they just
          grew like tumors and
               I'm not sure they're benign.

A little over half my life ago I changed from who I used to be
     ... I'm not sure about that.
But now they're always right there
     in front of me, yet
I'm not sure they're really part of Me -
     Maybe more like my shadow?

No one sees them but me -
     and that not very much; A few minutes
          or a few seconds
     And I hide them again
          after a double-take
     And I'm not sure how I feel about them.

They're for appreciating, I've heard
     But they must stay covered, I've heard
          So I think they will
               "exist" unappreciated; I'm only allowed
to share them with
     someone who doesn't exist
          So I think I will never be freed
               to like them.

I'm not sure how I can be
     So disconnected from something so connected
     But sometimes I wish I could get them off me.

They're not even like the ones on the others
     They're small like maybe they're not
          meant to be there
And they make the clothes not fit right
So I look like What is that supposed to be.

If she
     could see them and touch them
          and love them
Then I'm sure I could, too
     But right now they are strangers to me.

But maybe a few times a year I think maybe
     I like them, I'm not sure.

13.19 - 12.18.19

She's the sun;
She's all summer.

Bright and warm,
     Hope and fun -
          The deep and strong
     steady light
          of unhindered life.

How cold and stiff and numb was I
            until
     you rose.

Shine in this winter
     and thaw my hypothermic
          heart so
     chilled and stilled by the fears
          around me.

You remind me that I'm human
     and full
     of life.

Window - 8.11.19

You're near.
Right
     on the other side
     of the glass.

Warm clouds obscure
I'm               holding breath -
Hoping to see...
Can you see me?

Finally gasp
     as The Light goes through it.
Prismatic Hope
I can see
All of me is seen.

Aflame

This is the time
     when outside the glass I see
A million flecks of gold adorning
     the living scaffold.
With every breath they dance,
     until with elation complete,
Satisfied sigh to earth's floor
     to bejewel the holy ground with thanks.

18.4

You are elegant strength lived in restful rhythm.
Silver curves grace your strong hand;
Tenderness flames out from your confident motion -
You are powerful and shining,
     And I miss you, dear friend,
Sweet friend, whose laugh bends the
     walls of darkness farther from our souls.

Ukarumpa Evening

Clouds fold over, flowing down into
   the cracks of this green mountain-jeweled wild.
Rain-rhythm draws a rapid dusk
   while golden inner-light speaks home
   to souls whose days were full.

Morning

See a sphere of fire ascend,
     push back the world's dark blanket -
Souls rise and thaw -
Liquid diamonds receiving unshod feet
     across the holy green.