Taking It All In
Betsy Sagurna
The Other Side of Darkness
Darkness is back again. I have been here before, cannot greet you as a friend, but neither are you a stranger.
I know your heavy, heartless, homeless space - a place to spend some time suspended.
And yet and yet your face does not fill up my heart with fear, for you are known.
Here again, how long this time?
How deep, how dark, how steep the upward road?
And yet and yet I know that grace will come - erase the shadows like the dawn. Then comes another time when darkness fades. For you are known and I was here before.
Donald Gordon
Quiet Reflections
Stop the hamster wheel breathe, look into the mirror hold that gentle being
that yearns to express hidden talents, deep desires growth imperatives
Ripples in deep water point the compass needle due north to old beginnings
Grit mixed with grace a warm face in the mirror sees with steely resolve
The stars realign bears stretch from old horizons new worlds created
Illustration by Dippyaman Nath
Covid Covenant
Days begot weeks
Weeks..... months
Months......years
The ship of fools sailed
On carcass bearing shipping lanes
Gods whimsy revealed
Once again Steve Kramer
Illustration by Arjit Anand Carl Middleton
Steve Kramer
Finding Myself
It's all right Little Steve, to be attracted to boys or men, even though your friends like girls. This is what it feels like growing up gay. This does not mean you are bad, sinful, or evil, no matter what others say. Do not let them tear you down by mean words or actions. You have a right to be your loving, caring self. I will walk this path with you, side by side, hand in hand. I love you as you are.
And, no, Jesus never said anything about gay people. You have strong, loving relationships with God, The Holy Spirit, and Jesus. Let them support you and be of counsel. You will grow in your love of Mother Earth and all her children. They will support you well. They love you as you are.
You are a delightful soul, Little Steve. Always remember this. Let your light shine. You are a gift to the world. We love you as you are.
When you question yourself and tell Mom, she will say "It's just a phase you are going through." I must let you know; this is more than just a phase. When you later own yourself and tell her, she will act shocked but she will get over it. And Dad, whom you might be more concerned about, will simply say "Well, I aways wondered about your uncle Ernie," and will be okay. Your sister and her family will still accept you and will become close friends. They love you as you are.
"Be Yourself and believe in yourself" is the best advice I can give. You are stronger than you think, and will weather the storms when thundering waves crash upon the shores of your soul. We will stand side by side, hand in hand. You will make it through the tears and doubt, the questioning and loneliness. You will find loving friends and community along the way.
And most importantly, you will find yourself as you walk life's journey, and You will love you as you are.
Kim McLendon
The Thames at Charing Cross Bridge by
Claude Monet
I was in Baltimore for a wedding. The museum was a time filler. Walking into that room changed my life.
My heart paused and tears came to my eyes. I couldn’t move my feet. Awareness, my entire being, centered on paint and canvas.
I tried to pay attention to my family. I even tried to leave the room. As I moved, my view moved and my soul shattered.
Twice I snuck away from the festivities to stand and look. It held me there. It hurt to leave. No one else felt what I felt.
One painting, the original brush strokes visible. Ever changing, ever calling to me.
At home I searched the web for a print Teasing my Dad about the original for my birthday!
I have a small copy on canvas on my wall beside me. Echoes that still call faintly, still stir me.
I need to go back to Baltimore to see it again. I crave it.
Soul Vacation
Compassionate care
Mixed with exhaustion
Unexpected grief stirs the anger of loss of partnership.
Moment to moment.
presence connecting holy encounter,
Illustration by Viktor Forgacs
Mary Ellen Robertson
in short spurts of memory, repetitive speech calls for soul time.
Soul vacation comes in wee hours of the holy morn until the cry.
"Help me! Help me!
Rising to the occasion
Springing to discern
Crisis at hand stirs deep presence
Breath, love comes forth in the knowing resolve.
Crisis over stillness prevails
I hear the owl outside the window hooting me into stunning silence
I treasure the gift of soulful life.
Shelley Wagner
Ban the Books!
Go ahead, ban the books, put the pups in a box, take the trash out, and let them nap on the L.A. freeway.
Go ahead, ban the books, but be afraid to watch. No chance of playing ball, fetching words, or chewing them into thoughts.
Go ahead, ban the books find a safe place to watch, but be afraid You Will Be alone as the whir of traffic blows by, and threaten s humanit y like nobody' s business .
Ocean Introduction
I stood in the sand with Daddy’s hand in mine above my head.
I felt the sand pull away over and over under my bare feet and I was not afraid.
Illustration by Viktor Forgacs
Wendy Lyons
Donna Bowling
For Once in My Life
I’d like to be able to assume that I am a good person, capable of doing many things well.
Perhaps by the time I leave this life for the next, I finally will be able to accept that like everyone else in my life
I am a beloved child of God capable of doing some things well. Too many important people in my life have taught me otherwise. Maybe I’m still here on this earth so God can teach me I am worthy.
Illustration by Li Zhang
Rooted to the Sky by Chris Cavan
Chris Cavan
Val Hamilton
Rock is my bone
Flesh on my feet is the moss between my toes
I am naked in the sunshine
Naked in god’s eyes The sky rolls out before me
Did I wake in paradise?
