Advent Geese, A Solstice Consecration

They were there.

In the silent sky early on my daily
drives, wings flapped. Although they
were too far away to see motion’s grace
or hear wind rush over and under
hollow-boned arms, I saw them.
A patterned V placed their purpose.

There were geese this fall with each
journey outside. It must be true
of this time of year, a thing
I never noticed.

Seldom did they make their voices known,
but they were always there. Gliding in front
of a full moon, a photo unable to impress
upon an iPhone screen.

They were there in afternoon walks, in
sun and grey filled skies. At night when
words flowed from my fingers in depths
of darkness. Then I could hear the cry,
in midnight still, their cry to me.

On this morning of Winter’s Solstice, four
times an Advent celebration, a new moon
soon to birth her smile, they were there.

Fireballs falling from a sky kissed by a
rising sun. A fairytale vision. Golden-winged
snitches raced across the blue, soared
over rooftops. The end of a fireworks
display, that last brave spark to shower earth
when all color has spent itself and drops only
burning embers to please the eye.

They were there. Not alien ships as misunderstood
by more fantastic eyes, but geese reflecting an
ascending light, pointing to a new beginning,
a path to take, a voice now heard, a song in
tandem harmony.

I stepped once again into this morning one last
time, three flew as one. In a moment’s breath
one departed on a path laid down only for a sole
navigator. Alone, and yet, eternally Three In One.




Author’s Note:

I had quite an interesting experience this morning and wanted to capture it. However, I think the explanation below will help with understanding my words above.

I was sitting in the family room this morning looking out the top windows when I saw this big ball of light falling from the sky. I said to Leroy, “I just saw a falling star?” He said, “Meteor.” It’s a joke from the past. (Apparently, some amateur astronomers (not my husband) have little fancy about them. I was sternly corrected when I mentioned falling stars in the presence of one of these amateurs while visiting a local star night at Gates Planetarium a few years back.)

I looked up again and saw another. It looked like it was on fire. I know I will sound crazy when I say this, but it looked like a Quidditch snitch. It was a ball of fire with wings.

He stood up and as soon as he looked out the window there was another. Spooked, we went outside and looked up to the skies. One more and then nothing. After about a half a minute of searching the skies, a flock of geese in a V pattern flew past lit by the sun.

Even though these beautiful creatures were also ablaze, they were white light, so bright they didn’t look real. The other single ones were golden fire. We watched and realized that the falling balls of fire we both saw were individual geese lit up by this Solstice sun.

What a blessing to see these balls of fire flying through the air.


I place block upon block
like a child grasping those small wooden pieces,
squares with the alphabet painted in primary reds,
blue, yellow, and secondary green
with primitive drawings on two sides
matching the sound of each letter,
lowercase on another, upper case at the end.

With precision I secure one upon the next,
perfectly chosen, balanced.
I make a tower. I do my job.
I seek perfection. I want the prize.

I am empty building this monument,
yet I continue day and night, years into life.
The tower grows, topples. I begin
again. No matter. I will do what I am told,
lying if I must, pretense. I follow the rules.
I loathe the bricks.

In the last fall, I heard your voice.
Removing the blocks from my hands your
touch is gentle, not like the hewn lump
I wasted in perpetuity.

Deep within, I gasp. There is a spark
waiting to flame. You know it is there.
Holy oils anoint my skin, the rigid shell
softens. Harsh coarse words
fade with your embrace. Finally, I am.


Author’s Note:

There is a darkness to these current logions. I find myself visiting my past, glad knowing I am in a new place now.

My other poems in this series of my study of the Gospel of Thomas can be found at Theophany or here:

Through the Mirror/5

Logion 6 from the Gospel of Thomas, translated by Stephen J. Patterson and James M. Robinson at the Gnostic Society Library:


(1) His disciples questioned him, (and) they said to him:
” Do you want us to fast?
And how should we pray and give alms?
And what diet should we observe?”

(2) Jesus says: “Do not lie. (3) And do not do what you hate.
(4) For everything is disclosed in view of <the truth>.
(5) For there is nothing hidden that will not become revealed.
(6) And there is nothing covered that will remain undisclosed.”


Grasping with one last stronghold weathered,
now swarthy, once supple and verdant,

then golden to russet, now brittle,
her breath chides me to release my grip,

wisdom’s tumble down to earth.  Yet by my side
I am twin, identical or kin we twist

and turn through seasons’ favors
to shade or gift pure expiration.

Within my veins his words still
flow. I am parchment left behind.

I will loosen, take her ride,
crumble to dust leaving bare

a fashioned branch refined
for spring’s incumbent arrival.





Author’s Note:

I was recently introduced to The Gospel of Thomas among other writings that did not “make it” into the canonical gospels. Sharon Taylor, a spiritual director at the Church of the Holy Family, ECC, gave me a taste of these sayings of Jesus at a workshop. I am so very surprised to hear these words, many of which are used in the New Testament. These are transformative words. They open my eyes and heart to help me discover who I am.

I also now realize how writing helps me process and understand, and then explain my learning. So my new project plan is to write a poem based on each of the sayings of my study of the Thomas gospel and the sharing within our study group.

The above poem is a similar take, “twin” seems appropriate here, on one of my earlier poems in October, Marl. Must be the season.

Here is Logion I from the Gospel of Thomas that I used as part of my prompt. This translation is from the Gnostic Society Library by Thomas O. Lambdin:

These are the secret sayings which the living Jesus spoke and which Didymos Judas Thomas wrote down.
(1) And he said, “Whoever finds the interpretation of these sayings will not experience death.”



My window fills with golden light.
Leaves illumined in sun twist,

pirouette and shimmy
in the breath of the invisible,

gyrate in sudden squalls
ready to release their grasp.

Then tumble back to earth and, like
bones weathered in sun,

crumble into morsels mixed with
marl. Substance of the nucleus.

Nourishment for the whole.
In praise of the infinite.

Author’s Note.

I cannot yet move on to the next theme from this Sunday’s homily at my sweet Church of the Holy Family, ECC. Sharon Taylor gave us a beautiful insight into quiet and the importance of meditation. However, I feel the need to continue a little while longer exploring the theme of gratitude.

If I am grateful, it is not because I simply recognize the gifts I am given.

I can only be truly grateful when I use those gifts, release my grip of my expectations, my needs and wants.

My gratitude shines when I learn to love myself, the beautiful gift I’ve been given.

My gratitude glows when I use those gifts and not hide them in fear of, well, in fear of all those things I fear. I cannot worry about what has happened or what will happen. I cannot be anxious about what people will think or say about me. I must live in the present, in the moment.

Well, ta da! Here I arrive at Sharon’s suggestion of working quiet and meditation into our lives, something that grounds me into the present moment. It has been through my practice this past year of Passage Meditation with Kathleen Gorman and the amazing people who make up our small group satsang at my church, that I am coming to understand the importance of meditation in my life.

Trust, release, love, and sharing awakens gratitude. Learning to be present in the moment of life is the inroad.

Enjoy this moment, it is our gift.