And should the valves burst open and loose the dammed-up waters ‘tained inside, would they drown? or hope in that love our hearts denied? since Golgotha, daily crucified. This is day 27 of LABIA MUNDA, a series of forty poems during the forty days of Lent.
And I don’t know what I would do without that silent country which is not like a forest nor a mountain peak and where there is no path nor even tracks left by earlier explorers, so that I could almost be the first— or the only— but for one. In another place there is a fountainhead,Continue reading “Laetare Sunday”
I don’t know what I would do without the laughter, and the stories, and the injokes, and the nicknames, and the endless brotherly mocking, without the hugs, and the crying, and the praying in the night, without the living heart beating in the silent golden well pumping love throughout the body that is us all.Continue reading “Third Saturday of Lent”
I am a clay pot or an earthen vase, made to be filled with the water of your being, with the wine of your love. And I am not enough: not worthy to pray, to bless, to counsel, not worthy to look upon your face, not worthy that you should radiate in me, not worthy that you should use myContinue reading “Third Friday of Lent”
The ends of me are fraying, like bléssed cord grown worn from being bound. I hear a soft voice saying “is it for you that grace gains ground?— Or might it be the other way around?” Another hour praying, another hour waiting for the sound of your Holy Spirit laying tongues of fire to redound uponContinue reading “Third Thursday of Lent”
“You always ask for more,” I imagine he gently chides me as I open my hands and beg to make it through another day. “As if what I have given would not suffice for you.” And in the breaking of the bread I admit that he is right, but my heart cries out “it is not enough,”Continue reading “Third Wednesday of Lent”
Every day you give me the same challenges, or so it seems. Every day the same course to run, every day the same obstacles to overcome, every day the same blessed prayer: “thy will be done.” This is day 21 of LABIA MUNDA, a series of forty poems during the forty days of Lent.
There was a winter I was in love like one lost in the desert loves a stranger— it is wonder enough, in the vast and empty loneliness, that any two paths should happen to cross at all— and so I was in love, after a fashion, with a beautiful nomad who joined me for aContinue reading “Third Monday of Lent”
And the thing about “I AM” is that it leaves no room for “I am not.” This is day 19 of LABIA MUNDA, a series of forty poems during the forty days of Lent.
Piecemeal peace, pool-cover peace, sweater-over-a-shirtstain peace: breathe in, count 8, breathe out to 12. Speak softly, slowly, that’s the key. Heart beats with the click-clack of a train down the train-tracks regular and fast, too fast to stop. Peace like a fishbowl, peace like a jam-jar moth hammering at the glass to get to theContinue reading “Second Saturday of Lent”