The stillness of the river, beguiles me.

It seems to be waiting for me to out run it,

So slowly does it move,

Hardly breaking a reflection,

Or presenting a ripple to disturb its own peace.

 

And thereby keeps mine also. In a perfect harmony so lovely, it makes me uneasy.

The long walk in the woods,

This time along the riverbank,

Thirsty for rain, in the midsummer drought,

Water heads down towards the sea,

Ready to meet its salty friend.

 

Filled with stories of the river, a path, and the hills.

 

 

The tracks are out there again,

Beckoning towards me,

Saying “come forth … once again”,

Gleaming in the mid afternoon sun,

As lights on a driveway,

For a returning son.

 

Moments before, I reflect on all those thousands,

Those thousands of spikes, rails and sleepers,

Trundling in the mind of my life,

Of stations whizzed by,

And those where I disembarked,

And stayed a while.

 

Each one now as important as the other,

A glimpse, or passing smile as memorable as a lifetime spent with others,

Dreamily, souls catching some of another’s story,

And pressing it firmly into my book of life, this life,

Like a flower to be savored during cold winter nights.

When the meeting happens all over again.

 

As the million photographs suddenly burst into the room once more.

Of all whom I love.

 

 

For weekend 9.24.2016

Musing recently on that old saw “you only get one chance to make a first impression”, I was drawn to the image of Pope Francis and how he invites us to something else.

Firstly, if that were true, every time I messed up meeting someone for the first time in my life the relationship would not be mended. How often do we think back to first meeting and it turns out they were NOT the first impression at all? It happens all the time.

Pope Francis is the epitome of invitational spirituality, where he welcomes someone without judging, opens his arms, his heart and shows us the invitation itself, never ends. There is always an opportunity to invite the first time, and if that doesn’t work, then to re-invite again. If we didn’t greet the clerk in the store with a smile from our heart, or just plain ignored them, we can change our invitation the next time we are there. The friend we are trying to get off the phone because they go on too long, the child asking for more time with us, those we have ignored but should have not in our day.

So it seems there is always a chance to make a second, third and fourth impression, Pope Francis makes every impression count. Noticing all in his world.

I stand to have this image taken,

His grave now found after many years,

The headstone placed in days long gone,

But never forgotten.

 

I can rest now, in peace; as he is found again.

The word needs to be broken open,

Not just read,

But absorbed,

Transcending the mind,

Taking up residence, permanently.

 

In the Heart.

 

She is the one who took it all from me,

And then gave it back.

I thought I knew where my heart was,

But it was only desire.

 

She is the one with the real love,

One which could not have been placed by Aristotle,

Or someone just seeking the inner good.

It was of another source, known to me, but as yet unfelt.

 

But now I know from whence it came. And stayed.

 

Should I follow where the water leads me,

Into the woods or some lake far away.

What draws me into this summer evening …

A picture of what might be at the end of the journey?

 

Or perhaps the delight of traveling together.

Like any other day it seems,

Nothing has changed,

Yet all is different.

Disarray seems beautiful,

Not requiring attention.

 

The trees have their say,

On the road to Emmaus,

Making it clear I am not a fleeting entity any more,

But rather one,

With them for now.

 

This day is different, as I notice for the first time.