Little Tree On The Mountaintop

Little tree on the mountaintop
beneath sun’s celestial reach,
planted purposely at the very peak
or actively advancing toward dreams
from a seed,
more mighty to me
than the mountain itself
and all of the tallest trees
beneath
looking up.

Little tree on the mountaintop
Biblically reminiscent,
perhaps a Jesus story
never told,
or the Lord’s
seemingly futile reach
to have us remember
this precious given life’s
goals.

Who is changed upon the descent from the mountain?
Some things seem to remain as shocking as Moses’.

Simply Love

The purpose of life, the meaning,
has always been crystal clear to me,
never has a non-mystery
been more obvious and accessible:

to love
is the reason
and the miracle,

to be gifted hearts and souls
to find others on the way
home.

Who will you bring?
Who will you pass over?
Remember the Savior
may be the homeless
or aborted,
the silent one
in the corner,
the one deemed
a misfit, different,
deformed.

Each created
from love,
each loved
from above,
each returned
after this
to the metamorphic,
body-molted
non-shape of
love.

The purpose of life, the meaning,
has always been laid out:
Love thy neighbor.
Love thy spouse.
Love thy enemy.
Love thy self.

May we love
the children,
first and foremost.

Mystery to Me

Heart-sensors

extra sensitive,

picking up mixed signals

of every human emotion,

eyes brim with

unidentified sadness

but do not spill over,

for tears that mix

simultaneously with

happiness

get recalled to the cauldron

to start over

in the feelings-concoction,

stirred not by hand

but all that I am,

have been through,

have yet to see,

and the substance

that holds it

all together

in the center

comes from the faith

I feel

He has

in me.

I am transforming

into exactly who

I was always

going to

be,

still a mystery

to me.

Lord, keep making me

an instrument

of Your peace.

The Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is error, the truth;
Where there is doubt, the faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

This May Day

A beautiful May Day,
a time to celebrate
spring and me,

the blessings He
continuously gifts,
I continuously see;
may I never lose that
heightened ability,

for with it, the awe
of every petal and leaf
seeps into my being,

and with the scents
and colors, I give back
in letters arranged
to the best of my ability

beautifully

to use the talent
He granted me,
and on this day
especially,

I wrap myself
in the love
He endlessly offers
unconditionally

and treat
myself with self-love
humbly
for on this day,
He put such care
into creating me.

He saw me through
every storm
and brought me
to the sea.

I can’t wait to see
what He has in store
next for me.

I continue to follow
faithfully,
as I have for so long
blindly,

but now all about me,
it seems,
are bits and pieces
leading

to some great revealing.
I am getting nearer
to where he wants me to be.

I’m getting nearer
to the highest form of
love and happiness
that can only bloom
from the seeds

He has planted
specifically
in me.

Destination

What is it you have in store for me, Lord?

What is it you should have me do next?

So strongly, I feel your presence;

I want to be an active participant.

I lay it all down, offer all that I am,

but I sense you telling me to pick it up again,

that you’ve given me these gifts,

created me exactly as intended,

every invisible part of this heart,

every tool to continually mend it,

so its beat can keep this body

moving in the direction

my soul needs me to go

until it gets to its desired

destination.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make straight your paths.

Proverbs 3:5-6

Restless

is my soul

in this skin,

morphing,

from the cocoon

but not yet used to these

wings,

free

from the dark, cramped

past-life chrysalis

but not free enough

from the weighted wet

preventing my wings

from fully drying,

so I can fly,

soar to my fullest

potential,

reach the height

I’ve been aching for

since I was born.

Restless is my soul

still

in its search for the home

waiting for me.

Not in a rush,

but tired

of the delays

with wings

still not ready

to take me

where I so long

to be.

Perhaps

my home

will come

to me…

One Drop Dreaming

I am but one,

already tired,

one tiny bent molecule

in a sea of salt water.

I drift with others,

ebb and flow,

too slowly moving

to really know

if we’re going forward

at all;

am I my own motion

or merely following

the crowd,

being pulled and tugged,

or worse, rocked to sleep?

Am I even awake

or is this a dream?

What would happen,

I wonder,

if I resisted the urge

to merely drift like this

because it’s easier.

I once heard

in hushed whispers

about a legendary drop

that caused a ripple

that created a wave

that pummeled the shore

that got the attention

of a grain of sand

who thought to itself,

I want to do more…