worry

I worry.

I fret.

a stomach rolling

like a runaway truck down a mountain road

I worry.

I then ask.

Where is this going?

It is going,

going into the future,

I ease the clenching fists I have made

I let the strands run through my hands

following them as they trace their way ahead

Then I raise my hands.

“Something good will come of this.”

I breathe.

I walk.

 

Give it to me

She opens her hands to me,

Putting hands together like a bowl.

“Give it to me.”

I release the anxiety and fear

Into the cupped hands of grace.

“I dropped it, it’s gone.”

I breathe deep,

realizing that I have been holding it in

Toxic exhalent held for far too long.

She pulls me in.

And I relax into her embrace.

I am home

And despite handing over the darkness

Into her cupped hands,

I am filled.

by the way of the sea

via Daily Prompt: Imagination

I am given the choice she says to follow a path to the sea or a path to the wood.

Oh Alexa if only I could!

Leave dreary winter days and bask near the water.

I shade my eyes from the sun

but my arms are bare

I hear the sound of gulls

the fragrance of salt in the air

I dig my toes into warm layers of sand

break through to the cool dampness below

the wind whips my hair around

draws tracks on my nape

a kind hand is held while skipping the waves

warm conversations while ice spins in the glass

sun setting slow with colors deepening

stars coming out while sleepiness creeps in

my day dream is ending as the moon is rising

What a dream, what a day in my imagination.

 

Prayers for the Wondering

Previously published October 1, 2015 on my now defunct blog The Thing to do with Hearts

Before me is a hundred options to be and to try–at lease it feels like that was true a decade ago;

now the options trickle in two by two if any by any at all.

Do I find myself in the wilderness of my own wonderings?

Have I avoided entering a land that I already hold residency?

Should I unpack the dishes or sell all my possessions?

Should I lay foundations or stay the stranger–the stranded–the out-of-placer?

I know you have called me beloved, but what does a beloved do?

beloved-sit-still-er or beloved-never-settled?

shhhhh…….quiet now. When you step to right or the left there will be a voice behind you saying,

“this is the way to go.”

Family: A Blessing and Definition

I am endeavoring to pray for my family this advent–and family is a term that I use with great depth, sincerity, and also with great flexibility.  If you can hold the tensions–how family can be both a bounded set and have room for its walls to flex and stretch over the hearts that have connected to my own then you are ready to journey beside me.

So we start here:

You are the Mother,

the one who provides space for the fragile to grow,

who shares of your own heart

to give life.

You are the Mother,

the one that labors in the dark night and the wee hours,

who shares of your own heart

allowing it to break and burst.

You are the Mother,

the one that speaks words of peace in the tumult,

who shares of your own heart

to draw out the disquieted and bereft

lifting out the sorrow to carry on your own chest.

You are the Mother,

the one that feeds your children,

who shares of your own body

broken for us, raised before us

making us sister and brother

calling us ever to your heart.

You who created us, labored for our delivery, sustains us and carries us it is to you that we give thanks. In you we are found to be made family, and in you we are able to live and move and have our being. Bless the family you have made, bless us to be ever more like you–loving, carrying and creating. In your name we pray. Amen.