Advent III, 2014 My counter-weight, my center down, my metronome, my joy, my song, my strength, my fascination, my hope, my help, my rumination, my wonder, awe, best inclination, grace, cry, laugh, word, moving me out to the neighborhood; Born a baby, born of yes, born to journey, born to bless. Joy to the world,…

ADVENT II, 2014   Where the voice cries, plaintive or piercing, at the bend of becoming and no return, I am watchful for the low words that draw me down center, that humble me, impassion me, steady me, move me, move my light, move my being, into the here and the now of the still…

Advent I, 2014   With bare spread arms and fullness of being I ache for your coming and praise you already in the becoming colors where night awakens the sun with stories and visions and hope. Where day bows to starlight and promises tales when next they meet to dance on the edge of Mystery’s…

The Offering Tree I understand your desire to bend in an open offering of self– Transparent in ache and yearning, willing to let go into the becoming colors that hint at the infinite, almost, not quite, stars remaining, new day rising, glorious fullness and subtlety of being that is God, that is God, that is…

  23 October, 2014 I have spent some time this morning with the letters of women who intrigue me…Janet Erskine Stuart, Georgia O’Keefe, Willa Cather…And as I read I find myself talking to them as I might if I had the chance to sit across from them in a book-ish ambiance, or upon a hillside…

It is the feast of the Guardian Angels today… And I was thinking about that while I sat in the Public Gardens this morning. I have a hard time with conventional representations of angels…wings, saccharine, pink and cherubic…. But, LIGHT…yes. Warmth. Depth. Presence. Balm, Strength, Steadiness, Accompaniament. Even Guardian, protector… And as I closed my…

The Gift of Love If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do…

I have long thought of writing as another way of taking a picture…light and shadow portrayed via word choice…texture reflected in the syllables rubbing together…the invitation to enter offered in both the specificity and the expansiveness… I recently read a stunning example of this–the first section of Dylan Thomas’ radio play, Under Milk Wood–and then…

Vase of Irises against a Yellow Background by V. VanGogh A blogging sister of mine who writes at All this Life and Heaven Too, posted the story of her blog’s origin and posed the question to several of us–What’s your story? I am coming up on seven years worth of entries at Consider the Lilies…and…

  14 August, 2014 6:50 AM On a corner of the dining room table in NYC. However, I feel compelled to say that this sad skeleton is not the place where I came to know the Society for three years, where I also lived for a bit more than four years… Or, on some level,…