Genesis

…And so, despite being
Sternly warned, Lot’s wife was
Turned into a pillar of salt
When she inexplicably looked back
At the very instant of
Sodom and Gomorrah’s
Annihilating destruction.
She was vaporized instantaneously
By a blinding flash beyond
All description, which ravaged
The land making it unrecognizable…
I have wondered if this infamous
Biblical story with all its
Wild imagery could somehow be
Applied to understanding
The importance of
Living in the present
Moment and not looking
Back at what we once
Had or knew in the past…
Because there is no surer way
For a heart to be hardened
And for lifeblood to be
Clotted and curdled
Than to excessively obsess
A real or perceived loss
Or unfortunate turn
Of events and to endure the
Ensuing fallout from the
Unbearable mourning
Or anger. We are intended to
Keep moving along our
Life’s path, just as Lot’s wife
Was admonished to do,
But she turned around — and
Thus she who was born of flesh of
The womb was transformed
Into immutable stone.
We likewise become lifeless
When we fixate upon
Something from our past,
Because, like it or not,
Our path is meant to be
Traveled, and stopping and
Looking back is an anathema
To Creation’s way of
Rounding, smoothing, and
Teaching us. In short, we cannot
Learn if we are frozen in
Time, and our eyes have become
Clothed in scales as if we
Stand motionless like a
Monument in Death Valley…

Not Too Far

Near the Jeep Trail

Here I sit this cellar hole amidst,
Just stoic stones remaining without the flesh
Which long ago them set…nothing
Left now…no voices, no laughing,
No crying…no pain, no joy…
No births, no deaths…no nothing…
Just this lone moment long
After footsteps took their last
Step…long after the last
Crib was rocked, long after
Was whispered the final vesper
At someone’s death…
But yet despite, still the sun
Shines, and to the cellar
Hole addresses, “I know all that
You did…so please take my
Warmth, and let this light up’n
Your stones be visited.”

Ode to Old Homestead

E’en the trees have tried to
Take o’er your cellar’s soul…but they
Underestimate the strength of
Your carefully-fitted stones…
What chance have the trees – –
Their trunks are made of
Mere wood!? Your stones are
Much harder than that, and e’en
An ancient glacier into the
Sea could not them push…

Musings

Knowing

If only I knew that I would
Never know, that I was merely
Destined to sit a beach
Like this, and to always
Wonder the meaning of a back
And forth, tidal flow…

If only I knew that I would
Never know, would I still persist and
Sit this beach, and in tremble
And awe be satisfied
With what had been gifted
So exquisitely…?

Seasons

…The eternal, intriguing
Nature of your smile, felt
Particularly in autumn, and
Fleeting, but always long
Enough to me beguile…it haunts
Me still, ne’er too far away —
What once I felt I knew,
But now the meaning I
Cannot explain…

Feelings

Puget Sound cold are my hands,
And cool across my brow brushes
A wind which also cloisters
And huddles shoulder-to-shoulder
The grains of sand, but
Blessedly and thankfully,
Faintly still warms the sun, and
About me circles the lingering
Season of someone.

Whispers

Path’s End

Could I have finally
Found what so long for I
Have sought, my first glimpse of
Heaven’s gate where the
Water purrs like a mirror
‘Neath the care of a loving,
Soft cloth…? And radiant
To me, presented as
Peace almost blinding
Yet abiding, beaming through
Gilded clouds, as if God’s
Face was unfurled in a
Predestined bottle
Shining…

Awe

My footprints stop at
Water’s edge, having finally in awe
Come upon a view of
Waiting heav’n…and then,
Realizing the Beauty
Was far, far more than
Mortal verse could
Express…I became
Speechless, content to be
A witness to the Mysterious
And unexpected…

Whose

And whose other
Footprints are these, has
Someone else stood
This shore and
Heaven’s gate also seen, a
Portal open through
Which a pilgrim can walk,
And into the Kingdom
Of Light be welcomed as a son
Or daughter of God?

Plea

Cleanse me, O Lord, of
That which I should
Not imbibe, and leave within
Me only the salt from
This flat, calm sea,
A metaphor I believe
For when I first became
Alive…and realized in
Your presence that
Terror was defeated…

If Only

If only I could wash
My face clean…all that would be
Left would be the salt of
The Divine…and I could taste
It with my tongue and
Up’n my soul let it lie…

Before the Throne

Comes to me the
Chirp of some bird, the buzz of
Some simple bee, and
Then silence, extended
Silence, silence like it
Was before was heard the first
Sound, and then before
Me shrugged the
Essence of All Majesty
And spoke, “What is
Your doubt, why is lament
So often your song?”

Beloved

Jewel

…And to think I was
Shown all this – – a breathless
View of heaven, of a
Wondrous portal into peace’s bliss – –
And lying below a little
Cottage, snuggled close
To earth like a
Supplicant, and
Me metaphorically
Cloistered its walls inside, from
Where prayers could be
Whispered and
Straight to God’s ears
Uninhibited fly…

Cottage

What is it about this
Little place, something familiar and
Secure I think…? Is it perhaps
I’ve been here once before, and
Under the tutelage of the
Healing Light was bathed
And brought forth?
Yes, I feel like I do
Know this place, simple as
It is – – and pure – – a
Cottage I would like,
No pretense allowed,
Just a hermitage
To house the silent
Prayers of the lame,
Sick, and halt…and those
Lost but mercifully
Now found…

Cottage Re-Visited

Could it be this little
Cottage is a microcosm of me,
A hermitage huddled at shores edge,
Hesitant to lift e’en its eyes,
Lest they be seen,
Hunkered down its head,
Its rooftop fast and secured,
But bathed, nevertheless, bathed,
Because Creation welcomes
Each pilgrim at its door?