By Any Other Name

Green heron, shy, lovely, not green

red and gray and blue, white

and yellow, huddled now like a shore

rock, while mourning doves flutter

and half-step, red-winged blackbirds

kiss in midair, swallows dive and orioles

sing orange from behind green leaves.

Still and patient, solitude

alert amid the dance in the air

watching too the flickers underwater

spelling us all into forgetfulness

with all of that unmoving

does my awareness touch 

your sinking deeper into the tall

grasses, not here, shhh, all

the disjointed improbable colors

gentle-blended into the quiet waiting.

Each of us, uniquely qualified

step into the role of our lifetimes

being here now with loving hearts.

Inspired by a patient, shy green heron.

Featured image found here.

Praise

A spiritual practice is a generator of light. The light needs to come in on all levels.  We need to ask: where do I clearly say, it is happening “out there”?  We all create the world.~Thomas Huebl

I feel inspired to listen
to the song of yesterday, the light
spilling into cracks, exposing
me in new and startling ways
of being. I cannot hear those words
again, they will arrive anew as
sun and gentle rain, each moment
of spring leaping to luxuriance
the bursting bud a lead-in, once upon a time
in the narrative shift
and I am fluid
as I’ve always been
seeping through my self-made
traps through deep karmic shade.
I arrive belonging.
I bloom essential.
I sing and sing and sing
and if my voice reaches
dark places I’ve planted
in you, I bring light
I am a prayer
in the connected field
right now
celebrating
this step
now this
the way love reveals.

 

Saving Grace

The foliage is so dense a view
is difficult and anyway, the contest

for my attention is purely aural.
Back home, my studies honed

my filters to identify species,
delight layered with names

and habitat, the native songbirds
winning the gold, while the usurpers

–European house swallows, brutal
colonizers–earn my contempt,

the losers. And here, even the
flitting feathered cousins I know

sing in a different symphony, new
secret woodwinds and persistent percussion.

I give up. Higher, entering space. At last
my spendthrift tricks unriddled–

I’ve wasted all my currency
filing the world into categories

and kingdoms. The past poverty
clinging insensible. And still

today, the prodigal returns
to her roots: the curious child thirsty

for joy. No need now to classify
this frightening place with the hope

of gaining some control. (Out of time,
tired, cluttered space, depleted)

shed today like a snakeskin.
I’m sitting with my banks brimming

wide open as the world
comes twittering in,

the opening salvo accepted,
the big brass band bursting behind.

The invitation clear, my instrument finally
in tune, I become song, sure

my part is necessary, and
I belong in this mystery,

the music running through, cascading
round the spiral helix in this newly

revealed field. Look and listen, but
mostly harmonize: we’re all in

this together, whatever
it might be, it’s happening now.

Today’s Prompts:  Spendthrift, View, Contest, Difficult