Tag Archives: spirituality

While Sitting on the Porch

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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.

Ochoco

 

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.

ochoco4

 

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.

ochoco3

 

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.

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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.

ochoco2

 

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.

ochoco5

In Work

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plow

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.