A snow tipped mountain,
Far away,
Sees the adventurer,
A small spec, indistinguishable from this distance,
But still clearly seen by a mind filled with imagination.
Taken away from it all,
The shadows cast from a rising sun,
Emphasize the painting brush which is the wind,
Forcing snowflakes to stay or leave,
According to a breath from above.
All this through my window, and my neighbor’s roof.
Sit down won’t you Michael,
You must be so tired after your long travels.
I’ll make a cup of tea,
Lovely to see you.
The welcome was eternal,
Particularly for family,
The living room wallpapered with images of children,
And grandchildren,
Who ran through her mind and veins,
Like grace from God.
Now, your sandwiches are ready,
On the plate which will never need replenishment,
For all your service to those who loved you is now rewarded,
As you take the comfy seat at last.
And see the face of God.
The internal noisemaker is off again,
Me, full of the message of forgiveness,
And understanding cannot deal with the challenge,
As yet another comment turns to gossip,
Then undermining, and finally mean-spirited bullying.
How, dear God, can I respond?
For I am called to kick the sellers out of the temple,
Dust of my sandals,
And go to a town where I will be heard.
Yet, to do so will be cowardice, and will fail to do Your will.
Intention, an oft used spear,
Shaft forged of the soul,
Tipped with the sharpness of the mind.
Designed to slice, then penetrate as deeply as thrown,
Into the heart of the victim, lover or bystander.
The intention, dipped either in love potion or invective poison,
Enters the heart of God and the intended.
Serving the masters of temptation with a banquet of delight,
Or the glory of innocent humility, encased in love.
It is for us to choose.
Reflection … do I see thee well?
Tranquility does not remove the scales from my eyes,
Obscuring what truly lies beneath.
Discernment of the truth.
Standing, leafless in the frigid cold,
I shiver not on these evenings,
But rather enjoin myself with the blue light of divine darkness unfolding,
As the bright light of the sun, says au revoir.
I might seem lonely, but I am one with this world.
Flashing steaks of light and color,
Pass through a mind at a mile a minute.
Making it hard to isolate, identify, or even ponder,
For a moment.
When arrested, not always where I wanted to stop,
Now dealing with the unsavory temptation, I left the city to avoid.
Like St. Anthony, the Egyptian desert of the mind,
Is not empty at all.
But a place full of memories, desires and consequences.
Inspired by Thoughts Matter by Mary Margaret Funk, and The Conferences, St. Anthony of Egypt, desert father.
Sometimes, I hang on a thin thread,
The nourishment I need always seemingly a step away,
On some close by but unobtainable island,
Where I can hear others talking happily, laughing, peace filled.
Then, suddenly, I realize I already have soil, water, and the sun which I need.
To build my own forest. Right Here.
The Monastery Within 