a perfect half moon peeks in on me
this morning and i’m not going to lie:
the moon looks happy to see me.

and you know i'm happy to see it.

good morning, strange world.
i look forward to the adventures
you have waiting for me today.


May you find yourself lost
by the sea,
your pointed certainties smoothed,
silken like driftwood having finally
~ faithfully ~
surrendered. Salt in the air
and your hair,
whispering wind telling the truth:

Sure
as tides shift,
you are allowed.


Morning moon a
sliver
low, gigantic, golden


Driving to work
before
seven on a Sunday


I glimpse, gasp
forget
the to-do list


Swerve onto side
streets
for a better view


(I won’t arrive early as planned after all)


There are some things
goals
must surrender to


The only
worship
I know:


Moon

Poem

Unexpected
church

 


Your
father's cell
joined
your mother's cell
and
you became.

You did not need
a to-do list,
project manager,
motivational speaker
to grow
into
a human,
yourself.

Life knows
what to do.
This rule
remains
even now.

Trust it.
Let breath
breathe you.


Those with hearts wide open
Fast forever friends
Easy laughers
Loud voices who know when to
be quiet and can sit silent with ease

The sleeve-roller-uppers
The what-needs-to-be-done-doers

Diplomatic, extroverted, truth-telling loners
with smile lines and wicked minds

The perspective seekers

Moon gazing skinny dippers who
take nothing personally
but feel it all and
let it go


On the day the moon went
forward of the sun, she woke again,
a Monday, vowed again to
her best with what she had
~ just a little bit ~
knowing that most things
she does not know. A prayer again:
"Make me a vessel, empty
and clear. May truth flow
through and kindness too." It is
a tender thing to try not
for perfect, but for simple and soft
progress is not what it seems.


Morning mind dashes
abruptly headlong
the starting gun still
smoking --

Wait one second!
I did not sign up for this race!

Heart pounding
hurting
cutting over, changing lanes, dodging
others, nearly tripping

I will be disqualified.

I don’t want to be a sprinter.

In the grass I catch my breath.
The urge to become limp, to dissolve
is so strong.
No, I say kindly, but certainly clear.

Some patterns are made for breaking, and
the only truth worth running toward: your body, alive.

Sunbeams stretch, silhouetting
mountains, trees, and
I remember: isn’t it lovely,
morning’s first desire to reach, open for the light?


may i take this heartbreak, this loneliness, this uncertainty, this worry, this fear and turn it into the most beautiful thing. may i let life season me, richer and deeper, make me essential. may i soften what is hard. may i turn it into art. may i become the most stunning art of all. please let me be the most miraculous art of all. thank you for this curious adventure. i like it here.


My heart is open. My heart is broken. My heart is falling in love again.


I do it daily ~ fall in love with life that is.


I dance for meditation.
I pray with every step.


My bicycle  is my savoir.
The mother is my muse.


My spirit could use strengthening
My edges long to soften.


I want to believe my life matters.
I want to believe your life matters.


Actually I believe it’s accidental.

I believe we make our own matter.