Spirited Set of Losses

Discount the velocity of the way this daily bondage of mindless escapes into simple traffic and you will know my life. There is no elevation of thinking. There is no grain sewn on fertile ground. There is no rip tide to pull me under and release the pain through the thoroughly saline fascia. Instead I endure the panic of standing in line at the grocery store waiting for the phone to ring or the cashier to notice me with something more than wondering words-- if I found the paper products and strawberries and a crisp white wine to drown myself in that spirited set of losses.

All the Angels

The abrasion of the places my heart has worn thin are brittle and blackened by the denials of simple movement every soul must make. These places cry, throaty and bereft of hope, for soothing balm to heal, begging to bring air and light, and so I sob and wait. I chant and call to Jesus, Mother,Father Krishna, Buddha, Quan Yin, Mary, and all the angels and saints to touch me with hands so very gentle and carry me with prayers to the companion who knows how to walk beside bowing so that I almost miss the nod to the light that lives in both of us so that we might be whole again like each moment we can step together again. throaty abrade session blacken

Making Home

The vestibule of the heart holds me again like I am someone worthy of this much love. I have suppressed my voice for so long it is clear that I have shaved the marrow of time from my bones toward the end of all days and in the sound of my words. But the truth of spirit stood next to me on this day spoke with the clarity of a solar burst and burned through the fog in an instant in the words "No more." No more silence. No more getting by. No more swallowing bitter herbs that do no good. I am worthy of this home I have made in the sun. I am the keeper of this much joy in fragrant lilies. I am the mother of abundant skies that open to the smiles of my children's beautiful minds.