Wealth of peers

This is a week of change.  Big change.  I say goodbye to some things, and hello to others.  Come to think of it, it*s not unlike  a lot of weeks recently... only some are more noticeable.  I had a client who asked me when her purpose in life would be completely clear.  We had a wonderful conversation about one thing at a time.  I did not tell her about this being a big change week for me.  I did tell her that for me, I only seem to figure out one step at a time.  This week I am aware that I seek a wealth of peers.

I seek a wealth

Of peers.

I am not interested

In being the expert;

Not interested

In being seen

Through the eyes of someone

Who considers

How I might be fixed.

No

I am looking for,

I seek,

Indeed I long for,

A wealth of peers:

To converse

Over a cup of coffee;

Trade metaphors

Back and forth;

Encourage me

As I encourage them;

Drive me when I need a ride, and in return,

Allow me to accompany them

At the end

Of a particularly hard day.

Anger

This anger thing is interesting.  Already it feels different.  Actually this part feels like parenting.  Holding people accountable and still being available.  Continuing to be available.  I am learning, always learning... what*s mine, what*s theirs, what we share.

Already it feels different.

Two clients are pissed at me

And I know

It is o.k.

One skipped yesterday.

The other missed last week

And thinks it is hardly fair

That he owes me

For the missed session.

I do not know

Whether he will show

Tonight,

And then owe me 

For two.

Already it feels different.

I see their anger

From a distance.

I know it has something

To do with me.

But only something.

I will wait and see

What happens next.

Neon

It is Monday.  And overwhelmingly neon at the clinic.  At least there is good company.

I can barely tell

The time of day.

The neon covers over

Morning and afternoon.

I think it may be sunny

Outside.

No one in the waiting room

Is dripping.

It is Monday

There is neon everywhere

In this old motel.

I can barely tell

The time of day.

We lean toward orange

Pick your paint colors... and live with the results.  When we moved here years ago, we chose a neutral color for the whole house.  We all agreed and the color is fine but really rather boring.  Our bright orange bathroom, in glossy tangerine, is anything but boring.  Indeed, with the white shiny floor tile, it was blinding.  With the tile change, it seems a better choice.  Now we don*t have to squint when we go in there.  Now we are considering a color for the kitchen.  

Obviously we lean toward

Orange.

The last time we made the mistake

Of gloss

Instead of eggshell.

Our downstairs bathroom

Shed a neon tangerine glow

In the white tiled hallway,

Even when the door

Was shut.

With more muted tile

Underway,

The orange gloss

Is now

Almost palatable.

We can look in the bathroom mirror

And not

Be blinded.

Now it*s time

For the kitchen.

We still seem to lean

Toward orange,

Even though the conversation

Had settled on brick red.

We have made two trips

To the hardware store

For 36 by 36 paint chips.

We have moved from oranges

To peaches

To Moroccan red.

The current agreement

Is rust.

We will consider the color

In daylight

In spotlight

When the sun shines on it

Just so

Right before twilight

Sets in.

As a family

We lean toward orange.

Every morning we remember

What orange gloss

Got us.

Empty place

Such things take practice.  Moving on to the next thing. I take what I have learned with me.  I have done this before.  Most likely I will do it again.   It is tempting to blame others for my having to move on.  In my best moments I know it is gift.  I have been here before.  I will be here again.

It is time to move on.

I take a step.

I do not know where to go

Except to step

To an empty place,

Survey the landscape,

Figure out whether it is tundra

Or sand,

Whether I need to put on my water wings,

Swim or dive,

Perhaps fly

To what is next.

When I mention moving

It puts the fear of God

In those I love.

I have been here before.

It has always

Put the fear of God

In those I love.

I cannot describe

The empty place

In any satisfying way.

I have been here before.

I will be here again.

Unplanned things

Yesterday was an unplanned day.  Such days can be dangerous.  I find myself paying attention to things that have been niggling at the edges.  I came, I saw, I felt.  I made two or three decisions that I hadn*t realized I needed to make.  Today is different, yet of course it is connected with yesterday.  Today I have more planned things to do. 

Yesterday was filled

With unplanned things.

I figured I would see

How it went.

I would note

Unplanned surprises.

I would do what seemed

Required,

Find out what it felt like

Afterward.

I came

I saw

I felt.

Today is awash in sunshine,

Autumn chill,

A tinge of sadness

Yet still

There is purpose.

Today offers more

Of a plan:

Pumpkins placed in the planters

For Halloween;

Library books returned;

Final pieces installed

In the upstairs bath.

