Because we love so deeply
but will never have enough days,
I want to remember each morning
that the hours before me are a gift.
Let me push aside the unknown,
like too many days’ old, dried bread,
selecting instead a simple breakfast
of fruit and nourishing sunshine.
The birds sing open-heartedly
no matter who our next president might be,
even in a smoke-filled sky, and during
a pandemic that just won’t go away.
2020, our year of great uncertainty —
personally, nationally, and globally;
it’s an invitation, possibly, to choose.
The only reasonable plan I can see:
to sow love and kindness, instead of fear.
Compassion hears the speech,
sees the deeds,
and feels the fear of pain.
Compassion dresses in soft clothes,
a bright paisley print shawl
draped over her shoulders,
comfy shoes, for all the distances
she hopes to cover. She has the look
of someone’s grandmother or
Mother Earth herself.
Compassion cocks her head,
beckons, then reaches out
her hand to you with a smile.
She loves to think of things
to make you happy,
to help you live your life
like a love song.
Some aspire to return
her benevolence in kind,
and that could be okay,
but Compassion also wants you to know
it warms her heart
when kindness is paid forward.
Compassion transforms fear to grace,
disease to healing, hate to love.
She gently whispers,
Give to me your discomfort
and let’s make of it a rainbow.
A Continuance of Change
A strife-free life does not exist
but in longing, like parching thirst
brings dreams of verdant streams.
It is a world forever broken open
by a continuance of change,
the disruption of ordered things.
How not to lose heart?
Where are the guiding signs?
Can faith be enough?
Faint whisperings float by my ear,
Accept what is, love the world no matter what.
Acceptance, the drumbeat that will lead me home.
As a Child
As a child I was most at home
outdoors, encircled by a wood of pines
laced with bluebells and lady slippers.
I climbed those trees, dug in the dirt
to find treasure buried by time,
left by an earlier people.
The open possibility of a rowboat
on a lake, slipping between cattails
and lily pads.
I left a part of me
in that land of dreams.
On the sacred wave of my voice
a story is breaking through my heart.
It is a tale of unity, of relation,
It encompasses every individual,
creature, and the natural life,
all equally of value,
all an original gift from the One.
The responsibility of my voice
is to weave the words together,
form a reminder of our blessedness,
our reasons for being,
all the oceans we embody expressing the light.
My teacher believes
we are each
a piece of the puzzle.
Alone, we cannot
resolve the chaos
erupting on this planet.
Yet we can
unearth and foster
our rare true gifts
to satisfy our share
of what is vital
for this world to become
a kinder, more loving
home to live in.
Don’t Forget to Remember
Discarding my daily clothes,
slipping on pajamas,
setting out a glass of water,
brushing my teeth
each evening in preparation for sleep –
this is when I most deeply feel
the passing of my days.
Something about the
repeated routine wakes me to
the heaping of one more day
on the mound that is a life.
Reminders – time is finite,
even though each day
contains much of the same.
Don’t forget to remember
Dear one, whenever you are able
try to be kind
play like a child,
smile and laugh
contemplate the forest,
breathe in the scent of the sea,
be conscious of love in its many forms,
gently release your fears
and the desire to control
the ebb and flow,
feel life in its totality,
accept all paths travelled,
forgive hurts held onto,
allow your energy to uplift,
be thankful for blessings received,
remember the remarkable
being and body of light
that you are.
How the trees have grown
with a surplus of winter
and spring rains.
The sycamore we planted
as a sapling soars three stories high.
The oaks facing the house
have morphed into
one tree with two trunks.
A grove of eucalyptus,
their silver sifting leaves
testing the waters of the sky,
confirming life will continue
to march on.
The trees form a sacred den,
shelter us from external
Sentinels of sentient existence,
wise keepers cradling
my spirit in their limbs.
Lately, I have wondered if
we are starting down a path
towards a time
when I will be alone.
Then I understand
we set off down that path
the minute I met you.
In the end
we are meant to be alone.
I will have to find the courage.
In a dream, we are sitting together
in a church. You get up to leave
without even a glance in my direction.
I tap you on the shoulder,
a reminder to come back for me.
Thank You, Spirit
Thank you, Spirit for
the gift of life
the blessing of family
a constant cocoon of faith
the sanctuary of home
whispers of intuition
the tenderness of a guiding hand
the soothing energy of mother earth
innate trust to remain open
the glorious feeling of creativity
love that knows no limits
connection with all, to all
the treasure of days strung like pearls
on a strand bequeathed to me.