How much can I hurt the others whom I am supposed to love most?

Constantly building a refrain of blame,

pointing everywhere but inside.

Where the real action is going on.

 

I can deliver it so well now, it appears without feeling,

I can even justify it, based on others differing beliefs.

See how clever I have become,

or is it the other guy influencing me.

 

Now as the list of ailments increases,

and the pain of others becomes obvious;

They move beyond patience to protection,

as they need a shield from the nefarious ways of the other guy.

The other guy who I don’t recognize,

because of his disguise.

 

As me.

 

 

Each of us is like a light sensor

recording each moment;

Its color,

Its sound

Its feeling

The intention.

 

What does this mean?

This signal to change.

To go to work …

Answer a door …

To meet our God …

 

 

Of all these signals

Light is the loudest.

It sounds the bells of winter and summer,

Informs us when to rest,

The geography of a souls journey.

 

Light allows us to see something,

Or not by its absence

It can pass through things,

as leaves absorbing its goodness.

 

Light shows us color,

Which man reasons as waves

and the soul receives as beauty.

The splendor of creation amplified.

 

Today let me be a light sensor,

Recording all the beauty and the horror of a day,

Let it soak deeply into a memory of remembrance,

where I can discern what meaning and actions to take from the images.

 

 

 

Moving ever towards union with its creator,

Tiny steps we sometimes call “a prayerful moment”

Will lead us to delight and then peace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The flower in garden is a new rose.

Now just a bud,

but already showing her color,

and the immense beauty of God’s love on this day.

 

Here the sun shines in the garden,

as the Water Of Life is poured on the rose,

Breathing affirming new graces,

into an already wondrous being.

 

Meanwhile,

all around surround her with love,

nurtured by the soil of generations past,

and those who are to come,

all consistent in one thing alone.

Love prevails.

Like a story, the rose unfolds.

Soaking up sun and water as it silently,

does it’s only task,

to be beautiful.

 

When planted its color is hidden from view

only presented as it integrates

its life form with the soil;

Growing the roots which make up home,

and the obedience of growth.

 

Daily, it waits for God and others to attend to essential needs,

and returns only beauty,

and reassurance all is well in the world.

 

 

What if I had stayed here;

In this little village,

renowned for film crews, tourists,

the window peepers.

 

This little part of England,

locked in time it seems,

but full of visitors,

the only ones who can afford to come and stay.

So like Disneyworld,

I come to imagine what might have been,

if I had stayed in this little part of England.

In the house with the bedroom over the roadway,

where carriages brought ladies and lords to the ball at the manor house,

now of course a hotel, full of visitors with fat wallets,

And young second wives.

 

But stop, this is a village after all,

And I could have stayed.

But I am glad I didn’t,

and made my village my friends,

ignoring the trout stream and the postcard in which I now stand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

If a tree or plant could speak,
what would you say?
You might thank me for planting me with my friends,
or admire me because I look beautiful
if only for a couple of days.
Is it because I renew myself each year
becoming stronger and more wonderful.

Or I can just be,
residing in the larger garden, at one with all who reside.

 

 

Nothing can compare to that sunrise of Saint Patrick.

Of the returning sun once thought pagan,

Bringing light to a dark and chilly world.

 

Without this light and warmth we could not feel His arms around us

reassuring us with another day.

 

But, today’s light is different;

Of heavenly proportions it contains the peace I seek,

Undiluted and carefully painted on the canvas of my mind

But designed to immerse my soul in love.

 

A love reflected in the tranquil waters

which only echo light this morning,

undisturbed by the sun’s brothers wind or rain.

 

Letting our only thought be the reason we are here,

On this island, praying all night

In a Basilica of love.

 

The reward has come early this morning,

With a glimpse of what is to come.

 

 

Home is where you make it, many say.
But a home is mainly in the heart,
Even though without a roof it is hard to think such lofty thoughts.

A home is something we recognize immediately.
Even if we cannot explain it to others well,
Not just a place of preserving us from the elements.

But where our heart and minds dwell in harmony.

Sprouting like new growth

The pilgrims rise and fall

Like the seasons,

renewed and broken,

Broken and renewed.

Safely sheltered under the Tree of Life,

Knowing they are created human

And become eternal

As those before and since.

Now, living in a present,

The delights and the pains recede

At the water’s edge

As we all feel God today

In nature and in Spirit.

 

Meaningful concentric circles

Lead me to somewhere;

Washing my mind of complex geometry,

Placed into my life by others,

And my own noisemaking machine.

 

A simple pattern emerges,

Steps taken are with meaning

If not direction.

 

To follow is to love,

And to love is to know,

Placing my trust in each tentative, circular movement,

Not trying to forecast a destination,

But leaving it in His hands.