While Sitting on the Porch
While sitting on the porch
of the rustic cabin in the quiet pine forest,
I sense the faint beginnings
of the restoration of my soul.
I scan the wooded vistas,
seeing so much farther than
the usual confines of my restricted horizons,
seeing so much deeper into the reaches
of my self-forsaken heart.
Listening to the magpies
and the ospreys and jays, and
those pale green birds with the
beautiful songs that dance across the air,
I feel my inner voice begin to hum,
seeking out that melody that has for far too long
been scorned into silence.
I inhale deeply of the fresh forest air,
and I am finally able to exhale, long and slow,
releasing the toxic fear and tension
that I have been holding inside me
as if it were my last dying breath.
I can abide comfortably for once
among the trusted few that accompany me.
A light joke, a sweet hug…
fists and jaw and heart unclenching
like a leaf unfolding into new growth,
I open to the freedom that is offered
in the security of this sacred environment.
It is the quenching of a thirst long overdue.
Amidst the stillness of nature,
my own nature steps tentatively forward,
and I welcome my reawakening soul
as one would welcome the arrival of an old friend…
while sitting on the porch.
Sum of (Broken) Parts
Aristotle is said to have said
that the whole is greater than
the sum of its parts.
A mathematician may tell you
that the whole is equal to
the sum of its parts.
Gestaltist Koffka told us
that the whole is other than
the sum of its parts.
Sometimes, though,
there’s a curious beauty
to be found in
the leftover parts.
Pictured above and below: Fragments fall into the recesses of a tray when glass pieces are broken and shaped to size before they become part of the whole stained glass panel.
Weekly Photo Challenge: Broken
Wordless Wednesday 5.20.15
Enveloped II
Enveloped
towers held hostage enveloped by fog from which they cannot break free
Weekly Photo Challenge: Enveloped
Wordless Wednesday 5.13.15
In Work
In Work I am co-creator with the One Creator, co-creator with all in the One Creation. In Work I sow seeds for the Harvest. A touch, a smile, a benevolent word… all are seed for Creation. Yet, what is the fruit of my work? When I dance on the shore and add my voice to the songs of the waves, can I know today that my song will touch a soul months, years, centuries from now? Can I know the steps of my dance will be remembered and retraced, long after their mark has been washed clear of the sandy beach? If this is so, shall I not rewrite the song? Make the tune more melodious, or the words more noble, perhaps? Add a swift spin or an elegant dip to the dance in vainglorious tribute to me… But then creation Work will have ceased and ego work commenced. And if my singing is lost to the uproar of the sea, if the imprint of my dance disappears with the sweep of the next tide, do I withhold the song, refrain from dancing? For Whom am I Working? If I cease the Work of sowing, I cease being a co-creator. And then what am I? In strained faith, I continue to sow. The harvest of my work I leave to the Harvester, Who knows when fruition is complete.
Mother’s Day
Shipwreck (photo essay)
Forces of Nature ~ ~
Constructed by the power of
human ingenuity,
skill and
strength.
Deconstructed by the forces of
wind,
tidal action,
salt corrosion,
shifting sands,
sea creatures,
and the most stealthy factor of them all …
time.
Weekly Photo Challenge: Forces of Nature



























