My friends and followers, I feel the need to let you know you may not be seeing many new posts for a bit. My father has entered hospice in our home and my time is taken.
Please feel free to scroll around my site and I may just post links to past writing once and while.
Thank you for your following,
The fall began when noise roiled hot
leaving no space to catch its notice
Drop by drop the fallen exploded
meshing itself within turbulence
I didn’t feel, just empty pocks
within, abandoned tiny voids
To hear Your call I had to learn
it is native, there my ear must rest
Still myself, sink into your hush,
overpass the cry of caterwaul
And like a snowflake first in storm,
no two alike, just me, listen
You called my name and filled the
blanks, Samuel touched the same
Not one of his words fell to the ground
so cherished are You, so devoted
I hear and see your gifts native to
my soul, entrusted only to me
I hold words, safe from slight
I relinquish who I am from Within
My foodstuff is word, my provender
a voice to carry vision of those
long gone, I stand with the fool
and the actor, the poet who
nourish native ground, deep
within where only You and I
are One. I beat a pondering
to pull all in to see. This is my
appointment, my named called,
as Samuel, I too, am the Divine’s servant.
Today at Mass I came once more, face-to-face with my life-long struggle. Our first reading was from 1 Samuel 3, God calling Samuel. The final line read was, “The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of Samuel’s words fall to the ground.”
None of Samuel’s words fell to the ground.
Of course, they were not Samuel’s words. He was only the vehicle. Samuel’s job was to carry His words. I heard my call again.
As always, Fr. Scott challenges us in his homilies. His own work with the homeless in downtown Denver, our new space that will serve our families in Aurora, and all those amazing people who are in the trenches, cut deep into me.
Here I sit with “drama” and word.
I’ve struggled all my life, growing up with Roman Catholic guilt, wanting to help people.
I heard my call, His call, all of my life. I’ve acted since I could walk. In high school, college, and years of running a traveling theatre for children, that was where I thrived. And just a few years ago, I learned that I have a passion for writing.
But I wasn’t helping people.
And I needed health insurance and some kind of retirement. So I became a teacher leaving my other life behind, covering up the call, trying to ignore it. Fast-forward about thirteen years.
I found a new church, an amazing place, where a dear soul who somehow heard my call brought it back to my attention after years of neglect. He offered a safe place to try it out once more, this time with purpose. Not only have I been given the opportunity to act, but also to write.
I am learning to understand what I do does feed people. Not food for their bellies, but deeper. Most people don’t get this. “Drama” is not really seen as much more than entertainment.
I will continue on my path – writing, of course – but more important, bringing women from the bible to life through my vision and learning.
I will continue writing new liturgy with dramatic elements that challenge because it is an alternate way, not securely tucked into the box of traditional ritual.
Most importantly, I will continue to listen to the Voice from my native ground who grows my soul.
And as I grow up, listen to and believe what I hear, my words will not fall.
I wish for you sweet kisses
May you be lost in tender
embrace under a winsome
Let your ears fill with doting
whispers seducing you
to luscious slumber
On this eventide, now
and forever, may you know
my heart’s wide berth
Goodnight, my love
Just a little bit of sweetness thinking ahead to Valentine’s Day, my favorite holiday.
I didn’t go to mass today
Sunday to pray and sing
grasp how I see the world
instead, I went to Goodwill
There once was a girl
who came upon a box of ribbons
pretty ones in sherbet colors
silky but secure
she tied each to her wrists
the other ends to sherbet balloons
she happened upon along the way
balloons sherbet balloons lifting up satin ribbons a lover’s laugh Spirit words flowing from her fingertips sweet dogs friend smiles little hands covered in glue musty earth under fingernails coyote calls beneath an oyster moon hung in black suburban skies blue eyes rites and rituals question quest Word Wisdom
all tied up, together, too many
I didn’t go
to mass today
I sat under ashen winter clouds
untied a sherbet hued ribbon
a sherbet tinged balloon
diminishing into a pinprick
in ashen winter clouds
A few weeks ago, already, I chose the word “release” for my New Year’s Word. I’ve given up on resolutions. I thought I could make good if I chose just one word. It might be working.
I wait upon early morning fog
a remnant of warm days configured
from cold night surprise enfolded
with first light ascending to burn
There is a softness in the brume
that welcomes an alternate seeing
a compassionate new view
a slowing to respond
Sharp edges that cut deep
bleeding my soul onto
grey stone pavement blur
forces inquiry not into vapor
but plunges into my marrow
In the nebula ache disappears
a vacant image I shall not press
I surrender to Intimacy within
the You and me a tangle of
The 12th Day of Christmas
In late afternoon the snow melted
on the back deck leaving dark grey
splotches to shine under the full moon
as winter chill descends
And snow will drop in just after midnight
ice crystaled flakes imbed themselves
into the forlorn slick, a shrouded veil,
meekly laid cover to disguise vulnerability
Our dark season likes to play games
with hope, draping itself leisurely
in sun-washed skies, clearly
beckoning me to leave behind my
obligation to dally in its pleasure
Under its grin I allow myself to imbibe,
hope to linger in its exhaled embrace
crisp under a teal canopy
If I tarry, neglect to ready myself
to the falling sun behind white
peaks outlined in the day’s exit,
I leave myself vulnerable
I leave myself vulnerable to hope
that time will bring a gentle touch
of spring to wrap me in sweetness
of newly scented gardens
I leave myself vulnerable in hope
to feel your kiss aflame on my lips
your pant upon my cheek
your hand in gentle grasp of mine
I leave myself vulnerable to hope
that I will meet You just as I am
wallowing in your goodness
under stars and sun, beneath moon
or inside rain, swirling within blizzard
or silent in your still-morning smile
Only in vulnerability do I leave
myself ajar to Your possibility
it fell from my hand
from what once seemed
a perfect balance
surprise was not in the crash
scattering of pieces
unable to be refashioned
a precious spirit
everything appeared boundless
palms cupped, arms raising
but it didn’t find its place
to rest, my sanctuary,
it fell without warning
keenly slicing through the day
required deep digging
to the answer
to the core
to divine the plague
the whats and the hows
a quest to find healing for
an antiphon too early chanted
my iced heart fears to think
looking out numbly
not wanting pain for the broken
fearing the silence
oh, if only
i was God.