Light needs shadows to contrast its form

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”
― Kahlil GibranThe Prophet


Though shrouded in sadness,
hope is in sight.
In the midst
of oblivion,
we get caught in light!

The shadows may threaten
to darken your days.
Be still
your heart
and lift up your praise!

The path may take you,
to places
you fear,
enable the silence
of celestial spheres.

The miracle of beauty
brings colour to a rose
and living water,
ushers grace
where it flows!

Deep speaks to deep,
when transformed by light
and beneath the umbra,
each word
will rewrite!

Light needs shadows
to contrast its form,
without sorrow,
we cannot

Within a cocoon the worm
knows the long night,
till breathtaking beauty
bring forth
great delight!



Weaving with the wind

I love the image of the field of corn in the autumn. When the wind catches the corn, it does not stand stiff and direct against the force of the wind; were it to do this, the wind would rip it asunder. No. The corn weaves with the wind, it bends low. And when the wind is gone, it weaves back and finds its own poise and balance again.
― John O’DonohueAnam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

cornfields pixabay

the winds have blown me
where they will,
wrecked resolve
and fear instilled

splintered remnants
of callous gales
became fragments of truth

buried deep within
my memories
is a knowing,
a sacred treasury

i am bending to
a flexible mind
rigid beliefs soften,
that were held confined

i’ve swayed and swung from
uncertain heights
quaffed my fill of
unpleasant sights

i’m learning to weave
like fields of corn
care for my soul
with kindness adorn

and when the gales
have come to pass
i will stand poised,
and balanced at last

*photo courtesy Pixabay

The Eye of the Storm

Masses of birds can fly for miles within the eye of a hurricane, surrounded on all sides by powerful wind and thunderstorms, yet sheltered from them within the middle of the storm.
Flocks of birds showed up in radar images of Hurricane Irma’s eye, as the birds moved with the storm up the west coast of Florida.
the eye of the storm

the eye of the storm
is where i fly
on winged grace
in the azure sky

all around me
are chaotic streams
trying to pull me
to anxious extremes

safe and secure
in the arms of light
my innermost fight

guided by
a benevolent force
braced with love
to stay the course

relocated to
fragrant fields
faith and mercy
my eternal shield


After the Fire

“Where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure.”
― Jalaluddin Rumi
after the fire
Shoots of renewal,
decorate the earth.
In charred wastelands,
restoration can be heard.
The darkened earth
is holy now,
and trodden with life.
Brazen remnants stand and stare,
pity in their eyes.

Casualties of an inferno,
the loss of
immeasurable things.
Humanity arises,
with courage in her wings.

The winds have died,
hope emerges
from the soil
of sacrifice.
Where embers burnt
and flames torched
a land
once petrified.


Sacred Fire

Refiner’s fire is not easy to comprehend. Its intensity and purification are only understood by those who have been devastated by fire. I’ve recently seen a fire laid waste to the earth. It was so intense that it consumed all in its path. Worldly things got lost in the flames, but the human spirit never dies….
sacred fire
“And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.”
Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

Overwhelmed by the intense flames,
she cried out His holy name.
Her affliction knew no relief,
soul-searching for her core belief.
Asphyxiated in the choking haze,
she could not escape the inferno’s blaze.
Crackling fears cast unwanted shame,
detachment from her feeble frame
Refiners firestorm seared her flesh,
flawed bonds that had become enmeshed.
In hopeless scenes of misery,
she shouted out for liberty.
The furnace of her own demise,
sacred souvenirs of sacrifice.
A barren land, unholy place,
ghostly landscapes being erased.
In gravesites of ash, hope was found,
germinating through hallowed ground.
Embankments of shame came tumbling down
beneath the ruins, euphonious sounds.
Rising from the embers of ravaged lands,
her sacred self, she came to understand.


In Memory of Gloria

“Embracing a healing presence requires you to just be in the moment together.”
Nancy L. Kriseman

GloriaI thought of you today.
I thought of how we used to sit together
at the market,
and talk nonchalantly about the weather.
Sometimes we would silently sit and watch people go by.
I thought of how you had forgotten your entire life,
you had even forgotten who your children were.
Sometimes your blue eyes would sparkle
when you remembered something small.
You still laughed at your husband’s silly jokes.
You loved pancakes sprinkled with cinnamon sugar.
Your mind had forced you to give up earthly possessions,
it had forced you to forget the past
and have no anxiety for the future.
Only being present mattered.
You were so bright and cheery those final months
before the disease took you…
Your divine nature shone out of you.
Perhaps you were just living in the moment.
It was a terrible burden for your family to bear,
they lost you too soon.
Sweet Gloria,
you taught me how to just be present!