Love Is …

 

Not defined by distance or separation,

Like a partially knitted garment, it cannot be undone,

Or forgotten, even if woven into something else,

In an effort to place it where your head desires.

The heart always has the last say.

 

Love does not need long to take root,

It does not need feeding, like a body needs water.

It recognizes immediately a bond invisible, but pervasive,

As a thought which cannot be expunged, from a reasoned mind.

Love resides in the soul.

 

Love’s comfortable seat waits, hidden in the dark corners of rooms,

Of a house not often visited,

Perhaps abandoned in the mind;

But never truly forgotten.

God’s reminder of past acts, or abandoned relationships, awaiting repair.

 

The fragments of life, the patchwork quilt calls for attention.

Not for completion but tenderness; therein lies peace.

 

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For further inspiration refer to Psalm 139

I wish I could pray like a statue

I wish I could pray like a statue,

Frozen in purpose,

Locked in desire to serve,

Distracted by nothing,

Aware of no thing, on earth,

Except the love radiated from the image she views.

 

Receptive but immovable,

Her clothes, and body, eyes and mind transfixed on God.

No cause to blink or think of any earthly trinket,

Unaware of the snow, the rain, the sun,

Always there kneeling, adoring, listening to her Annunciation of the Heart.

 

Let me be that statue just for a moment.

An instant when all will be clear.

 

Praying-in-the-shade

Searching

Each day is a new search,

Not for the item missing,

Like a watch or bracelet which has lost its clasp.

But for more.

 

More meaning, more relevance,

More answers than whys,

More love than greed.

Deeper into the chasm of love.

 

I dive knowing I can never return.

What do Flowers think?

Flowers

What does a flower think of me …

Gently stroking his/her petals to make them look

Even more perfect.

Do they rely on me for food and water?

Or are we their servant?

 

What do we want from a flower?

Certainly not food if we don’t intend to eat you.

So are we the servant .. the gardener ..

Toiling without pay only to see this beauty.

 

For a few days each year.