God of all names,
who humbly enters our lives,
we want to call you...something...
to delight in that you have arrived
we expect something
to stir us along life's roadsides
as we move towards
the center of our dreams.
Sometimes the best statement
said about God is left unsaid.
The good news to be declared
can be done so by the rising sun
rather than with words which bring
any distant look back from the horizon.
Taking care of the present moment
is the best way to take care of the future.
Notice how the moving ripples
made by a hastily thrown stone
on the surface of a once calm pond
move outward together in time.
The mind will find relief whether
intended or not. Recognize when
awareness can be given a rest.
Be glad in continuing to take
chances where the treasure
remains unknown. There will be color
when the flowers open in the morning.
It has always been a challenge to bless
and uplift without pointing a finger.
The signs that honor our gods are posted
all over the town square.
Underneath any beautiful morning lie colors
waiting to be thrown into the sky.
My hope remains suspended between nothing
and infinity waiting for the divine particular.
One day there will be a way to bring all the
pieces together without fear.
beyond the horizon,
underneath the nearest stone,
behind the turn of the earth,
within the veins of dropped leaves;
we turn and turn again
and you spin around us with yourself;
come into our lives with things
that do not need to be observed
for our attention wanders
and the shiny has replaced the simple.
"It is desire that saves." - Simone Weil
We wait for g*d
outside of us,
playing some strange
game of hide-and-seek,
giving a destination
to which we will
despite our active
searching and seeking,
leading us astray
to chance upon
what is most holy
in our lives.
Surrounder, Caller, Bringer,
the unbroken and constant
call of your names
leaves no room for others
to be before us,
and yet we hunger
for one more.
Open the corner of our eye
to see in the dim gray
of our side vision
another version, new
as the day we were born.
The hubris that one can control
their own resurrection
and the hiddenness of the virus
make need more visible.
Sometimes aesthetic sense fails
to develop even in the hardest times
so perhaps God is theology's
We do not recognize that
we continue to benefit
from the shameful history
of our ancestors.
When the center is on fire
engage the periphery
for choosing where to begin
carries a great deal of power.
We argue about what we care about
attempting to get our story straight
and inviting the hope of hopes