swimming in circles ~

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bebebe

This morning, as I arrived for work and exited my car, I heard something – an almost silent droning – like a distant lawn mower, but closer.

It was sweetly familiar and before I found the source, I knew already what I would find. In the bushes to the front of my car, I saw a discarded coffee cup sitting upright in the mulch, obviously left behind by landscapers.

Inside the cup, a bumblebee.

The cup was probably about ten inches tall, and I knew instinctively what would happen if I did nothing. The bumblebee would die in the cup. He would swarm and swarm in circles, the excessive flutter of his tiny wings echoing off the cardboard, filling the summer air with the sound of jet engines on idle. He would never think to look up. It’s their nature – to search frantically in circles for a way out where none exists.

To be honest, I used to think it was the same way with tiny birds trapped in my garage, until quite by accident, I discovered a perfect little nest inside the plastic armor that protected the garage door opener.

But back to the bumblebee. I was immediately reminded that sometimes we are the same way.  We can wear ourselves out looking for something (a way out) that doesn’t exist and never think to reach beyond our habits, beyond our preconceived notion of how things should work. It may just be a different way of frying cornbread or it could be in the way we look at love. Perhaps our clearest vision exists beyond the reach of our understanding.

“The world is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”

reach beyond
this dusty view
into the heart
of all I am –
where mountains
stretch
to meet the clouds
where wings
unspoken soar

NOTE: For those who might be wondering, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if I hadn’t knocked the cup over. Some things are worth the risk of being stung (ahhh, and there another story)…….

. . .

sparkle ~

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justsome

how is it
becoming –
a memory true
as the near perfect shade
of chestnut
of root
the filter of lilacs
lavender
moss
as a dream
now surrendered –
tendered by loss
as another I held you
another I wept –
long past the edges
writ for me here
in scripted
assurance –
promise and vine
paths given way
to the margins of time
a keeper unseasoned
by love
at its best
purpose made sweet
by forgiveness
confessed
let me to know
of a place
not so far
as the essence
of lilac –
a night in the stars

. . .

the place where blood is tamed ~

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beneathmythunder

I’ve heard it said
and felt it here –
beneath the place
where blood is tamed
red as crimson
– words are raised
to fill a different rhyme

I’ve known
without discussion
of somewhere else
I am –
an evening breeze
to move the trees –
a shimmer
through the pines

I’ve come this way
ten thousand walks –
lives before
this one alone
to stand beneath
a night of ancient stars

whispered names
I breathe again
while wishing –
once I knew

another day
is baked to clay
beneath these shoes
brand new

. . .

communion ~

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memorymine

it was the way
I felt
when I dreamed
of nothing –
not the road ahead
nor the turning round
to ease the path
of forgotten lessons –
light from somewhere
just beyond
my hands to grieve
as hearts to flutter
dare my feet
to dance again
was here we swayed
in sweet communion
– a waltz
recalled as light
to dream

. . .

days we journeyed ~

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homereturning

As I get older, I’m more and more aware of time and the measured beats by which it slips away – between our fingers, loosed within breaths, tangled between the bed and wall………. All that we’ve held, but for fraction of eternity, and yet, still, until there is nothing left of us for holding to.

Eventually, we are no more than the sum of those who have loved us, those who grieve us when the night is long and the earth so very cold, who glory the sound of our name, regardless the passing of days (or lifetimes) between.

This morning, I spoke with a dear friend whose father passed yesterday. We’ve talked before about daddies and love that seems most cherished between a daughter and father. When she came to me today, it was with her arms open and eyes spilling over. She knew I would know, that I would feel the pain of her loss the same as I’ve relished the wonderful fullness of her life before this day.

She may not feel it now, but in a few days, that fullness will be her salvation. It will be the reminder of just how rich we can be, with only the presence of love in our lives, spilling to encompass everything we know.

In that fullness, I pray for her tears of gratitude.

Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed.  Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace and gratitude. ~ Denis Waitley

how far from this
were days we journeyed
paths grown over –
weeds divine
mark the way
where once we tarried
beneath the bounty
of love’s design

. . .

rivers from the sea ~

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Rainy%20Window

how softly sings
the morning rain –
a pit of willing patter
as tears along
a length of tin –
buckets from a ladder
rain me down
drown me here
lest I the same become
a threat of storms
beyond the creek –
as rivers from the sea
sorrows
I have given claim
as paid with joys for me –
let it rain
tell I am clear
then let it rain
again

. . .

paper hearts ~

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whereIamknown

OF ALL I’VE KNOWN
AND THERE A FEW
WITH NAMES
I DON’T REMEMBER
A SCATTERING OF STONES
AGAINST MY HEART
EVERMORES
FORGOTTEN NOW
THE WAY FOREVER LINGERED
TOOK TO ROOST
A HOME BENEATH MY BED
ALLOWING SOMETHING
MORE THAN I
POSSESS THE NEED TO ALTER
BOXES FILLED –
PARCHMENT PAPER HEARTS
OF FADED LINE
AND ONE MORE TIME –
THE LOWLY EVIDENCE
OF MOMENTS
WITHOUT WORDS
TO SPEAK –
FOR FEAR
THEY MATTER ONLY
IN MY DREAMS

. . .