isn’t it funny

isn’t it funny

the way it is that

embracing wholeness begins with letting go

darkness unveils hidden light

and spaciousness enfolds

 

isn’t it funny

the way that swaddling becomes burial shroud

and unraveling discloses form

the ways we get entangled in the shreds

 

isn’t it funny

the way forgiveness leads to

freedom to love

when we think it is heading

to consent to harm

the way acceptance of the ugly

makes it beautiful

 

isn’t it funny

the ways i think i’ve figured it out

that turn out to be wrong

yet lead me back around again

to the way things are

  

swaddling clothes

i chase these dangling threads
certain
that if i don’t retrieve them all
and tie them back in place
it will come unraveled.
at times it seems as if this whirling wind
is ripping it to shreds
beneath my clutch
the edge is tattered, torn
but what i cannot see is that
the rent is opening
unbinding this too heavy cloak
that i no longer need
and weaving me a garment
made of light

christ child

oh Love
blessed, tender, vulnerable
creature that you are
embedded as you are within this fragile flesh
i feel your stirrings as you waken from your slumber
long before your cries do beckon me
the swelling in my breast
beseeches me to heed your call
to gather up your flailing limbs
to soothe your distress with a song
to draw you close
and let my liquid warmth
flow into your belly

oh Love
how tender is your need
how vital is my willingness
to feed it
yet when i gaze at you,
my own desire,
embedded in this fragile flesh,
does seem to rise of its own accord

it is as if
we’re One.

 

solstice song

my soul
as evening drapes
in folds of dusky lilac
o’er the grey
so do i into th’unfolding
welcome of your hush

as i fall into this silence
you open out your dark embrace
enfolding me
and blanketing my heart
until at last
i find that i can breathe

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