I walk in woods,
look up into leaf-spangled sky,
pass among new ferns opening their psalm books,
pray with birds’ chants and incantations,
choose my way among rocks and mud.
Early light clings to the side of a tree
like a bird.
Bugs bug me.
Everything belongs.

This is the world I belong to,
the mud I am from.

Before I resist those who would kill it for money,
haul its body off in well paid rail cars,
before I worry,
I belong.

With every breath it becomes me.
With every step it receives me,
holds me in gravity’s love.
With every step we marry.

The great tide of earth’s history
moves through me.
I am the chalice of the universe.
I am one of you,
the body of God.
All of you are the rest of me.
I am yours.
I disappear.
I become the Milky Way.

Now I will get to work.

                           —June 2, 2017

            “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me,
                        and let the one who believes in me drink.
            As the scripture has said,
                        ‘Out of the believer’s heart
                        shall flow rivers of living water.’”
                                       —John 7.37-38

Christ, I drink deeply of you.
I drink of the clear water
flowing from your heart,
waters of Creation,
Spirit brooding,
welling up from eternal depths.
I take you into myself.
I drink deeply, and savor.

And behold,
up from the earth of me
flows a river,
the river of Christ,
flowing with healing waters,
powerful, life-giving waters,
river of the waters of life,
bright as crystal,
gushing up to eternal life,
flowing for the healing of the nations,
flowing out from me.

Christ, you are the river;
I am the riverbank.
I drink deep.
I let it flow.

                           —June 1, 2017

Colors swirl around in you,
blues and greens, mostly,
like rivers, like flames, or a planet,
thick and vibrant.
To you they are beautiful.
To someone they are survival.

Outside a child walks by, crying.
Not your child.
You don’t have to respond.
The colors need framing.
Crying, and walking.

                           —May 31, 2017
 

You breathe in.
You breathe out.
You breathe fire,
the making of stars,
the winds of creation.
You breathe a Word
that goes out
and lays hands on people
to heal and bless.
You breathe God in.
and God out.
You speak grace
in tongues you can’t know.
Look at us,
walking around,
glowing embers.

___________________
Weather Report

Fire,
in the atmosphere
and in your heart,
which is to be expected
when you live
in the heart of a star.

                           —May 30, 2017

I pray for all those who have given their lives
serving in our military, and for their loved ones.

I pray for soldiers of other nations,
who also have given of themselves.

I pray for civilian victims of war and militarism.

I pray for those who have sacrificed
for the sake of peace and non-violence,

for conscientious objectors and protestors
who have given their lives for the sake of healing.
I pray for Rick Best
and Taliesin Namkai-Meche, who both died,
and Micah Fletcher, who was injured,
acting for nonviolence in Portland.

Give me courage and compassion, God,
to devote myself
to nonviolence, healing and reconciliation,
in the name and spirit of Christ,
who met violence with love,
the Gentle One, the Crucified and Risen One.

Amen.

                           —May 29, 2017

God, I awake to my life.

I am in awe at the wonder,
the gift that is my life,
this mystery that is you unfolding.

You are the rose opening in me.

You are my freedom,
you are my beauty,
you are my future.

I receive you.
I become you.

Grateful and open,
I step out into this day

―May 26, 2017

            People of Galilee, why do you stand
            looking up toward heaven?
                           —Acts 1.11

Well, he came back from the dead,
which was very cool—
and now he’s left again, for good,
which was totally unexpected.
I mean, yeah, the whole thing
is in the realm of the absurd…
but he’s risen, right?
So he could have stayed forever, right?
Right?
Couldn’t we have had just a little clinging?

But, no. He’s gone.
As if this whole resurrection thing
has come apart in our hands.
The life he leads, and gives us, is full
of letting go.
And now we’re left with… what…
bewilderment… and grief….
and this strange unfinished feeling.
We’re looking up in the air
because that’s how we feel.
…

God
of unexpected changes,
open us
even in loss
to the next
miracle.

                           —May 25, 2017

 

            As they were watching, he was lifted up,
            and a cloud took him out of their sight
                           —Acts 1.9

The Beloved has not gone
up so much as out,
risen now not into one flesh
but all.

The lilacs I smell every morning
have faded; their song has gone out,
has gone out,
and it sings to me everywhere.

By your Spirit
I would pass out of this flesh
and disappear into my love
for all the world.

___________________
Weather Report

Release,
as love-laden air
condenses at times
into showers of mercy
and evaporates again
into the atmosphere.

                           —May 23, 2017
 

Gratitude, the yoga of the gods,
may sometimes take a little practice.
Each day, select one thing to be grateful for:
a cup of water, a wisp of green,
sun on stone, a friend’s memory,
gravity, so we do not float away….

Hold your gratitude like a seashell in your hand,
and rehearse it. Come to it new again
and feel the surprise, like water colder
than you thought, or warmer.

Each day add to the things
you allow yourself to tumble into gratitude for,
until you become grateful for everything,
for the rust on the lock, the sun on the broken glass,
the silence after the bird song,
for the grace hidden in ugliness,
for the Presence waiting in emptiness,
for the blessing enfolded in troubles.

Become universally and equally grateful
for everything, until your gratitude becomes
meaningless, as will your desires and expectations,
until none of that is real: only the seashell
you hold in your hand with unspeakable,
unshakable gratitude.

                           —May 22, 2017