Its so beautiful and dangerous out there.
Danger without beauty would keep me in my chair.
Beauty without danger: I really don't care.
Water trickles through the shrubs stretching the bound,
pushing back the sandy matte where just yesterday found,
the little Bird on the margin, making her sweet sound.
Even desert birds need water to keep them alive
in the hot desert sun where very few survive,
my little bird drinks from her well and she thrives.
Yes, the desert beckons; the dangerous beauty calls.
The desert bird is made to fly among dunes and dry falls.
The well contains water, but the well has walls:
The walls between what is and what will surely be.
The walls between what you wish, and what you cannot see.
The walls around a heart that is learning to be free.
Fly, little bird, by all means fly,
but do not forget that there are limits even limits to the sky:
Places no bird can go, though other birds have tried.
Stretch your wings and venture out, then flurry back again.
Take your time, Desert Bird....drink at the well and then,
A little further into the desert: Beauty, Danger, God be with you. Amen.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
Like a low hanging branch, or the sound of a gunshot, the thought startles me and seizes my attention:
"What if I'm MEANT to be still, hungry and tired most of the time?"
It makes sense if you think about it for more than a few seconds:
"If I'm made to love with a sacrificial love, then no matter the amount of a thing I possess, I will give more than I can afford and trust God to replace what I need."
If I only ever give to the beloved from my excess, from my "extra", what does this say about the quality of my love? The beloved will only receive what I do not keep for myself.
Cheap.
But if I give from deep within my personal stores, from that which sustains me, it shows an entirely different kind of love. It says that the beloved matters more than my own entertainment, comfort and rest.
Dangerous.
Dig as deeply as you wish in most human hearts; lift the heavy blankets and layers of fabric, the stacks of wet newspaper, moldy photo albums, jewelry, old ticket stubs, stained sheets and once worn bride's maid dresses...cast aside the ribbon-bound greeting cards, the scribbled promises and panting pleas, and you will find beneath it all something cheap: love extended from personal excess.
But look no further than the quiet servant, to the one whose name no one knows, and there before you, without guile, disguise or adornment, without shame, motive, nuance or intricacy, burns a glaring love. Fueled by the mystery of the Great Other, relentless in its devotion to the beloved, all consuming:
Dangerous.
"If the Great Other does not replenish my stores....I will die. To love another with sacrificial love then, is simply to trust the Great Other."
I become the conduit for love which flows in from outside the clamoring, panicky and CHEAP efforts of those who hoard their resources. I daily empty my stores, I become still, I become hungry and I become tired as I see to the needs of the beloved. I make room for the Great Other to replace what is needed....and so love flows.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:21 AM UTC
Inland Waters are safe and Sound, gentle winds and trees surround.
Cove and inlet, shore and bay, lighthouse, markers show me the way.
But open water, ocean swell, boundless vista who can tell,
which way is home which way to Hell?
Christ of the Mysteries, can I trust you on the sea?
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 10:17 AM UTC
It's always dawn somewhere...
the fruit of our spinning West to East.
It's always Spring somewhere...
The child of our tilting; just the least.
Ever, always, wobbling forward we turn...
On the edge of freezing, just about to burn.
Four times 'round the sun we go.
Four winds, four calms, four snow.
Pausing briefly to watch him die...
Spring stumbled into that quiet space.
Four times more she wandered in...
Surprised to find his empty place.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 9:56 AM UTC
Land of sidewalk ends
Old house hides in the brush
New house hides behind old
Where the Empire has stalled, and now recedes
No more boundaries to push
No more shocking words…they’ve all been tamed
No more sacred words, “Jesus is so Zen”.
No where left to go
Dreams unrealized
Plans, never agreed to.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
Approval hangs over my head like a giant black cloud.
It’s always there…always promising a down pour, but only delivering earth shaking thunder….
....lightning that suddenly flashes out of the heavy darkness and strikes the ground of my life,
rupturing my ear drums, causing me to cower with my head between my legs, eyes clinched, crying as loud as I can in a vain effort to drown out the overwhelming noise.
That’s not all…it starts fires too.
A dry cloud.
If I manage to gain enough courage to move from my hiding place, I can scramble to maybe two or three of the small but growing fires that were recently started. I frantically dance upon these little fires, spitting out angry curses like my mouth is full of sand, and crying at the same time…
...desperate to put the fires out, wishing my tears of frustration were so voluminous as to drench them altogether but they just fall from my cheeks as I madly stomp and spin…hissing as they evaporate…useless in the growing flames.
There are the occasional victories.
A fire, that after great effort, is finally extinguished.
As I pause, panting and smiling for just that instant, I become aware of how much I stink of soot and sweat and dirt, and my eyes take in all the smoldering hot spots. Dozens…hundreds. The fires still burning just beneath the surface of the dry needles and twigs.
They’re everywhere.
Thunder rolls again and I look up, desperate for rain.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC
The trees reach up too high today,
they tear at the hem of a cloud
A bridal train in tatters
ribbons of a heavenly shroud.
The waves reach not so high today
as to cover up the shore
They leave me room for walking
and I find I’m wanting more...
...more space more room more mind more prayer,
more heart more soul more vision
A growing space inside of me
crying out for a decision
Today I feel the emptiness
where once he stood with me
The Stone whose name is Weariness
forever there will be.
I found it today; the Stone called Weary;
nestled as it was in the sand.
I wept as I carried it, this Stone called Weary;
it marks where I used to stand.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
Playground bully, thick lipped and ruddy he stalks through my world.
Dreams and plans scatter before him, scurrying away like a flock of birds.
"it’s only pain.”, I hear a voice from somewhere behind me say.
When will I stand up to him? See beyond his beady, un-blinking eyes into the empty fear that drives him, that makes him weak?
Fear is our common enemy. It drives his fists into my mouth, and it drives the blood from my heart...poor, lost heart.
"it’s only pain.”, I hear a voice from somewhere behind me say.
Yes.
It is.
It is the outcome. It is not the creator.
It is a verb, not a noun.
Bully. Son of a *****
Bitch-fear.
I'm done with you.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 3:26 PM UTC
A canyon-wide bond, not deep, still strong
Memories numb, dusty and old emerge from the dark, drive back the cold...
...Of years apart.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 1:21 AM UTC
Stretched to breaking
Ancestor's gap
Pride swelling, creaking strain...
With pride.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 7:05 PM UTC