After the rain, the early morning earth sighs in relief. Relief – of having endured the storm the thirst the lack the absence the waiting the wondering, Wondering – how long it will be until the next refreshment nourishment taste. The taste of the cool, clear rain.
The wind is blowing strong today. whipping hair into my face whispering of a storm coming beckoning Spring here overturning potted plants deafening all other sounds except the wind blowing strong today.
I took a different path today, not my regular route, not my regular rut. Trying to gain new perspective because even those who examine and reflect and remember – Miss things calling them mundane instead of miraculous. The connection to the world in a box. Sun shining devoid of the shadow …
I will sit with you in the fear and uncertainty of what the future holds. I will sit with- the anger the bitterness the humiliation the fatigue – I will sit with you as you see the journey through. I will sit with you as the light of Truth blinds you and heals …
Fear creeps in unwanted, unexpected choking out reason with the cyclone of what if? Fear overcomes you creating a caged animal clawing, fighting with the dire need to survive. Fear transforms us diving us over a great abyss into camps of us vs. them staring each other down. But one chorus of …
Hope is a strong anchor mired in dreams and visions holding fast against the wind. Hope is a strong anchor settled securely and soundly in truth. Hope is a strong anchor nestled deep within preparing for- the unknown the what’s next the what is to come.
Hope is a flimsy thread when grasped too tightly snaps. Hope is a flimsy thread waving in the wind just out of reach. Hope is a flimsy thread whispering from afar of possibility- a new chance a new start a new year.
He didn’t know there would be a screen between when he said, “I have a dream.” A screen between that would intervene And make us forget the humanity we try to hide because of our pride sitting on the other side of the screen between. It’s easy to type words we wouldn’t say if we …
Sometimes my solo soul (that part of a whole silently shimmering beneath the pool of reflection) demands a turn asking me to escape to portals of pretend- planes of possibility. Sneaking peaks (not stealing them) of sights and sounds of universes revolving around similar streets similar needs: groceries, gas, haircuts. And the smells …
I write at night When the house Is still And the moon is out And dreams are real… I write at night When I Am still And my thoughts clear And visions appear… I write at night When I Breathe ruach And the divine whispers There’s more, my dear… I write at night When this …
