The sky mirror,
in stillness, life abounding,
awaiting dew drops
— June 2009
The sky mirror,
in stillness, life abounding,
awaiting dew drops
— June 2009
A silver ribbon,
frozen in the dark,
— June 2009
A single drop
Surfaces resist, dew dances
Hurricane born, waves rise
The expanding circle is the only evidence
— June 2009
Everyday we move through it
hardly noticing its flow
Mostly fighting, pushing, wading
without realizing that
even a bird flies headlong with the wind.
But such joy
To watch currents and snow
Wearing down mountains,
Creating beauty in landscapes,
Nothing can withstand these forces
Like nothing can deny my love for you.
— February 2010
A bowl of stars
reflected in a pool.
So far, how cold
blazing in the night
separated by time
yet here to touch
to blow around
as dandelion fluff
— May 2009
What is this? said the child holding a blade of grass. It’s grass to cusion your fall and tickle your toes. One day I will roll in it, the child said.
What is this? said the child holding a leaf. It is the leaf of a tree to shade us and sing a noisy song with the wind. Trees also provide a lofty perch for birds to see far. Someday I will climb it.
What is this? said the child as the rain began to fall. They are raindrops to help water the trees and grass. It gathers in lakes and rivers that flow to the sea. Someday I will float down the river.
Where does the rain come from? asked the child. From up there, I said pointing to the clouds. They bring rain and provide a place for angels to stand. Someday I will fly between them.
What is that? asked the child. It’s a rainbow. Water and sun play together and signal that the rain is gone. It is a reminder that God loves you. Someday I will find the end of it.
What are those sounds? They are frogs and crickets singing the song of the night.
And that? The owl wouldn’t want us to forget he flies in the night.
And that? Even coyotes far away like to sing us to sleep. Someday I will sing with them.
What is this? It is a rock that anchors the world and makes the mountains. Someday I will dig in them.
We climbed a hill. What is that? The ocean. It blankets the earth and makes a home for whales and fish. Someday I will swim with the whales.
What is that? The bright moon is our friend in the night, lighting the dark path and glimmers off of the dew in the grass where the fireflies play. Someday I will be a firefly to the moon.
What are those? The jewels in the sky are the stars. They are faraway suns. There are as many stars as there is sand on the beach. Some believe they are the spirits of those who have gone. Someday I will fly among the stars.
— August 2000
The air was cold. Maku awoke with frost on his blanket. Stepping out of the shelter, he noticed nothing changed. The great aspens around him had mostly turned brilliant gold. In the morning sun, they looked like solid gold. The sea of clouds ebbed and flowed just beneath the village; unchanged in Maku’s 11 years.
The elders told many stories about he sea of clouds and the Lonely Mountain that stuck out of the whiteness to the east. Today , the sun rose right behind the Lonely Mountain making it the first day of autumn. Maku’s grandfather, the village medicine man, was busy preparing for the autumn ceremony. Maku helped some but quickly was distracted by the village puppies and he forgot about the work for his grandfather.
The elders told many stories around the campfires of the sea of clouds and the loney mountain. Stories talked of trees that talked, razor sharp bushes, bears with big teeth and hungry wolves. But Maku’s favorite was about he place where lightning danced in a circle of stones. This was easy to imagine because the Lonely Mountain was struck by lightning often by summer storms.
No one traveled into the sea of clouds. There was plenty of game and berries to be collected among the giant aspens surrounding the village. One man long ago had gotten lost and wandered into the sea of clouds. Months later, he re-emerged hungry and mad with torn clothes. Many of the stories people listened to but as time went by the stories grew more fantastic. Stories about four-legged men, glowgin tree trunks and will-o-wisps.
Maku’s grandfather never believed these stories but Maku knew his father would never lie to him.
So he often told his friends W1 and W2 his stories. But his friends found him as crazy as his father. No one believed.
Chasing the pups, Maku noticed one running off down the hill in pursuit of a rabbit; right into the sea of clouds. Maku called the pup but he was too intent on his prey and he disappeared into the heavy mist. Not wanting anything to happen to the pup, Maku plunged in to the mist after him. He couldn’t see the pup but he could hear him crying to get to the rabbit. Then Maku tripped. He hadn’t seen the rock in the mist. He tumbled a long way down the hill before he stopped.
He must have been asleep for a while. When he awoke, he found the pup curled up asleep next to him. His head and arm hurt but otherwise he OK. He got up. Cloud was all around him. Instead of giant, golden aspens all Maku could make out were green, moss covered pine trees. Fine needles stuck in his hair and all over his clothes. All was silent. It was as if the clouds swallowed up all the sounds. Maku decided to explore this new place. As he moved down the hill some more, the darker it became and quieter. Bushes with thorns tore at is legs, Branches heavy with moss reached out for him. The wind blew slightly and the moss swayed and there were voices; a sort of whining, creaky voice.