More of a plan today,

Yet still residual sadness

From yesterday.

I come

I see

I feel.

Today is different.

I am the same.

WWJD

Today is one of those days.  What would Jesus do?  I have little idea.  Today seems to be a day to sift and sort and possibly walk to the library.  The house is still in disarray.  Kicking over tables, one of the few examples we have of external anger on Jesus* part, does not seem like a productive option.  What would Jesus do?

What would Jesus do?

All too often

I have no idea.

Most times

I come at the question

From the negative.

Would Jesus do this?

Or this?

Or this?

I come at the question

From a string of answers:

Not this,

Nor this.

No,

Not even this.

If Jesus was really pissed

Would he be entitled

To a temper tantrum?

Was kicking over that table

Of moneychangers

In the temple

An example

I might be justified

To copy?

Which piece of the Man

Is justified

Today?

Do I look for tables

To kick over?

Do I walk away,

Away,

And away.

Stay home

And tend to the cat.

Pray for the client

Who didn*t show

Last night

In the rain.

Wonder at the conversations

I had

Instead of the scheduled ones.

What would Jesus do?

What did Jesus do?

What will Jesus do?

Itsy Bitsy Spider

I would not trade my office space... for anything.  Sure it means that I can*t see most people in the morning.  Small, occasionally loud, voices, perhaps a small meltdown, is not conducive to many people*s therapy office comfort level.  Still... I would not trade my office space... for anything.

The strains

Of Itsy Bitsy Spider

Followed by

This Little Light of Mine

And ended with

Jesus Loves Me

Remind me of the whole

Kit and kaboodle

In the voices of small children.

I sit in the aftermath

Of adult trials and tribulations.

Again the children sing

As they do every day

After lunch

Before they go home

With their particular adult.

I imagine the children hum

Itsy Bitsy Spider

This Little Light of Mine

Jesus Loves Me

To their particular adult companion

In the midst of trials

And tribulations.

I imagine their hum

Reminds the adult

Of child time

Just as it reminds me

New rhythm

It never seems to fail.   When I start writing about something new, like life in a new rhythm, for example, it ties into the old.  Of course it does.  There*s always a tie-in.

I am home today.  This week I have no Wednesday clients, so I will be home (such as it is, in its torn-up state).  I will walk and write and assess the backyard.  For whatever reason I woke up with the old-worded Exhortation to Confession in my head: 

Ye who do truly and earnestly repent you of your sins, and
are in love and charity with your neighbors, and intend to
lead a new life, following the commandments of God, and
walking from henceforth in his holy ways: Draw near with
faith, and make your humble confession to Almighty God,
devoutly kneeling:

Perhaps today has something to do with confession (or exhortation)  as well.  New rhythm with old material.

These days require

New rhythm.

Do I begin now?

Or do I practice

A particularly good

Ending?

New rhythm

With the instruments

On hand:

The sand blocks

The castanets

The singing bowl;

The underlying heart beat;

The breathing in,

The breathing out;

The accompaniment of raucous redwings

As they gather once again to leave

In the neighbor*s tree;

The breathing in,

The breathing out;

New rhythm?

Or oldest rhythm

Ever?

Un-consider

This is for a friend turning thirty in a month.  She has accomplished so many things in her twenties, and wants to know what she can accomplish in the remaining month of her twenties.  Hi Callie!

This is really for all of us, no matter where we are.  Here we are.  There is a lot to Here.  It is the only Here and Now we have.  Tomorrow it will be a different Here and Now.  Consider the possibilities.  Now un-consider them. 

Consider the possibilities before you,

Then

Un-consider them.

Weigh the possibilities in your hands:

Which is heaviest?

Which is lightest?

Let them dribble through your fingers

Until your hands

Are completely empty.

Rub your hands together

Until not even

A speck of dust remains.

Wash your hands.

Feel the slipperiness
of the soap,

The warm water streaming

Through your fingers.

Find a fluffy towel,

Dry between each finger.

Clean your nails

Don*t forget to clean

Your nails.

Completely un-consider

Your possibilities.

Let them sift through your fingers,

Sweep them out the door.

Begin again

Shared

Yesterday the Gospel was James and John jockeying for position with Jesus.  The sermon was on sharing the Cup.  Sharing.  Something we get lessons on beginning at age two.  Something we seem to have a hard time remembering.  Yesterday was also healing prayer.  I knew I was good yesterday, and serving as an usher, I was seated in the back.  Yesterday was healing prayer.  Seated in the back, suddenly, I remembered South Carolina and Quincy

The sermon was on the Cup

To be shared

With those on the right,

Those on the left,

The disciples who begged

For those places,

Those spots which placed them

Directly

Next to Jesus.

