Spring Sunday

and still nothing could be found...

there would be no surprise,

but plenty of assumptions.

tiny little sorrows build up into a giant hug

love leans against God's leg

safe

Monday's Art & Poem

Good night! Good night!
Far flies the light;
But still God's love
Shall flame above,
Making all bright.
Good night! Good night!

- Victor Hugo

Today's poem, as well as the one from yesterday,
were pulled from an old book I have titled: Time for Poetry - A Teacher's Anthology, copyright 1951. It is full of good stuff!

New Art & Hafiz Poem

The heart is the thousand-stringed instrument.

Our sadness and fear come from being
Out of tune with love.

All day long God coaxes my lips to speak,

So that your tears will not stain His green dress.

It is not that the Friend is vain,
It is just your life we care about.

Sometimes the Beloved takes my pen in hand,
For Hafiz is a simple man.

The other day the Old One wrote on the Tavern wall:

"The heart is a thousand-stringed instrument
that can only be tuned with LOVE."

-Hafiz, translated by Daniel Ladinsky

Undress The Day

when the little day is done

I can fill your well with the Hand of God

and breathe a small breath of Gratitude

linger on the threads that the tiny day has worn

undress the day

and hang her garment of Sun and Doings

in the closet next to my heart

which hangs to the left of your garment of Forgiveness

Acting Out The Whisper

she heard the call and answered,

acting out the whisper

she bowed

she cried...

you may like this

but first let me sweeten the great sadness

with more sugar and cream

Need something silly? Click HERE.

God's Handwriting

there was reason to move in the
cold morning air

there was reason to uproot in the
middle of congealing

there was reason to claw at the
dirt stuck in the pot

she held herself until she wiggle free
kindness was the answer because
kindness had been forgotten

come play with me
laugh until we cry
but let us not forget to return to love
softly on the back of my hand

Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful,

for beauty is God's handwriting.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Click HERE to see my tiny Toaster Oven Holy Family.

Reweave The Days

If I could reweave the days
I would choose a gentle cloth
and threads of forgiveness

I would weft for self love
and weave my way closer to you

I would stitch a pocket to hold the pain
and a hem to hold the Mystery

If I could reweave the days
I would stitch the night closer to yours
and reach my hand out to hold

I would weft acceptance and weave devotion
as I prayerfully tie knots in the golden thread
of our days

Yes

i thank You God for this most amazing day:

for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and a blue true dream of sky;

and for everything which is

natural

which is infinite

which is yes

-e.e cummings

My mom inspired me with this one.

The Hem

If we’re not supposed to dance,
Why all this music?

(Line from a Gregory Orr poem)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

sometimes we pray and meditate
sometimes we sing and dance...laugh and emote
sometimes we call out to God
surrender
swell
crack open
pour out

sometimes we forget to pay a bill
sometimes we buy shampoo...or make a phone call
sometimes we dust
sometimes we pick our noses
mundane
human
puzzling
strange

in between is wonder, awe and mystery
the threads stitching the two worlds together
hemmed
the sunlight on the leaves
quiet shadows
petals slowly revealing
clouds
ladybugs in your child's hand
hugs

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I am happy to live on the hem.

Photo - A painted rock in the landscaping of a elementary school yard.
I took this picture last winter.

Bride the Little Bird

The skies can't keep their secrets!
They tell it to the hills--
The hills just tell the orchards--
And they the daffodils!

A bird, by chance, that goes that way
Soft overheard the whole.
If I should bride the little bird,
Who knows but she would tell?

I think I won't, however,
It's finer not to know;
If summer were an axiom,
What sorcery had snow?

So keep your secret, Father!
I would not, If I could,
Know what the sapphire fellows do,
In your new-fashioned world!

-Emily Dickinson

Artwork - 4 x 6, water soluble oil bars & Sharpie.

Color For Beauty

Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful,

for beauty is God's handwriting.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson


the beauty of Beauty
that sits away from me

heartbreaking
loving
fitting
bound by veiled threads

laughing
tangled
turning
smoothing

entwined by the Hand
in a cloth I cannot see
but feel in my soul

Asleep Upon Your Bed

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart,
and you shall see that in truth you are weeping
for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow,"
and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."

