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.

Thoughts on Pride and Arrogance

Arrogance and pride are blind to everyone -
   even to one's own soul.
It is useless to correct a prideful person -
   he cannot hear you.
Pride and arrogance have no sense.
   They are senseless...
   unable to see, unable to hear, unable to taste, unable to smell,
   unable to feel, unable to touch.
They can neither give nor receive;
   only impose and seize.
Pride and arrogance are dead things.
They bring death to the one who allows them a home,
   and death to all around him.

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.

An Advent Meditation

Beginning with Thanksgiving and then through this weekend I've been coming around the bend, and now here it is: Advent. Each year I relish it richer, experience it deeper – the coming of the Light. Preparing for the mystery – the mystery of God in a body (now, too, in the Body), of God dwelling among us, and all which surrounds that. This year I have felt the earth shaking beneath me in new ways than in years past, and heard a million voices shouting over me, but I'm listening to the voice of my Good Shepherd who leads me beside still waters, who leads me to the firm ground, to the solid rock, to the stable in the stable.

When I live the Advent season, I'm not waiting so much as preparing... for the silent night broken open by a crying baby and thundering wondering angels' song pronouncing Hope, announcing Peace himself on Earth. On the surface, on the outside, the Peace can be hard to see, because he came to the world in a young virgin's womb and it's from the inside out that he's making all things new. So in the middle of the busy, and in the mornings and evenings that surround it, I'll be still in my inmost place, and I'll ponder and treasure the mystery, and I will see the Peace.

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.

Terra Sancta

My feet, bare, feel
        the holy ground.
Winter earth thawed by burning bush
        receives
                my knees,
                        then hands,
                                then face.
The real, the sacred weight -
        the gravity of grace.

Were you not Father, I would not
        dare request.
But you accepted gentle
        all I have confessed,
So I ask bold
        for taste, for sound, for sight.
Giver, grant
        my daily bread
                of grief and light.