We are beloved companions on a mystic journey, sharing our solitude and holding the world in the divine prayer of love.

"Place your mind before the mirror of eternity! Place your soul in the brilliance of glory. Place your heart in the figure of the divine substance. And transform your whole being into the image of the Godhead Itself through contemplation."
- from St. Clare's third letter to Blessed Agnes of Prague.

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Dream of the Beloved Companion

Blue tones
An accident of light
Penetrating the sepulchral bronze
Just before dawn
On a night that seemed unending.
I thought the light had broken through
But it was Sabbath still
Unbroken by angels
Rolling back the stone.
Be still and wait
Whispered my too eager heart
As I put down the perfume and the herbs
As I leaned against an olive tree

And slept.

Friday, April 18, 2014

2:30 PM on Good Friday

On Good Friday afternoon I crocheted a shawl
During the dying, and listened
To the rasping breaths
Of a labor duplicated around the world
Everywhere. But here
At the epicenter of all being
Echoed every death from time’s beginning
To the end, the expansion
And contraction of these lungs,
Alpha and Omega of the pulsing
I twisted the yarn around the hook
And pulled the long strand through the loop
Hoping through all of this, at least
To end up with a shawl
That might provide some bit
Of comfort in the chill
Of that death which would
(Who could doubt it now?)

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Wild Rosemary

The rosemary at the corner of the house is in bloom. It's wild where the rosemary blooms. The bee hides there. See her? Almost dead center--a black spot just left of a cluster of flowers that nature decorated with moss blown from the oak tree by the wind. I thought I had her when she hid in time between the opening of the shutter and its closing. She has her right to privacy, I suppose.

The rosemary, like all memory, is wild and full of bees. I'd say this is true especially where it grows thickest. Notice that here, around the corner, in such a graceful sweep towards the future nothing hides, and one wouldn't believe I'm such a careless gardener. I'm actually not a gardener at all. Even without intention I turn out to let the wild things be. And despite that, or because of it: a classic sweep of grace.


Saturday, April 5, 2014

Wretched and Amazed (1st In A Series)

I said to my soul, Be still,
and let the dark come upon you
And it shall be the darkness of God.
T. S. Eliot
"East Coker"

You rose calm as the moon against the absolute dark. I watched from the corner of darkness, from the wall of nothingness. Safe there against what You might be.

Your face white as Buddha's smile. Innocence. Beauty. The Beloved.

You snaked towards me in a betrayal of all thought
In the contradiction of all love
In desiccation of the beautiful
Eyes closed, Smile undefiled,
Your intention: to invade.


I scratched out at Your impassive face
To draw blood
To tear at the holy flesh
To stop with pain the divine rape
But I released Fire
The intolerable Gold.