Whatever goes into a person from outside cannot defile…
         It is what comes out of a person that defiles.
                        —Mark 7.18, 20

A beautiful stone, a gem of great value,
is treated with contempt and thrown into the mud.
Has anything changed?

The marvelous colors are still there,
the opalescent beauty,
marbled with light.

Though mud be thrown at you
you will not become mud.
What is holy remains, undefiled.

Take your soul to the river,
wash yourself in the tender love of the Divine
and marvel at your colors.

Bear yourself with the confidence of the gemstone.
Some may see mud,
but you know, you know.
 

   —August 29, 2018

There’s a little kid
in your head’s back seat whining,
“Are we there yet?”

The answer is,
“No, we’re here.”

Running, counting the miles
and quarters of miles,
in a long meeting, watching the clock,
calculating how much remains,
halfway there, almost done—
isn’t where you are, but where you aren’t.
You’re not a fraction of there.
You’re wholly here.

Uncomfortable haul
or lovely walk by the seashore
doesn’t matter.
Let it go. Ignore the little kid.
Be here.

This step. Now this one.
Infinity unfolds.
 

   —August 28, 2018

Curious God,
I will be your little canoe,
just big enough for you
and whatever grace you pack for the journey.
You paddle me where you will.
Surely I will drift,
and slip sideways in the wind,
but that too is your Spirit,
and you will right me as we go.
In still or troubled waters I will trust your touch,
surrender to your leading,
and go where you paddle me.
And when I find myself upside down and out of sorts
I will know you are portaging me to the next passage;
I will trust, and wait, and let you carry me,
until again, by your grace,
it is I who carry you.

―August 27, 2018

There is a map of here
but I am not on the map,
I am here.

There are indications of altitude,
political boundaries,
but what is before me?

Regardless of what someone has drawn,
what do I see?
What do I hear?

There is no map of soul,
no chart of consciousness
that is real.

A map keeps rising before me.
I keep setting it down,
letting go of what I think about where I am

and being where I am.
This is all I need.
I am here.

Here I am.
I am here.
I am.

   —August 24, 2018

When you go to a peaceful place,
a for-off forest or a moment of prayer,
don’t return to easily.
First really be there: take it in,
swallow its essence, breathe its spirit,
so it will be in you when you return.
Don’t jump back into the panic and swirl.
Learn to amble through the chaos.
When you return from the ocean
keep its rhythms still in your ears,
its vastness still filling your eyes.

Rise from your prayers
still dripping with silence,
walk through your day at a prayerful pace,
trailing bits of God.

   —August 23, 2018

I wonder if the angels are disappointed
looking over the earth, seeing
how little progress we’ve made
after thousands of generations,
still barbaric and hateful,

or if they are just more patient
than most of us, knowing
what is coming, only slowly,

or if perhaps they do not think of time
at all but only see us as we are,
walking each on our roads,
each with our burden,
some dancing,
and that great, deep music
floating up out of us.

— August 14, 2018

         Let no evil talk come out of your mouths,
         but only what is useful for building up,
         as there is need,
         so that your words may give grace to those who hear.
                        —Ephesians 4.29

God, you know what a temptation it is
to whine and complain. To criticize and judge.
Free me for something better.

Even in the shadow of evil and injustice
I can speak your grace,
I can utter your endless possibilities.

May my words be light, not dimness,
a sun that shines,
even in deepest darkness.

May my words build up and bless,
create space for newness,
be the living alternative to the evil I decry.

Speak your grace through me.
May I be a person of my word,
and my word be goodness.
 

   —August 13, 2018

Out of my sea depths
         a cry, a wordless noise.
You hear, like a sound through the earth,
         Like my spine hears me.

If you measured, I would disappear.
         All of us would be too small.
But you allow us to fill you.
          So we fill you.

I hold open a space for you,
         emptiness in me that widens
like sky waiting for dawn,
          like the whole sky waiting,
and the dawn, rising,
         filling the whole sky.

We, your people, of your making,
         even, even in our clutter,
we are your open space
         where your light appears.
In your spaciousness
          we become new.

   —August 10, 2018

This tree looks all the way into me
and recognizes there a tree.

The sea, its vast universe of green,
peers into my same depths, unfurling.

The silence of this world
finds itself in me, dark, settled.

Rapt, You gaze at me, deep,
and see yourself.

   —August 9, 2018

         Be angry but do not sin;
         do not let the sun go down on your anger,
         and do not make room for the devil.
                        —Ephesians 4.26-27

Anger is not a sin. It’s a feeling.
It’s not your enemy. It’s also not righteousness.
Anger, may arise in the face of injustice, or happenstance,
or almost nothing at all.
But it is not “against” those things.
It’s not about those things at all,
but about your response to those things.
Anger is a response to your powerlessness.
Otherwise you’d simply fix what was wrong.

Anger is your loyal friend: it’s giving you a message
and won’t leave till you get it.
So don’t neglect or suppress your anger:
it will sit there and seethe in your mind’s basement
and become toxic to you and others,
and, consciously or not, you will weaponize it.
Don’t turn your anger against anybody, including yourself.
Just listen to it: it’s telling you about your powerlessness.
And it’s telling you what you care about.

Listen to your anger, and ask:
1. What is not right?
2. Do I really care about this?
This anger could just be a conditioned response.
But it’s letting you know of your misplaced desire
for power ad control.
If this thing is not worth caring about,
You can let you anger be, without reacting to it. Just let it be.
And let yourself be powerless. (After all, you are.)
3. If I do care about this, what can I do?
Remember, you’re still powerless.
But let your anger direct your attention to what you can do—
not to hurt, to avenge, or to make yourself feel less powerless,
but to make the situation better.
In action you will regain your power.
Then thank your friend anger.

   —August 8, 2018