Walk

I am here to walk with you.
My heart warmed in yours
under the almost new moon.

I breathe in to feel you fill me.
When I breathe out some of
me wrapped in you surrenders.

I let chilled night rest on my lips.
Your kiss to remind me that not
all love is sweet but is always there.

I look into stars and see your eyes.
You watch me with the same wonder
as I reach to you for grace.

I hold you as you hold me.
In astonishment, that two
can walk as One in the night.

Permeable

I went to bed last night,
it was there winking at me
through the glass above the stairs
in a skywide view,
a caution against predictability.

They said it was going to snow,
this small hours beacon contrary,
no clouds brimmed with midnight flakes
to hide still green grass,
a mid-December aberration,
not much wears convention this year.

The morning came with little fanfare,
even though the warning
still adamant for storm,
that’s what they said, wanted,
to keep me from my venture out
to fill my senses
with the genius of the Divine.

The box of grey sky,
a rule of winter,
of how it should be,
did not deliver.

Remembering that cosmic glint,
I didn’t listen to those who know,
who fall to the ordinary to be safe,
have no need to be
permeable to astonishment.

In Advent I ready myself for something new,
I seek a slant vista of the coming day,
pursue an unsealed look
into my wintered being
for the ChristLight that is always there
not bowing to the call of the expected,
never dimmed to uniformity,
nor dulled into tedium.

I seek the astonishing Voice
who calls my name,
give way to extraordinary unfolding
of the One through my steps and
in my touch, my felicity,
I walk with simplicity the thin time
agape to a shift.

He did not come to keep the same
but to transform in exuberance.

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Author’s Note:

Everything was created through him;
    nothing—not one thing!—
    came into being without him.
What came into existence was Life,
    and the Life was Light to live by.
The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness;
    the darkness couldn’t put it out.

from The Message/Remix, translated by Eugene H. Peterson

 

Petty Blues

Thunder snow rattles my senses
fragile flakes exit from angry clouds
weaving into pretentious city exhalation

On a day where sun was bright
and took its leave, winter’s chill
slid over mountain rim to prairie plain

Thunder breaking through gelid wisps
manifests
takes me off balance

A synoptic storm of power and gentleness
Eternal Purity and Lionheart Will
enfolds my existence into relinquishment

A remembrancer not to hold certain
or rest in piety
but sever the fetters of petty blues
and stand in awe of Divine Exposition

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Author’s Note:

Today it was 65 degrees in Denver in mid-December. Tomorrow the snow arrives.

D’s Psalm, Remixed

You are Light in the Depth of Me;
you make me whole.
I rest under your verdant breath;
you give life to my being.
In mirrored pond I see your face.
You enfold me as your beloved.
In balance with you
I journey into this world.

The path may be perilous,
but I am not alone,
You are with me,
bracing me with strength
and guiding me in compassion.

You nourish me with abundance
not accorded to those
who have yet to realize your tenderness.

I am your bride prepared for her wedding,
radiant beyond the blazing sun.
You walk beside me, together as One in Promise.
We dance for Eternity.

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Author’s Note:

This evening at our bible study class of the Gospel of Mark, our pastor, Fr. Scott Jenkins, led us down an interesting path. At least for a writer, I found it quite curious. We were talking about Psalm 23, the opening line: The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He asked us to try putting this line it into words that fit into our life today.

Some questioned the use of “Lord.” Would we say that today? If so, how do we relate to it? It was there I was lost to the rest of the discussion as my mind wandered into the psalm.

I use this psalm as part of my daily Passage Meditation practice. I always find it difficult to reconcile some of the war-like images. I also see the Feminine Divine in it. Isn’t it the woman who feeds and sets the table? Isn’t it the woman who prepares her bridegroom with anointing oils? Goodness and mercy always seem like feminine attributes to me.

Tonight gave me the opportunity to jump into my own remix for my growing understanding in my faith journey.

And later in the evening someone stated just as Mark was written for a specific time and community of faith, she might like a gospel written just for Colorado, or maybe Aurora, or for our community, A Church of the Holy Family, ECC. In response, Fr. Scott asked us to look at the opening line of Mark and compare the numerous translations we had with us this evening. His challenged us to come up with an opening line for our own gospel introducing Jesus to our contemporary life. Hmmm…….

Incarnation

Winter bright sun
throws itself reckless
across my wall
playing creator of shadows
not the real thing
but distorted views
of absolute

I hold my hand
to block its light
provoke a dialogue
become intertwined
in confusion
unable to distinguish
truth from forgery

Winter night enters quickly
more quickly than invited
blends shadow and matter
deeply into measureless space
solitude and emptiness
the same

When you come to me
Promised Light
not to reshape my tenement
not to quarrel over ordinance or creed
you come as first gleam
diamonding icicles
held in precious purchase

When you come to me
you stand in my light
bearing my shadow
I see the brilliance of
me in you
singular
not plural
incarnate both

Avowal

You broke my heart
not in a love mate sort of way
but profound, raw
an abyss wide open to the elements
you painted me in compassion

You saved me
not in a shining knight sort of way
you reached into earth and pulled
with both hands through muck
standing beside me at the front
equals in strength, brave in our fervor

You listened to me
not as friend but as soul within soul
kindling a fire, faithful true
knowing my worth
holding me in Light

You flung wide the doors
opened the invitation
familiar with the treacherous path
you espoused me as One in Promise
I accept Your hand

Little Trees

I put up four little trees, not real ones, but ones
with tiny flickering white lights. I placed two,

each one in a planter, and two side by side
in the same. I pulled down branches, fluffed them.

Sitting for a year in the basement crawlspace
waiting for purpose once more withered

their look. It was cold. An arctic chill swooped
down quickly this day. The morning was greeted

by a blazing sunrise of butter yellow melting into
neon orange, then ruby reaching it’s fingers into

royal purple. That’s the way to start a new
year, this first day of Advent, in a blaze of Light.

But icy cold haze rolled over us. Fog rarely seen
hid the park leaving only a picnic house with its

white painted beams glowing in ghostly
cover. My fingers stiffened bending the wire

branches feigning to be pine. My slippers
absentmindedly chosen not for weather

but for convenience did not keep frozen air
from numbing the tips of my toes. How do

those who don’t know this is the first day of
Advent, those on park benches and under

bridges, live in tandem with this cold? I finish
stepping back into the warm breath of my

kitchen to gaze out at my handiwork for
another season. Lights twinkle and words

from today’s homily pass my way once more.
Stay awake, be aware. My stiffened fingers

begin to curl smoothly again as I embrace a
lusty mug of coffee. I wait, aware of chill that

stiffens and the gift of light and warmth I have
been afforded this Advent, the first day of the year.