All we are
cells of mitochondria
composite of galaxies
resting within infinite
e x p a n s i o n to finite expression
To imagine imagination
fathoming, dreaming, sensing
seeing the invisible
what does not exist
calling into existence
This Creator created
attuned
endowing life
processes, systems
beauty
Perceiving
the delight
of watching a story unfold, characters
who will live out the questions
invited into partnership; shalom
How the winter dormancy wraps
land in cold blankets, frozen foundations
leafless trees and hibernating debris
How the spring awakens
there is a thawing, a washing
seeds and creatures roused into fecundity
How being loved by someone changes you
There is an enclosure, a security of boundaries
Now I don't have to do everything, fled from the rancorous mob
Permission that I seldom granted myself
"be present and be loved"
initiate and respond with deepening wholeness
It will take time,
and it's a process of becoming
in the flux of dismantling
into a formless mass
identity shifts,
cocooned and unseeing
reformed
in newness
from darkness, alight
To be a lithe fishing boat,
Curvaceous, turning with the rises
Arcing brow,
Luscious aged wood crafted with care
Dropping and lifting, so unlike
A barge,
Slow, heavy, groping the sediment and debris not yet dredged
Leaving in the tailwind a trail of oil
I want to have a brow that dips sways
I want to have a mast that catches the wind
But I have a motor and I have a mission; port to port to port.
At sighted land unburdened;
I’ll pretend that the small waves can move me too.
Let it take the time it takes
Even thorough I want it done-
Accomplished and forgotten.
Let it take the time it takes
For hope to rise again
The recuperation of a disintegrated self.
Let it take the time it takes
Abiding the yelling threats that stopping will be fatal.
If I’m not pushing, I’m completely failing.
Let it take the time it takes
To rest in the proof of being insufficient
Yet sufficiently held, and released.
As we enter a new season,
We think we are saying goodbye to some part of us
Forever.
But, look
See how he brings our whole selves back to us.
Illusion: the perfect structure exists, and I just have to find it,
Perfection disintegrating into procrastination
Floundering in notebooks, calendars, spreadsheets, docs, notes,
which device, stored on site, Dropbox, drive, flash, cloud; html or file?)
Will I log this in Excel, Trello, Onenote, Slack?
Digitized, scattered, lavishly sprawled across the landscape of logins, passwords,
All caught up in inconsistent effort and cascading semantics
Eventually, what will be made is made, and habits formed
And (hopefully) refined and improved.
Otherwise, forgotten.