Walking toward Photography in search of
a How To book that isn’t there — I turn
toward the whispering shelves of poetry–
Hafiz, Billy Collins, Rilke, Rumi, a chorus
calling me to take them home. I do.
A million sparkling lights of hope and
friendship — voices, voices, voices calling
out a hum of knowing, living, being. Yes!
This chorus of light vibration wisdom is
the Holy Ground of libraries and bookstores.
I often tried to explain to friends:
On bad days or during times of sorrow,
I walk into a bookstore and ask God —
Help, give me the words I need to hear.
And He does. And they laugh, Yeah – Right!
And I further tried to explain the science,
the physics of vibration, energy, contraction
Einstein’s universal laws lived out in reality —
but they couldn’t understand my language.
I explored the topic in deep sharing:
Everything is energy and movement — atomic.
Voices in books are the writers Being with
me in conversation, friendship, vision.
The books are just un-bodied people I know.
But, my friends laughed — Yeah, okay! And,
I stopped trying to explain with explaining.
The God of your Soul-Self will come to you
in the way you can know Him, love Him.
He will meet you in the Space between
longing and faith and call you Home.
Each thing carries Him inside it.
Each breath a confirmation.
Each need an answer to Union.
Each cry a step closer to Wholeness.
One — into many — into One.
The spectrum has many colors
but there is only one Light.
King Solomon asked God for Wisdom.
The boy David said how dare you speak thus
about My God,
picked up a rock and went to war.
The Queen of Sheba sent useless gold
to a King and then refused to forfeit her throne.
Bathsheba, with her innocent beauty,
a King and Kingdom overwhelmed.
Deborah got tired of waiting for a man
to do the work God needed done –
took up the Sword on her own.
Ruth was meek and holy and followed
Naomi where they were bound.
Stand up — King — Soldier!
Don’t fear this fierce Grace of God!
All you lose is the false “me” — do you See?
The Mother comes in many forms,
humbled and in tears as
Mary at the foot of the Cross,
in silk, shame, and scent as
Jezebel at the gate, or as
the whispered breath of Holy Spirit
a gentle breeze across the lake.
The Divine, sublime, all consuming
Fire of Self Discovery. The Feminine
Power, though disparaged and maligned,
burns deep in the Trinity.
So, step up
Cowboy — brace those pretty boots in the sand.
Sometimes you gotta trust God enough to Stand!
Title, position, duties.
I never knew you
wanted to travel,
went overseas once.
A missionary trip
you longed to make, and
you did. I never knew
this small truth of courage
until your funeral.
How did you carry that
of us on your shoulders
all those years?
Those dark-strong hours,
spent taking care of everyone
as we grew into non-children.
Solicitude, sympathy, tolerance.
Love always the deepest river,
lessons of giving-over everything
almost; and then
there was your God,
some stories you’d written,
a few trips taken —
the talented individual you were,
but all we ever knew
to hold onto
was a name, a presence,
the designation —
Grandma, Momma, Nellie – Love.