Healing
Vermont Morning
Click for meditationRegarding "Vermont Morning"
And so when a woman
Recently showed me a photograph
Of her palms cradling a
Little bat in Vermont,
I was taken aback. She was
Supporting the creature
As if on the softest
Throne of white mittens.
I knew this was a special
Woman. She had found the bat
Asleep on a wall in her
Vermont home one morning, and
Had taken pity on it.
If she had been a member
Of the Jainism religious
Sect in India, which
Practices non violence
Against all living beings, she
Could not have been more loving.
She handled the bat as if
She was presenting the
The long lost treasure
Of the Knights Templar.
The photo of the bat
In her palms was taken
About 10-15 years ago,
And yet she still carried it
With her as if it was
A sacred, holy relic, and
When she showed it to me,
I was able to peer into
The simplicity and
Compassion of her soul.
Leo Carroll
February 16, 2019
Who else in knitted, mitten-white
Palms would e’er cradle a
Tiny, helpless bat in hopes to keep
The scared creature calm?
Very few people would … only
Someone who had herself been lost, and
Thus recognized the cry when
The morning sun wafted it across.
Love
Click for meditationRegarding "Love"
I was recently sitting
In a waiting room in Stoneham and
Listening for my name to be
Called for my ophthalmology
Examination. It is still not clear to
Me what happened next,
But I sensed someone was
Standing in front of me and
Staring at me. I raised
My head slowly to look up,
And there was this little
Boy, perhaps six or seven years
Old, and he had a smile
On his face. As soon as our
Eyes connected, he said
Something quickly to me which
Came out in a burst, like a
Digital stream of binary
Information. I could not
Understand a word of it,
But whatever he said, it was
Obviously important to him from
His facial earnestness looking at me.
Before I had a chance to
Respond, however, a young woman
Quietly appeared beside him,
Gently took his hand,
And as she started to
Turn to lead him back to a
Chair in the waiting room,
She gave me a knowing nod,
As if to convey she knew
That for a few seconds
Her son and I had connected in a
Mysterious, spiritual bond.
Leo Carroll
February 20, 2019
I feel his presence before
I see him, a young boy perhaps six
Years old who now stands several feet
In front of me, almost as if an
Apparition he so suddenly appears,
Like a rush of wind and then the
Paraclete’s breath upon my face,
And he smiles but his attempt
To speak is garbled and unintelligible —
At least in a worldly way that I can
Understand — and then his mother
Walks up softly and takes hold his hand,
And gently leads him away to
A seat in the waiting room’s
Sheepfold … while I in my
Chair am left wondering in
Awe of the message spoken by his
Incomprehensible words, and
Why he had picked me to be
Culled from out of the herd to
Hear his vocal cords struggle
In stanza and verse?
Wagon Wheel
Click for meditationRegarding "Wagon Wheel"
A wagon wheel is faithful,
Always ready to roll…the only time
It stops working is when
It breaks and needs
Fixing, or when it
Is too old to be repaired.
Wagon wheels are
Held in mystical esteem.
Anytime someone drives in a rural
Area, even in an area which
Is no longer rural, it is
Possible to come upon a
Wagon wheel leaning against
A stone wall, a tree,
A barn, or something else.
They are rarely discarded.
They are respected.
Sometimes they are revered.
They are reminders of a
Simpler time of life – hard working
And dutiful. The lupines
In the photograph know what
The old days were like.
They grew then, just
As they also grow now.
Their collective memory
Knows the importance
And meaning of a wagon
Wheel. That is why they stand
In homage around the grey, weathered
Rim and spokes, and listen
To the stories…stories of what the
Wheels and their wagons once did, before
They became tired and broken and
Weathered and…
Leo Carroll
December 13, 2018
At last it has come to rest,
An old wagon wheel weathered, with its
Wizened spokes pointed outward
As if still poised in
Yesteryear’s duty-radius.
No more turns now, no
More thoughts of service, just a green field
Of lupines, to bind its
Wooden wounds in June’s
Glorious fervor.
And so it sits, alone
And at ease until gloaming’s end, alone
Except for lupines, and the
Lavender praise and reverence
Of their hymns.
Ode to Shasta Daisies
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to Shasta Daisies"
As I meander
Along the curves of my
Rock garden’s
Wall, I come
Up’n a flock of
Long-legged shasta
Daisies, which
Ebb and flow like
A cleansing tide with
Whitest foam.
How peaceful they are,
How remarkable
In ability to soothe
The fray, how
Almost ignored,
Because who would
Expect their
Thin stalks to be
Able to bind
What makes afraid!
Leo Carroll
October 23, 2018
I would
Love to sleep
Amongst
You,
My duty
Finally
Come to
Rest,
My covers
Pulled
Up around
Me, and
Your
Wondrous
White
The sentry
I could
Depend.
My Feet
Click for meditationRegarding "My Feet"
There is a small tidal pond,
Naturally preserved, perfect in its
Primordial soul, perfect
In its willingness to serve. And so I found myself
There, immersed in what it
Had to offer, my toes
Intermingled with periwinkles,
And scrubbed by ‘knotted wrack,’
Itself undulating ’round
Smoothed stones,
And then over.
Leo Carroll
September 17, 2018
My feet, each being washed
Clean by the patient primordial sea in healing,
Each little wave lapping as if a
Water pitcher poured down, each smoothed
Stone one of the steps I was
Shown when my life I was
Searching to be found, each
Gentle ocean sponge to exfoliate
My flesh in consonance with
The universe’s care…yes, my feet, and
By these cold Maine gifts they
Are bathed, as if this tidal
Pond’s purpose was to soothe all
They had to bear…