Posts Tagged ‘nature’

Golden

Saturday, February 21st, 2015

005

 

Love was golden barrel cactuses, candles, a brilliant red-and-orange Paradise,
Bike rides, blue skies, blue eyes,
Days of meant-to-be, forevermore, here is where I’m supposed to be.

 

Outside was wind through trees, hawks swooping close, a coyote’s cry,
Car rides, rib-eyes, no lies,
Passion splashing everywhere, pleasures never felt before.

 

Inhaling deeply the richness of orange blossoms, egg scrambles, the smell of his skin,
Wheat-colored hair, cat on the chair,
Hope for always, a picture was painted foretelling eternity.

 

Joyously casting troubles aside, talking close for hours on end, laughing, understanding,
Sharing secrets, no regrets,
Completely safe in strong arms, tall stature, warm bed.

 

Things too beautiful are frail, I come to see, and sadly cannot carry on,
Knife flashes, pain slashes,
I am cut and bleeding, but my trust remains.

 

The moon shines while again I hear the song – our song, the stars sending me messages…
Can’t believe, unable to conceive,
I cling to the precious moments, and curse myself for them still.

 

Too much loss for all at one time, I took the road of up and down,
Many years, more and more tears,
Unholy monsters drag away what is good and true.

 

The heart dies inside a whole spirit and body, and must be shed to sustain,
Nothing left, sad and bereft,
Asking Angels to hold my hand down the rougher path of the living.

 

 

 

Soul Hunger

Tuesday, February 28th, 2012
Evening comes early on this gray, cold, and rainy day. I can hear it. The steady, hushed patter of raindrops hitting the pavement outside. Some are lightly slapping the leaves of trees near my window. It’s a comforting sound, quiet and consistent and natural. I imagine sitting under the eaves, wrapped in a warm, dry blanket. I am listening to the drops; feeling and breathing the cool, moist air; smelling the fragrance of the soil and plants and pavement mixing with the water. I could sit for hours like this…

Except that I cannot, because life’s demands and responsibilities don’t allow such immobility for long. Or perhaps I don’t allow myself this time – I am programmed to complete, to accomplish, to produce, to resolve.

This robotic state of productivity, however, can only continue for so long until my soul becomes tired and hungry. Hungry for union with my mystical, ever-present, ever-caring Source. The One that makes the rain and earth it falls upon; including the small birds that hide cleverly under leaves and intertwining branches. I know they’re there. I want to sit with them and be as they are: silent and watchful as God speaks in the gentle language of the rain. It is, for me, a compelling invitation to think; to be embraced in security which the world can never provide; to be part of a goodness more vast than even human love.

We are all like those little birds and animals that bow to the larger forces, taking shelter from the rain and hopefully listening for the eternal.

It is in these soothing, peaceful, warmly-wrapped moments that my empty soul is fed. Connection to the spiritual is as vital to me as rain is to all life’s creation. Let me dwell here until I am full, and thank my Creator for His bountiful whispers of love. They are always there, waiting for me to become quiet enough to hear them. Hunger feels raw and bleak and painful, but I know it is a true gift. If I did not have it, I would not seek the only thing that can fill it.