When the prickles and pain of a love held close
hurt too much,
harm too much, then
love from afar with a prayer and a hope
Cardoon (daisy family)
What people see are externals; physical attributes, profiles and position, passions and power—
or lack thereof.
People see actions and assume motivation;
people see doubt and assume weakness. What people see is not me.
I am more than my package, more than my history, more than my gifts, and
I need to be listened to.
I shouldn’t need validation, but how do I know I really exist if I don’t hear back from the universe I walk in?
Reading alone in a window seat, viewing nature from my perch, writing poetry and capturing all I see in drawings and photos, words that rhyme—I used to think that would be enough. It would be like playing cello on a deck in a wild, ethereal Alaskan wood—no one listening except the trees and sky and creatures hidden from view. Mystic communion with the world.
Contemplation is preparation—not enough just as is.
If it does not prepare me to worship or serve or commune with others, meditation and creation are empty romantic drivel. And if there is no one to hear, then
the ribbon of music drifts on the air and is just as lost to the cosmos as if it had never been played.
So I need to create, but I also need you.
Are you listening to me?
Between the ragged jag of mountain and the weight of a helmet grey sky,
there are slivers of light,
yellow and aquamarine,
wisps, vapors, light and air,
a promise of morning after all the grey is done.
Purify my crooked little heart, my tired heart, my heart so full of idols.
May I seek You with my whole weeping heart in these days,
these seeing-only-one-step-ahead days,
these tearfully trusting pavement-beating moments
when I hold on to fragile faith.
Lord, shine through will and world and cover me.
After the words–hard and biting,
after the actions–strange and estranging,
after the confusion, the redefining and the pruning,
there is life again.