An incredible encounter of tingling minds, inspiring both to move beyond flirtatious eye-play to a deep place of wanting to know and to be known. Distance and separation between events during this time drive despair of not being physically close away as fear of severing any relationship dissipates. Initiative to share the same experience rests on the intensity of always returning together again from being lost to the other as great events happen during evenings.
How many more calculations must be made to be free of belief in miracles when sunlight falls with such graceful abandon? Lip-biting onlookers have not awakened to shout their derisions to fools who still remain lost in the dregs of bad vodka. Scolding mothers have not found anything to pray upon. Wonders wander around centers of being long forgotten. A daughter cries for attention in the loneliest corner. Dry compassion waits for those less well-fed. A donkey-rider enters the city claiming to possess the secret of being in relationship with God and neighbor.
I cried. "I'm a vampire. What do I do?" She asked, "Will they not say that you are out of your mind?" "Yes! And I am mindful in this state that Christ has no body here but ours." She smirked. "It is not a test of faith to give in to your resistance to jump because you are afraid." Looking into the far future, I said, "The pattern of my dreams finally made itself known last night." She reached out for my hand and said, "Incredible mind-tingling inspiration always flirts with events that are shared during this time."
Giver of all things, places times and happenings, who dares to challenge the princes of power by riding a donkey through the holy gates of life controlled by the few, give us all rainbow- colored coats and cloaks with floral prints so the fields of roads blossom with flowers underneath your last ride. Amen.
Decisions to return as a gathering begin to open invitations to living never heard of before where givers of care finally extend a broken hand to the fallen enticing the simplest to be led astray from idols that cannot speak nor play.
Spring flowers do not fear stepping out; unfolding to include all of the arrayed light. Yes, it is okay to extend the covenant of living to reach folks carrying the heavy stuff placed in their arms by the hopers of the gospel of help. A good conversation where words do surgery teaches me to prepare my inner child's voice to expand the prophetic imagination. Channeled anger resists truth-telling accountable to no one in a responsible position with any power over who is more exceptional in providing charity to those who know no justice. All people color when leading the march to eliminate silence as a standard of perfection. So pick your own assortment of phrases that will help you resist isolation from the practice of calling out and bringing nothing in except another challenge to hope that others will take care of the self while delivering gifts of care to the community.
Allow risk in worship of the flowers blooming this time of year. It is not your responsibility to stimulate others into smiling and nodding at the pleasures of life. Two deer will always stroll by the window when you try to write these words. Another first day of spring gently moves across the cacophony only heard by the few.
I sat down on the edge of the bed. "I don't want to give the words of the prophet any chance to ruin my day today." She rolled over and, waking up, slowly said, "Was that you yelling in the bathroom?" "Yes," I answered. "I stepped out of the shower and turned to the spider in the corner above the door and asked, How do you get food?" Yawning while arching her back to stretch, she said, "It helps to remember that creation and completion are two very different acts." I agreed. "Such a strong feeling threatens to overwhelm me." She sat up. "All the more reason to recognize your need to be in the midst of people who stimulate you."
The introduction of body trauma at the age of six draws ghosts and demons out of dark closets, like a ruinous rush of children onto the playground before someone gets hurt at recess by falling off the monkey bars because, given the chance, words can become tangled and powerless to prevent this spring morning day to come crashing down around any intentional steps taken beyond the timbered bark confine enclosing the days games.
Heavy with rain the faces of daffodils lean down to rest on the wet ground.