The sermon was on the Cup

To be shared;

The operative word:

Shared.

We forget

Shared.

Crumbs

This is what I woke up with this morning.  The woman who asked Jesus to heal her daughter, only to be called a dog by him, comes to mind.  She had the presence of mind to tell Jesus that even the dogs got the crumbs under the table.  Little did she know that under that table was chocolate cake with chocolate frosting for her and her daughter, and beyond.  Well beyond.

I dreamed I was in charge

Of the meal.

For dessert

I cut the sheet cake,

Chocolate with chocolate frosting,

Just enough pieces

For everyone present.

When it came my turn

For cake,

There was a sliver left,

Only crumbs.

It was a puzzle.

I was sure I had counted

Exactly right.

Then I saw

Two full pieces

On the floor

Under the table.

Chocolate with chocolate frosting.

Enough for me

And someone I have yet

To meet.

Saturday morning

With the house in construction upheaval, it helps to pay attention to the things that remain the same:  the autumn sun, blue sky, the Saturday morning routine.

On Saturday everyone

Sleeps in.

Still

No matter how long

I stay in bed,

Everyone else wins

The sleep contest:

The husband

The daughter

The cat

The turtle.

Everyone else

Sleeps in.

I wake to autumn sun

Blue sky,

The sound of a house

Breathing slowly

Steadily

Around me.

On Saturday I hear

The waking patterns

Begin.

Everything

Everyone

Moves slow

At first.

Everything

Everyone

Moves slowly

Slowly

Slowly

Until

They appear.

Layers

Now I counsel people for a living.  Of course, as I counsel people, they in turn, offer so much to my own perception of things.  Often I find layers of things I have covered over, as well as the layers with which I cover things.  Iona is a holy place with layers upon layers.  In retrospect it is not a surprise that on Iona I realized there is more to be done.

On Iona I discovered

There is more to be done,

Always more

To be done.

This is hardly new information,

Yet it is somehow

Still new.

There are

Still more layers

To be discovered,

Unearthed.

The layers have always

Been there

Still

I am clever

We are clever

We are all more than capable

Of creating

New things to do,

New things to keep us busy

Cover the old with monuments

Even stone basilicas

Pretend there is nothing

Underneath

Or pretend perhaps

The underneath

Doesn*t matter.

New glasses

Sometimes a relatively simple change allows other things to change around it.  I tell clients this all the time.  Why should it be so surprising to me?  Now it seems I do not need to spend as much time and effort getting things into focus.  The prisms in my new glasses help me focus more easily. The prisms actually seem to help, not just my vision, but my hearing and apprehension of the world around as well.

Already I notice the difference.

There are no rainbows evident

But the fall colors are clearer.

When I worked out this morning

I could see the trainer

Across the room.

I even saw aspects

Of my lunch partner yesterday

Which took me

By surprise.

I know this has nothing to do

With prisms

Really

But then again

Maybe it does.

Already I notice a difference.

Already I know

It relates to more

Than prisms

Or potential rainbows.

Prisms

The new glasses are in!  I pick them up this morning.  I had never heard of prisms in glasses before.  And no, it is not something new-fangled.  Just one more thing no one had ever considered I might need before.  It keeps the head spinning.  I often tell couples or even individuals I counsel the story of the woman who threw a party.   A guest brought an alligator to the party, on a leash.  The guest left the alligator behind the sofa when he departed.  The hostess, not quite knowing what to do, wrestled the alligator into the bathtub, and went to bed.  She went to work the next day.  When she returned home, there was a note from the cleaning lady saying:  

Dear Mrs. Murphy,  

I quit.  

I have made it a firm policy never to work for people who keep alligators.  I would have told you this before, but somehow the subject never came up.

It seems there are always alligators.  

Somehow there are always new subjects.  

My experience with prisms

Has been limited.

Up until today

They were pieces of cut glass;

They caught the light

Made rainbows on the wall

When the sun shone through

Just right.

Today my new glasses await

With prisms

To help me focus.

Will there be rainbows?

Or will I only see rainbows

When the light shines through

Just right?