The voices continued, but did not respond.
The wind was causing the mist to swirl around. Maku screamed and ran when something brushed the back of his neck. The trees watched him run with their long arms and dark eyes. They watched him everywhere he went. Finally he collapsed under a willow tree next to a fast-moving stream. Gold flecks glittered in the sand.
The dog waded into the water and slurped up the water. Maku drank too. The water tasted the same as above the clouds; something he had not expected. The stories said the water was warm and muddy and not fit to drink. Maku thought the water was good.
It was getting late and Makue didn’t know the way home. He noticed that moss grew more on one side of the rocks and trees but what direction was that. He could only see a few feet into the trees and couldn’t see the sun to show him the direction or the time. All he kenw was that it was gtetting darker. He could hear rumbling too. A storm was coming; a storm with lightning.
Crickets began to chirp with their familiar beat. As it grew darker lights started dancing around the willow tree. Blinking on and off they moved and flitted about as if they had a mind of their own. One landed on Maku. Maku tensed. It flared. It didn’t burn and Maku noticed it was a small bug with wings. When it flew away, he noticed that there were hundreds of lights flashing among the shadowy trees lighting the mist. A new sound had started up. At first it joined the crickets but soon grew louder and louder drowning out the crickets then dropping off to almost nothing before overpowering the crickets again.
Something splashed in the water and Maku saw a large frog swim away.
The storm was growing closer. Flashes of lightning made the mist a swirling whiteness. Between flashes, Maku noticed other light. Ancient logs, spongy mosses and huge mushrooms glowed a faint green in the darkness. He was surrounded by a faint green halo.
A sudden flash erased the vision. Maku thought if he could move uphill he could climb above the clouds then he could find his way home.
Then it hit him. He remembered his grandfather’s stories about the place where lightning dances on the lonely mountain.
Maku started moving toward the flashes. The lightning became brighter and the thunder louder. Between the flashes, his heavy breathing an the green glow showed him he and the puppy were moving uphill.
Eventually the storm stopped and Maku was alone in the glowing mist. They kept moving uphill but Maku was getting tired and it was harder and harder. Occasionally, the pup plopped onto the ground panting. Maku would whistle and the pup would get up slowly. The last thing Maku wanted was to lose the pup in the mist.
The green glow was changing becoming more silvery. The mist moved as if it were alive. Ghosts moved around the trees and through the bushes. Maku pulled himself over rocks larger than his house. The ghosts, tinged in orange, swirled even closer around him. He stumbled. The ghosts were pulling him down Maku thought. His arms felt tired. He stumbled again. He wanted to see his grandfather again so he kept moving fighting against the ghosts in the mist.
He was winning. The mist was thinning but he was so tired. When he reached up again, he felt nothing. It seemed flatter. He tripped again and did not get up. He dreamed that moonlight filled his whole house with silver light.
He awoke to a brightening sky; the sun was just about to break the horizon. He remembered this was the first day of fall and all of the village would turn out for the sunrise over Lonely Mountain. If he waved his arms, they might see him and know he was ok. Maku jumped up and down as the sun rose. All of the villagers saw him too standing in front of the sun. He did the dance to the sun, twirling around in a circle. Then he stopped.
He was dancing in a circle of stones just like the one his father had told him stories about.
You are the son of a kind, strong and engaging father. I strive to be that, everything you want and need. But I’m talking about something a little more here. You have a father that is wise beyond imagination, willing to guide you along your path and in the Way. He’s perfectly generous, providing for each need as it arises, allowing you to live your life without a care if you choose. I would walk every step with you and He walks with me. He is the breeze and the song of the morning; he stirs the grass, builds the clouds from nothingness, twinkles the stars, and dabbles in the colors of the rainbow. He created a Universe of splendor and he gazes in wonder, as I do, at his creation, namely you.
We see all of the past and future in you. We delight in your wet footsteps along the river, your desires and discoveries. We cry with all your pains and joys. We create just for you. We swell with pride as you grow and stumble and begin to know yourself.
It is hard to see it in the bustle of every day but I hear it in every earthly wisdom. I feel that love as a constant current in my life, an undertow that I must flow with or become lost. It seems a jumble at first, something too abstract to believe. But watch quietly. Be open. Seek it with all your heart and mind. In stillness it roars.
I pray you feel it, know it, and believe it, every moment; know it when you awake and trust in it while you sleep.
I am always with you as He is always with me. You move us and we are hopelessly in love with you.