A morning visitor, or two or three is always nice!

These came today as visitors, and are something about letting go of spiritual perfectionism—the need to always get it right in order to please God. It came to me this morning while i was sorting out what i “should” do today. It reminded me of St Augustine’s great quote: “Love God, and do what you will.” For me, poems or poetic prose are invited visitors! I’ve always felt this. When they arrive, i always welcome them as friends!/////////

Go take a walk, it doesn’t matter anymore where you go, you will meet Him there.

Go down to the cafe, look at stranger’s faces again and be thankful for that light.

Or up on the hill, with the birds still hunting their prey. But don’t grow tired watching them work

so hard. Just watch and be grateful, and return. Maybe you’ll have something left

to say. Or maybe, one day, you will just be silent again, as in the womb. And more yourself.

 /////

spiritual aging:

There were the days, when getting it right was everything

obedience was meeting God

then came that season of choice

when He could be met wherever you stepped

and would correct your falter with Wisdom

And now, you can’t mess up as long as you

find Him there!

I met him in timing then only.

Later, it was space itself.

When the two came together

I was barely there.

 /////

 On my morning walk, I came across an abandoned jar of honey on a white rock-seriously! So, this poem came. Seems to be about identity and seasons of life—we’ll see!

 /////

Honey on stone at sunset:

I can travel into  what I see now

I don’t have to be in it to know it.

my inner heart’s eyes know, by engulfing what i see in love.

for the first half of life, i touched it all, drank it down, let it

wet my lips until parched. I broke the jar, until i knew.

now i can appreciate it as is… as light passing slowly

as sunset, through a jar of honey sitting alone on a hill

on a white stone i never saw before.

casually mentioning, or whispering, my other name to me.

 //////

The flutter of red leaves against sky, outside this window

is enough to know forever

we belong. And why would we doubt, when they are joined by the hover

of hummingbirds gathering to taste her berries, or doubt when blue bird

shows up and scares off the tremoring of this pane.