Re-arranged

It occurs to me that perhaps the order we count on so much is really a figment.  The images swim (like the coot) through my dreams, and my brain strives to make sense of them.  There is probably gift to be found in disorder, in the chaos of a house undone.  There are branches piled on the grass next to the street.  They were cleared by a man in need of money who returns about once a year.  It is a two-part job, for which he has been paid in part.  The rest comes when he finishes.  He is supposed to return today.  It is one more uncertainty on the plate.

I dreamed a lot

Last night.

We moved to a new place.

It was completely re-done

Pristine.

I walked out the door.

Now it seems we live on the waterfront.

The biggest coot

I have ever seen

Was swimming

In front of the house.

A Target superstore

Was directly behind

The house.

My sister was in charge of sales.

She was front and center

Arranging clothes on a display

Dressed in alb and stole.

It seems my world

Is being

Re-arranged.

Completely

Re-rearranged.

Sleeping

Oversleeping.  Yesterday I blamed it on the weather, the sun failing to show before afternoon.  This morning I have no such excuse.  In fact my mind trips around the difference between oversleeping and all the sleepovers I used to have when I was growing up.  When I get up in the morning, whenever I get up in the morning, the kitchen is still not anywhere near complete.  The house is in disarray.  The coffee pot still lives in our bathroom.

It is a week of oversleeping

As opposed to sleeping over.

Oversleeping has the connotation

Of grabbing extra needed hours

Of snooze.

Sleeping over

Has little to do

With actual sleep,

Only being awake

With others

In the dark

Hushed giggles

An occasional snort

Seeing if the hand of the sleeper

Dipped in warm water

Has the expected consequences.

No

This week all of us

Are  oversleeping.

When we awake

Maybe the kitchen

Will function

If we sleep

Long enough.

Maybe more will be in hand

If we sleep

A long long time.

Sleeping in

Ah, the perspective that years bring.  It is rainy and the house is under construction and my daughter just got in the door after sleeping at a friend*s house after Homecoming.  I do not have a Sunday obligation, at least not the same Sunday obligation most of my clergy colleagues do.  The 10:30 service begins in three minutes and I (we) are not there.

I remember

My first year of seminary,

A senior decided

To sleep in every Sunday morning

For the whole year.

After all

He said

I will have to get up early

Every Sunday

Until I die.

That seemed cynical

To me,

Way back in 1980.

Where*s your dedication?

I thought

Is it a true calling?

Really?

On reading Anne Sexton*s Welcome Morning

When I opened my daily email from Inside/Outside, I read the words by Anne Sexton, full morning exuberant words, also full knowing she committed suicide.  Both are real full knowings.  Often we are called upon to hold two seemingly opposite things, one in each hand, realizing both are true.  I wonder what we write on the palms of our hands, what we use as reminders.

This morning brings a poem

On the wonderfulness

Of everything:

Sheer joy and laughter

As the morning begins

The cup and plate,

The chapel of eggs.

This is a poem

I could read every morning

As a reminder.

It is amazing

In its simplicity.

The world,

Each piece of the world,

Addresses the author

By name.

This is a poem of wonder

And awe

Of the moment.

I might read it every morning,

I could write it on the palm

Of my hand:

A reminder

Day off

Ah, the danger of taking a day off and considering the pieces.  When I opened my email, an unlikely long ago friend requested to have lunch with me.  In truth it may be a piece of my mosaic, but potentially way more than that.  I have been wondering about the theme of my life after leaving parish ministry.  It is like I have been set free to consider priesthood on the edges, and I have no idea what it will contain.  I do have some of the pieces, but it is also clear I am not done yet.  Of course the house is still undone.  Everything, it seems, is a metaphor.

Today was set aside;

A day to consider the pieces

I have been given,

Consider how they might fit

In the picture.

A message from a friend

Tells me

The box of pieces acquired

So far

Is partial

At best.

It tells me

I am not done yet

By a long shot.

It tells me

When I left what I was doing

The world expanded

Or perhaps

I was suddenly aware

It is way more

Than I had imagined.

A message from a friend

Brings me back to the time

When I was four,

Saw the clouds move

And knew,

Simply knew

There is a God.

Now I know

I am not done

By a long shot.

The clouds are up there

Moving.

What I have been given

Is partial at best

And

I will never be done.

Discovery

This is indeed a week of discovery.  I have spent quite a while adapting to blurry vision.  All the eye specialists were puzzled.  The retina guy knew it was my optic nerve.  The optic nerve guy knew it was my retina.  It gets worse in bright light, when I am overheated, or under stress.  It seems I was not naming it correctly.  It seems double vision is corrected these days with prisms.  Wild.  I am now waiting for my new glasses.  Will they be perfect?  Most likely not.  But I will take and celebrate improvement.  Like Columbus, I find myself on new shores.  

