Hey, did you get the memo on the cosmic joke?

Yes, there really is one.

It's entitled "Life."

We don't know what the punch line is, though.

Apparently this becomes apparent when one dies.

But, hey, it's okay to start laughing now (with kindness of course)

because, why not?

it makes Life a bit more fun.

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The Call to Love

Every day suffering comes knocking at my door

and I am called to love.

I worry and I fret and my body shakes with fear,

and I am called to love.

I scour the book shelves looking for words of solace,

and love keeps jumping off the pages.

Oh, how the world and all its beings yearn to be free of suffering,

but clearly it is not to be.

If there is an answer ...

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Everything moves in perfect rhythm

when we learn to breathe through life,

not too fast,

not too slow,

just a flow

that carries us peacefully through the day.

Tuned to the breath,

deep in, deep out,

we know when to step it up,

and when to wipe the calendar clean.

The world moves spinningly fast

and sometimes glacially slow,

find the rhythm that suits you best,

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Among all the messes

and all the losses,

still, we breathe.

Among all the pain

and ongoing suffering,

still, we walk.

Breathing and walking

is a gift,

eyes tuned to the feet,

one and then the other,

thoughts tuned to the breath,

one and then the other,

the messes and the losses

and the pain and the suffering

are part of the package,

lift the lid and ope...

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Where does the mind go when it leaves the body

Where does the soul go when it travels to the nether regions

Does the heart live in the body or does it reside in the universe

Do heaven and hell co-exist side by side or are they mutually exclusive

These are questions without question marks

because any answers are only opinions

so they are basically unanswerable

so no need to pun...

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I need to go to the woods and drum

I feel the sky closing in on me 

I need to go to the woods and run

I feel the earth shaking beneath my feet

If I can sway with the green leaves

and climb barefoot to the highest branch

maybe I can find my peace again

maybe I can stand on solid ground again

I need to run to the hills and twirl across the flowered meadows

surely there the...

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Poetry is like a woman in the simplest dress.

Poetry's cousins (prose, fiction, dissertation, etc.) require adornment,

whereas poetry is like a woman who puts on a mass of jewelry,

and then one by one

removes each piece

until she is wearing only

a singular sliver of gold or silver.

Poetry likes sparsity

but is not afraid of complexity.

Poetry is like breath,

essential...

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Evening shadows carry a gentle softness,

gone is the bright glare of the day,

a hush descends like a lullaby,

bidding the very young and the very old

to settle into sweet darkness.

Dreams start to gather

like clouds in the sky,

weaving together the stories of the day--

fragmented paths,

mysterious byways,

unfolding, growing.

Day into night, night into day,

the w...

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The years roll by

and I remember less and less

of the more and more

that happened.

The shelves of memory

are too full

for all the items to be seen.

So I let float to mind

what comes,

look at it fondly or sadly,

and appreciate that long ago

moment making a visit

to this moment--

this moment, this moment,

is always the most wondrous, 

though, made up of n...

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To everything that comes,

say "welcome."

Not because you want it,

but because it is here.

Releasing resistance

is a cleansing waterfall--

refreshing, restoring, energizing.

Welcome Life!

I stand here fearless,

I stand here strong,

knowing I am buttressed by creation,

knowing I am part of the swirl of love.

Dipping into this pool,

life sings.

PS altern...

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Is there anything more sweet

than a touch of sunshine in the morning?

Is there anything more soothing than a tickle of crisp air in the eve?

We rise each day and breathe,

we lay each eve and breathe.

We walk the steps of our days,

we dream the stories of our nights.

Is there anything more mysterious than the flowing of time?

Stepping into our stories, we wonder, who are we?

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Goodbye old tree,

we love you.

You were mom's potted Christmas tree,

a tiny star pine

she adorned with a few bulbs and tinsel.

She moved you out to her patio

and faithfully watered you

until she offered you to us

to plant in our front yard.

Into the ground you went,

free now to spread your roots

and grow, grow, grow.

We moved to a different house

and surprise...

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It takes a large bucket of faith

to keep believing in hope

when things appear hopeless.

But I arrive with my empty bucket,

close my eyes,

and wait patiently for it to be filled.

And it does--

faith and hope dwell in the clouds

and dance in the wind.

Faith and hope fall from the sky

with the sweet pitter-patter of raindrops

and land in my eager bucket.

Once again...

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It was summer and rain was not expected,

but when I stepped outside to walk to the store

I saw the drops falling

so I stepped back inside

and grabbed my blue umbrella waiting in a little yellow bucket by the piano. 

Off I started on my journey

but stopped a bit to chat with a neighbor about whether I should walk,

might there be a downpour?

I checked my phone app,

no rain...

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Life is a work of art,

Life is a bowl of apples,

Life is elderly husband getting locked in bedroom with wife on Saturday morn because of broken lock, requiring splintering of door to escape (after much huffing and puffing),

Life is elderly husband getting covid (on Sunday morn, next day after broken lock,  3-day holiday weekend, Sun & Mon, no doc available) requiring looong visit to ER to...

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Sitting in stillness

opens the gates of heaven

peace descends from the angel realms

the leaves flutter in the gentle wind

a flower opens its petals

and says, yes, this is life

this is the song of your soul

listen, listen, to its quiet call

you are loved

you are loved

you are infinitely loved

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