Can the silence of the sanctuary serve to shape
my soul to soar to greater heights?
Or will I sink to even lower levels in my life?
I’ll explore surrender rather than a fight.
Round and round my mind
goes, perceiving and then
veering into darkness,
finding a hand-hold and
then slipping into voids
nested within each other.
Truth exists sure as light
exists; goes on forever
just as Love does, waiting
for no one to trust or
to feign belief. Here
my feet trace spirals
of green then red then white
promising flight thru dark
valleys of questions yielding
an occasional Aha! amid more
questions and persistent echoes
of solid footfalls. Listen.
This poem was published in the Fall 2013 edition of WestWard Quarterly.
Cruising city streets,
of open space
On a corner
now a flat
dotted by white
and yellow triangles –
glittering in the sun –
of walls, paint
All that’s left
lives born, loved,
Stories once contained
– now fly free –
in this world or
If I can’t be the things I want to be,
I’m not sure I want to be.
Ah yes, a dilemma for many years now.
That ballerina dream faded
and nothing else really appeals.
Nothing. So the task is to keep ego quiet
and just do what God wants done —
stick around on this earth for as long
as God so ordains, though all seemed
finished years ago. There are other plans
unknown but no less real. Indeed more real:
Dedicate yourself to sharing Peace, Love,
and Light in small ways each day.
All sorts of random memories
come like brief snapshots from a movie.
Just a scene not the whole story.
Never any sound. Just something I see.
Never any intense emotions.
Without warning for a couple years
and I’m still not sure why.
Perhaps tiny pearls from meditation.