This is a week of discovery.

What I named as blurry vision

Is really two of the same image,

Up and to the right.

My retinas and optic nerves

Test clear.

My brain is

What it is.

This week

I found a holistic

Ophthalmologist.

He discovered

My blur is double vision,

My left eye sees

Way up and slightly

To the right.

When I practice seeing

With one eye

Or the other,

There is no blur.

I have new glasses on order

With prisms.

New discoveries are made

All the time.

I feel like Christopher Columbus.

He thought he had reached India,

Only to discover

It was someplace

Entirely new.

Grief

When I opened my email this morning, I found that a neighbor had acknowledged my skill in grief counseling.   While I knew he was grieving, in truth I have not communicated with him since the occasion of the source of his grief.  I was surprised.  When I took out the trash, he was walking by.  So, after the fact, I made good on his recommendation.  It remains surprising to me how God continues to work through so many things.

In my own grief

About oh so many things,

A side friend acknowledges me

On LinkedIn

For my skill

In grief counseling.

He is one I have never counseled

For grief

Or otherwise.

In truth I felt guilty

About not reaching out to him

In his current loss.

As I took out the trash this morning

He walked by.

We engaged

In mutual

Grief counseling.

Usually such opportunities

Do not line up

After the fact.

Usually opportunities

Do not present themselves

Quite so neatly.

Iona eyes

In the midst of home chaos, I find myself acclimating to the home renovation.  Returning from Iona to Illinois was a bit of a shock.  Still, I knew what I was returning home to.  And a little about what I was returning home with.  I am still thinking about the women from Fort Worth, struggling with re-ordering their diocese.  I am clearly not done yet, with prayer, with figuring where I fit in the re-ordering of the whole.  I did think I was done. I now know I am not.

Two weeks returned

From Iona,

I think I am getting

My bearings back

Finally.

Of course nothing

Is ever final.

The trick is to keep

Iona eyes

In Illinois,

Just as Illinois

Arrived with me

On Iona.

Just as I found Fort Worth

Staying in the same hotel.

Cooler weather

Is upon us now.

The trees have noticed

In full color.

I watch them change

With Iona eyes.

Re-thinking

Stress, thy name is kitchen renovation.  The cabinets I thought we had already ordered have more decisions involved before a final order can be placed.  Right.  It is 11:46 and the designer is coming in five minutes to take final measurements that I thought were final before I went to Iona.  I am struggling to finish my coffee before noon.  Re-thinking is probably required all the way around.

Some re-thinking

May be required

When the plan

To ingest no caffeine after noon

Becomes

Finish the coffee pot

At 11:55.

Detours

Things happen.  Cars don*t work so good.  Pipes break.  Five-year-olds are good at naming things as they are, and finding excitement in most anything.  

Years ago we had a car.

My son

Aged 5

Said: It doesn*t work so good.

That was before grammar

Became so all-fired

Important.

Not so good

Not so well

Either one

Said it all.

The car had a habit

Of over-heating

On the freeway.

When we took a long trip,

We could never drive

Straight through.

Years ago

Our car required

Detours,

Side tours to sights

We would never have seen

Were it not

For that car

Overheating in Ohio.

Were it not for that car

We would never have stood

On the side of the freeway

With a five year old saying

Zoom

Zoom

Zoom

Every time a car sped by.

The five year old would never have had

The supremely exciting ride

In the pick-up truck.

Without that car,

Put-in-Bay

Would probably never

Have been

On the itinerary.

Season of returnings

This weekend I returned to a parish I left ten years ago.  It had been a tough assignment, for them, I suspect,  as much as for me.  Of course a lot has happened in ten years.  Of course a lot has not changed at all.  The tough part is understanding which are the meaningful bits, and what is chaff.  I admit I was not looking forward to going.  I admit I am glad I went.

On occasion

It is good to return

To the scene,

To see if what I remember

Still is.

Even to wonder if

It ever was

As I remember.

It is good

To return to the scene,

See people from the outside

In,

Rather than from the inside

Out.

I am in the season

Of returnings.

I return to the scene,

Notice what has changed,

Notice

What has not changed

At all.

