Light

Profound in wisdom
The Spirit leads me to Light
My soul is at peace

Life and Love

Life and Love
Heartbeats Intertwine
Creation Begins

Love to Give

Love - it’s what she longed for.
not just to get
but to give ...

... give passion that knew
no bounds within the sphere
of her heart’s true love.

... give joy that overflowed
from the quiet places
to the open spaces.

... give peace that anchored
the souls of those she adored
deeply and securely.

Shattered

I love how when I was in England, people used the word "shattered" to describe being exhausted. Such a descriptive word!

Today, I am shattered ... but not without hope.  I don't think I've ever had more happen in 24 hours EVER in my life.  (Well, a couple things come close in extremes - but nothing in sheer amount combined with extremes!)  I have to admit it makes me reach back into the ministry days and think that I must be doing something right to have this much chaos erupt.  I don't know if that's solid thinking any more - I'd have to go study again - and right now, I'm too shattered.

I remember my grandmother's poem ... One Shattered Splinter.  In the poem, she receives a gift from God (a crystal cup?) and because it wasn't what she wanted or expected, throws it down into shattered splinters.  After realizing what she had done, she picked up a splinter and began to write. I'll have to find that and post it.

Photo from Havering Park in the Secret Garden with Imogen Heap, Clear Village and the Garden Angels.

Winds 'n Roses

(Oops! I edited and published something quite old and thought it would retain the original date. Oh well!)

Exhausted, I lie here sleepless, listening to the wind. My thoughts drift and swirl like the sounds dancing outside my window.  They say a storm is coming. Knowing this makes the wind sound different. I listen a little closer. I hear a threat and a howl. I wonder what will happen ... if we will be prepared, protected.

But as I contemplate, I remember that wind is what one waits for when wanting to fly a kite. I remember that wind carries seeds to perpetuate new growth. I remember that sails were meant to catch the wind and propel a vessel.

So I wonder in a metaphor of life ... what am I holding to the wind? I realize that I feel fragile. What I hold is more like a flower than something destined for flight. I think maybe I have wrapped my wings around myself and they have become soft like petals. I imagine myself as a flower in the wind.  And I worry that the delicate layers will be quickly stripped and my hopes now folded and soft will have been dashed.

I write and let the wondering thoughts wash over me ... Silly me. I know that just as it would make no sense to display a boquet in a windstorm, it also makes no sense to try and fly a kite indoors. Both will result in some kind of destruction! There's a time and place for everything.

Nurture the fragile. Launch the bold.

Venetian Prisons

Decadent Glory
Crumbling Beauty
Cascading History
Decaying Grandeur

I feel this sometimes. Tonight I cannot sleep and feel more of the restraints than I care to admit.  I crave change, yet I feel powerless.

Horizon (for Poetry Month)

Wind swept hill
Dust at my back
Horizon beckons to follow the sun