bird songs carry gently to my door
as I sit on my meditation cushion,
and for a brief moment silence explodes
into vivid life of connection

I hear the morning song of creation
bursting all around me and within me
the thumping of my heart beat is the drum
of the morning song that I can only feel and hear,
if I slow down and tune into my breadth

there is music everywhere, both out there and in me
a lovely symphony that I can perceive as a connective harmony,
when I quiet down and really listen with my whole being

As I listen my heart sings and my soul smiles
I am the morning song sung to the Creator
one of devotion, love and just being

I believe
I believe I'm hesitant to believe in anything because
Life is always changing, sometimes faster than you can bat an eye
I believe that you can never be alone because your thoughts will always be with you
I try to believe that good will overcome evil but it is a concept I can't wrap my mind around
I believe that the world will never stop spinning and I will never stop dancing to the subtle sway of Earth's forces
I believe that the sun still rises even on cloudy days
That after the worst storms, rainbows linger
I believe that everything is indefinite
And I believe that words have more power than actions do
I believe that I will always be looking for something else because I am a searcher
A wanderer
A creator
But not quite a believer

Everyone has a little pond in their mind
And here I got some pebbles to throw into the water

The rocks bounce around the rocky floor
making ripples that I didn’t mean to make
But I still have a mission to stare into that verbal chaos
And become a creator of meanings

So when I spit out these pebbles, don’t be upset
you can cover your ears and let me pass
But a poet is someone who gathers something out of nothing
So please, let me be a poet.

"In the beginning was the Word..."

The voice of the Creator
awakened the universe into being,
a Word spoken out of nothing that
echoes in eternity.

A sound that collapses time and place
and brings forth the Word to echo
infinitely through all the ages.

The Word chose to dwell among us
in the form of a vulnerable human being,
who was flesh and blood like me.

You and I share the imago dei, and
like the Word made flesh can yearn
for unity with the Creator.

The Word echoes in our flesh,
and reverberates through our hearts.

We encounter the Word knocking at our door,
when we welcome the stranger.  

May the sound of love echo through my soul into yours.
May these words speak life into mine and to yours till
the sound vibrates into a we.  

No longer separate and alone, but home.

I still hope
That even my tiny hands might shape something
Great
But I sit in the mire
Playing with mud
Deluded by such grandeur that I am
A worthy creator
Shake my fists at God
“I am better!”
“I can do just as good of a job as You!”
All the while sinking deeper in the filth
I surround myself with
Hysteric laughter
“I can be God, I can be God.”
But my tiny hands can never make
Never make something of worth
Lasting through the ages
Laughter fades as I bow my head
Murmuring,
“I am God…”
Sink lower into the mire
Neck deep
“I am God…”
A pile of sloppy clay in front of me
“I am God…”
But what can a *** tell of its Potter?
What can a painting say of its Painter?
Can they say that they outshine the Hands that shaped them?
Can they say they are the Hands?
Nay, they only reflect the glory and the beauty of the Creator.
So help me, O God.
Because my pride is dragging me down
I am but a beautiful ***
Molded by an even more beautiful Creator
Still being molded
My tiny hands can do nothing
On their own
But even tiny hands can do great things
With big, strong hands to guide them.