Beer with Jesus

Driving music.  I never listened to country except when I was driving.  I can drive again in December. I may find the country station again then.  Here are the lyrics to Beer with Jesus. http://www.lyricsmania.com/if_i_could_have_a_beer_with_jesus_lyrics_thomas_rhett_1.html

I used to love to drive

To country music.

Now my daughter,

License

New in hand,

Has discovered the joy

All on her own.

Last night we drove to dinner

With country accompaniment.

Last night

We drove to dinner

To the strains

Of

Beer with Jesus.

Library

I forgot about the library.  I dare not check out books with such disorder at home, but the library space is amazing in its order and simplicity, not to mention the view out the window.  It is balm.  I have even discovered the Vish Puri murder mystery series.  They will transport me... to India.

Once again I find

The library.

The voices are low

And pleasant.

There is no background music.

I sit and face

A bank of windows

Floor to ceiling,

Look out on golden trees

Against a pearl gray sky.

I imagine the kitchen painted

In fall colors.

Here is

More order

Than I have encountered

In days.

Here is big space

In big order.

Soft voices.

Library low and pleasant

Leaves gold yellow,

Pearl gray sky

Through wide-paned windows

Floor to ceiling.

Promises

Ugh.  Ugh.  Ugh.  

The kitchen is swathed

In plastic.

Really

They*ve only begun.

Next week

We are promised a mess

Of the fifth dimension.

Then they will leave us alone

Until the cabinets

Arrive.

I used to love

Promises.

Under construction

The new dry-wall guys showed up at home this morning.  These are not the ones who broke the pipe upstairs which led to kitchen renovation downstairs.  I am glad.  When I went to my consultant appointment this morning, I found the office... under construction.  I understand his new office will be down the hall.  Now I am sitting in the one space in my life I can pretend is not under construction.  As I do the children are running by my door, back and forth, back and forth.  Soon they will sing Jesus Loves Me, This I Know... as they do every day before lunch.

The world

Is under construction.

How could I miss this

Before?

Everything

Is in flux.

It always has been.

The ground moves

Under my feet.

Even the person who was once

My therapist

Then supervisor

Now consultant

Lives in an office space

Under construction.

My home

Is under construction.

Yesterday God sent Jesus

To sit in my office

To show me

He is still here

She is still here

While everything continues

Under construction.

I know it was Jesus yesterday,

Though I don*t think

He had a clue

About his identity.

The world

Is under construction.

Sometimes Jesus

Shows his face.

Meltdown

Sometimes it seems a meltdown is needed, a necessary thing.  Having an office next to a nursery school teaches me new things every morning.  

There is a child

Having a meltdown

Outside my office door.

I know how he feels.

The day is gray and rainy.

Lunch is not to his liking.

His mother has yet

To materialize.

You name it

There is probably more.

Meanwhile the adults offer

Continuing calm voices.

They will soak him up

With a sponge

When it is over.

Dry the tears.

Already I hear the gulps.

They signal the end

Of the meltdown.

I am not done yet

When I was on Iona, my beloved told me that the Bishop wanted to know if I was having spiritual experiences.  I have never seen so many rocks as when I was there.  I have never seen so many rainbows at once.  I have rarely seen the Milky Way as clear... certainly not three nights in a row.  Sometimes I get spiritual experience mixed up with certainty.  I came back certain that I am not done yet.  It was not quite the spiritual experience I had hoped for, even when I didn*t think I was hoping for any particular thing.  Still... it counts.

I envy those

Who know

The next exact thing.

I wish it was ordered

Like that

In my life.

The white pebbles

Gleam in the moonlight.

They show the next step

And the next

Beyond it.

The track laid out

In the moonlight,

Sometimes starlight,

The white pebbles strewn

In order of importance:

One path obvious

One path ordered.

Instead I find the rocky pebbled beach,

The Milky Way clear

With so many stars

It spans the sky

A spilled ribbon

Of light.

I pick a rock from the beach

Locate one star

Is this the one?

Or this one?

Or this?

I envy those who know

The next rock

The next star.

All I know

Is

I am not done yet.

Manageable space

More from Iona.  It is hardly as manageable as I sit here in home chaos.  Still... the Iona memory holds.  I remember the variations of weather, the water changes in the strait between Iona and Mull.  I remember the water flowing both directions at once.

This is manageable space

And time,

Small enough to see

Changes in wind and water,

Sun breaking through,

Bits of hail and rain.

The come and go,

The hitch and pull,

The push and pull of Spirit

In manageable time

And space.

Blues and greens of the strait

Between.

Water flowing

Both directions at once.