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How much time do we spend
warding off chance, each fork in the road a convergence,
a possible head wound to a carefully maintained
worldview–our easy chair.

Where is the courage in this?
One avoidance after another
Until the door is locked and we are
going nowhere.

Should we hope for convergences
Welcome surprises
Risk such prayer?

Like asking to be used
In each moment,
Open to a Presence
yearning for completion
of what we cannot yet know,
chaotic creative energy
constantly stirring the pot
upsetting the status quo,
urging out of the familiar.

We are always bumping into something
Why fight it?
Why not stand in the dangerous
aliveness of this tension
and be stretched?

*Inspired by Carole Wageman, The Light Shines Through

No One Told Us

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We are millionaires whose bank accounts
have been done in by our own inflation,
out on the street, our life confiscated
by the imperial status quo.

We learned early that rocks were inert
and no harm done in kicking them around.
We sat in obedient rows.
Graduated proficient in math but not in wisdom.

No one told us the universe was made for joy
We never just shoved the desks aside and danced
That would have been too much, the wall flowers
already relegated to remaining alone.

There are those who like things this way,
who benefit from our monotony
They are crocodiles who consume the human
Bring us down to crawling on our bellies

They fear the artists among us
those who see qualities and connection,
who sense that atoms are in relationship
from one end of space to the other.

Sacred Geography

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We are not trodding out along some horizontal
plain, searching for an abandoned house
to die in, alone. Ladders are everywhere
angels ascending and descending
A sacred geography, the cross
with a heart at the center.

Why do we keep searching
for the one more beautiful
than all the others, to be desired
above the rest,
the One whose name is Beauty?

If not, we might as well see the road
but not the sky, crawl on our bellies
and not walk upright
watch the light go its separate way
at the end of the day
and we to our fitful sleep.

Find this One,
Let this One find you,
And even the darkness will
be luminous.

Oh Dear small self

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Oh dear small self,
My kicking and screaming child,
I am jumping into the ocean
A world where illusion dissolves.
When I emerge
the mist on the mirror
will be toweled away.

I will do this a hundred times
Embracing each illusion.
This too I am grateful for.

You are like a retiring teacher
And I, watching you walk
across the stage,
clap away the shame.
I take off my hat to you,
the “poor mes.”
I shed my shoes,
the “if onlys.”
I lay my hairshirt of blame
in your suitcase.

I hear the voice
of the Beloved in the waves
on the beach, calling from
a spacious place within.

Behind a Closed Door

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It is You who are knocking at the door
Holding your basket of bread
The only catch is my hesitancy
And you are not one to barge in.

My small self does not want to die
It still resides in the house of fear
Behind a closed door of suspicion.

What I know seems better
Than what I don’t.
I am familiar with
the uses of my time.
And there are many ways to
Occupy the mind.
These are the excuses I give.

I stand in the in-between
With my fingers
On the latch,
Praying to release it.
It is a weak prayer.

There are some who pray.
“Tear me apart, and put me
back together in your image.” *
Help me to pray like that,
A flinging open the door,
Letting it bang against the wall
Come what may.

* Catherine Doherty

Energetic Fields

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You cannot jump out a window
And expect to fly.
If you go to the ball, at least
Dress up, and don’t leave
your manners at home.

When you approach the heart
You must do so on bended knee.
It alone sees past all appearances
Smells the divine wafting fragrance
Of everything.

If you want to become free
become a servant to Spirit.
Your freedom comes in making
Your final choice love.

When you become a pilgrim of the Absolute
You will discover its truth as your truth,
And all it asks is everything
you thought you needed
to survive.

What it gives you in return
Is your dear, dear soul;
That and the union
You have always longed for.

I Who Was in Need of Sunlight

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I who was in need of sunlight
Found the sun in you
Shining upon my darkness
Lighting up my sky.

I had been searching my whole life
For your light, as if no one else could give it.
When I found you, I believed
You were the source of light,
Named you dispeller of my darkness.

I set my heart on you.
Fearing the day you would go away,
And I return to darkness.
Then you were gone.

But the light still was shining
This time from within,
Shining as from the Source
of light itself.

I turned my face to its brightness
Knowing now from whence
Our light does come.

Lest We Forget

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Do you want some advice?
Probably not. Well,
Maybe it’ll just come back to me.
I can use it too…

For some time every day
Put your phone away
Give your thumbs a rest.
Have a risky conversation,
Face to face
A heart-to heart.
Thinking as you go.
No composing before you push send.

That phone on the table
Signals,” I’m a multitasker,
I’ll pick up the thread. Just keep it light.”
It also says, oh so soothingly,
“You need never be bored.”

We’re in but out, near but far,
Connected, as they say.
Attending one party
Asking about another,
We’re never really anywhere,
While wanting to be everywhere.
Go there, and you won’t be there.

Look Daddy,
I’m swinging.
Oh Daddy,
Talk to me.
Hello Mommy,
I’m falling into an abyss, and
No one is listening.

Lest we forget
The real context
Is not the text.


By | Contemplation, Contemplative Journey, Contemporary Issues, Mysticism, Natural World, Nature, Nonviolence, Poetry, Spirituality | No Comments

A poem inspired by Mystical Hope*

We are card-carrying members
Of the Body of Creation,
No opting out,
No other place to go.
Born into participation
Others dying for us
Transformed for us
Following the pattern
Of death and resurrection
Into life, nothing lost.
Just taking time.

We are being carried
Whether we know it or not
Whether we like it or not,
By a great Love,
From which there is no falling out.
We can only be fools, until
The day Wisdom takes hold of us,
and our eyes are opened.
That day will come

When all is stripped away,
And the “gold kernel” rests
At the wellspring of hope where
the soul meets its ground.
And we who are carried,
Will carry others

Until all is said and done–fulfilled,
And the embracing Love, which has
Always been there, its only desire
Union, smiles from within us
On everything.

*Cynthia Bourgeault, Mystical Hope (New York, Chicago: A Cowley Publications Book, 2001)
** “Gold Kernel” See Mystical Hope, p. 70-71)