But I say unto you they are inseparable.

Together they come, and when one sits alone
with you at your board, remember that the
other is asleep upon your bed.

-Kalil Gibran

A Prayer Called Home

There is a prayer called Home

where there is a hand to hold

and a smile to give

and a chair to sit...

where there are stories to share

colors to see

and laughter to flow through your bones...

where there is quiet afternoon

and music that lifts from a back room...

where mess are made

then cleaned up with gentle, tired hands...

where a weary head can rest

and there is a hem to hold

with bread to feed your soul...

in a prayer called Home.

Photo - me and my grandpa, 1976. I am 5.
He died of cancer when I was 14. Several weeks before dying, he told me not to forget who I am. It wasn't long after that I promptly began to forget...silently look the other way.
I have been remembering. I am remembering.
...the past 4 years, one year, six months...
I am remembering. It hurts my belly. I laugh. I cry.
I am coming home.
I am!

Little Bird

little bird

away from her nest

loving peace

on the blooming branch

of a pink prayer

Artwork - 2.5 x 3.5 inches, drawn last night with colored pencil,

pen and a wee bit of paint pen.

The Great Friend

The Hands will take me anyway
even if the voice says,
"How could you have sat here for so long?"

The Hug will embrace me anyway
even if the heart says,
"I am really scared!"

The Great Friend will dance with me anyway
even if I have slept on the edge,
afraid to meet the Gaze
of Love that has stared
right through me
for days and
days...

Tender Face of Mystery

Bring me the tender face of mystery
as I shop in the aisle
of the broken hearted

Turn me upside down
Deepen the nest in my soul
Stretch the branch of love
so this wee bird may perch

Bring me young leaves to soften the blow,
to pad my landing as I jump
from the cliff into the abyss
where dreams come true

Artwork - pen, 2.5 x 3.5 inches. Drawn last night along with the art from yesterday's post.
Life is Beautiful. Life is heartbreaking. All the more reason to sit by the window and pause. All the more reason to enjoy some real maple syrup...and lick every last bit off the plate. Yes, I admit; I will do that for real maple syrup.

After And Before The Path

the bag of apricots sit on the shelf

the Cherri-o sits along the baseboard
reminding me of my rampant imperfection
and somehow I am still loved...
...and Loved

the room is empty
but Presence lingers
stealing my breath

the pillows provide dreams
of my longing
my fears
and my embarrassment

and I will rest
and I will look at my childish self
with a tender hand
God will stitch this anchor to my belly...to my Being

over wrought
Foolish
Glorious

God, make me a Lover
Make me a Live-er!!

Hafiz & Kitchen Memories

Slipping

On my shoes,

Boiling water,

Toasting bread,

Buttering the sky;

That should be enough contact

With God in one day

To make anyone

Crazy.

-Hafiz, translated by Daniel Ladinsky

Artwork - Gouache and pen, 2000. Inspired by a drawing exercise by Natalie Goldberg.
My childhood kitchen - a happy place. I remember sneaking in to steal bites of butter or brown sugar when no one was around. I remember dropping a giant, full jar of apple juice on the floor and my mom didn't get angry with me. I remember the sound of the screen door...the way it slammed shut as we went in and out. I remember the phone on the wall and when I could finally reach it and call my friend, Abby. I remember my mom grinding her own flour and making us pancakes, served with chokecherry syrup that she made with the berries that grew outside in the back yard. Sweet memories.

Green Hills

Gift me a yellow sky
soft and warm

Sing me a tender bird
sweet and high

Save me your tired threads
frayed and flimsy

Pray me a room of tiny lights
alone and lovely

Laugh me through the night
again and again...

Coloring - colored pencil on brown lunch sack, created last night while sitting in bed. (That is my kind of Saturday night!)
Yesterday, while driving my daughter to her dad's, we feasted on the green hills and pastures. They will be like this only a short while. I was thankful!

Silent Horizon

There is a silent horizon
behind my eyelids
Dark
with a lightened edge

Each time a new Sun rises
I sometimes tangle
in the glory of possibility

Settle
me
New
Steady waters

So many fish
So many fish
but there is only
one rainbow scale
i would like embedded in my soul

Love