Paradise
My friend writes that she is rooted to the sky*
Upside down
Fly, Woman, fly
I love her
I would like to hang with her and swing in tangled vines
Like Tarzan with Jane and the apes
We get lost in the woods on the other side of the lake climb to the top of the purple cliffs build stone
Inukshuks to the sky
Sacredspace
Sacredwoman
There may be bears
Great heaving moss covered humps all around us
She stops
She knows
We are standing in the middle breath breath breath
The middle of burial grounds of who knows who or how long ago but clearly, small ones children, medium ones, larger breath breath breath
We are with the dead
Stumbling in the air of their last breaths
The air is very very very thin here. And there.
* “Rooted to the Sky” by Chris Cavan
At the Beach
big waves roll over our souls as we stand sinking in the shoals of your sands and watch the crash of your hands scrape back the grains then rise, to throw them back again the luring power of high tide pulls us inside a briny, baptismal ride your power cradled in the lull, surges and thrills us over and over our
Illustration by Pawel Czewinski
Bernadette van Duyvendyk
insignificance bowled out onto the sun-bleached shore on the beach, our warm, sand-caked feet side-step sultry seaweed and slippery, fresh green algae we peer into pockets of rocky tidal pools assimilated neighbourhoods of urchins, snails, anemones and barnacles refreshed, reborn mirrors of the sea our young hearts swoon, awed by the gravitational pull of the moon
Skeletons Know No Pain
I was right - skeletons know no pain. My painting, "The Bed", 14 years before my death. Me, the "Heroine of Pain" In my Final Resting Place, Wrapped in my gold comforter Am smiling among the flowers Adrift on my cremation smoke.
While my white silhouette of a skeleton Is set to blow up at any minute With its phony, bony smile.
Illustration by Jeremy Bezanger
David Kimball
I say I do not mind living alone
I say that because I hope for the bigger part of my life To be lived as one counting my blessings.
I practice this way I look to the good I look upon the good.
Yet I must be honest with myself
(I accept that this matter about which I write is my own). I miss touch.
Illustration by Ksenya Lapteva
Mary Martin
I miss touch as when I would slip my hand under my once-upon-a-time husband's hip joint While he lay sleeping.
I miss the soft kiss
My one and only lover Would offer when he wanted to.
I miss my lover's touch
Upon that lower part of the back. Every woman knows the un-mistakable rush this caress gives.
I miss although I have never received
Someone touching my hair softly
Someone sweetly kissing the tip of my nose.
Someone holding my hand
Whenever - no particular moment Just because he wanted to touch my hand.
I know not much about intimacy akin to "little death." What I do know intuitively Is that touch offers what cannot be named, truth be told.
I touch leaves, bark, blossoms, dog's heads and bodies, grass and my own hands and body as I bathe. Yet I imagine there must be something quite extraordinary when two persons, both knowing and longing for touch Offer this gift to each other with thanksgiving and awe.
Like a Moth to a Flame
If the flame was ours to put out, would it be so wrong.
If moths were firefighters, risking themselves, not out of craving, but only in hope.
For the moth, for the flame. For us all.
Or is this but the delusional mind of the endlessly charred.
Illustration by Joel Filipe
Susan Kavanagh
Lisa Sterling
Arrowheads in the Dust
Palms pushed into parched red soil
Stories sifted through fingers
Sting of bare knees on small sharp stones
Quieted by Ancient whispers
Kneeling on their land
Walking in their memories
Embracing their wisdom
The child learned
It is a sacred walk
When ancestors talk
Listen
Listen
Listen
Angelic “Angel” Que
Tunnel Time
where there is deep darkness,
How did I get here?
Having not Followed the adult's directions? Or the old world's instructions?
Did I get lost or something
(Oh stubborn, little one! Not listening to anyone!)
In this t u n n e l
It seemed like I woke up One day And found myself here? Or was I unmindful For a long time In my w a l k Nonstop talking Eyes all over the place Following the g l i t t e r s
Why
But sometimes I wonder If the birth
(What was that all about, That nonsense that I hear? What pesky ringing in my ear!)
e a r s attuned To the next loudest S H O U T
c a n a l
Led me here. or maybe I am still in it!
Or is this the
And I didn't
i n t e s t i n e s
R E A L E Y
E
been eaten up S And I am destined to Rot in here Alone Away from the world I have known. But w a I t !
I've
I AM not alone I just heard a voice Coming closer and Closer
(wait! my heart just fell to the ground that sound like a ghost in the dark!
oh no, take me home! This is one scary way to be.
Now I've found my heart is
Time to close my eyes:
I don't want to see anything in this dark!
" h e l l o o o o o o o o o o o y o u h o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o "
s t i l l t in a state of af e c r h o s k
BUT HOW DO I CLOSE MY EARS???
My eardrums are on tiptoes
Since I got here!
"h e l l o ooooooooooooooooooooo y o u h o o o o o o o o"
Silent, be silent now and be still!
"
h e l l o o o o o o o o y o u w h oooo
A n y b o d y t h e r e?
M y n a m e i s J o n a h.
I j u s t
c a m e
t o v i s i t
a n y b o d y h e ar ?
h e l l o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o”
The Present Moment
To receive a present gives you a lift, The present moment is just such a gift. Some do not accept and give it a miss, What then is lost is a touch of real bliss. The moving mind loves to run front and back, For the future and past it has a real knack. By grace and will the mind can become still, And then its real purpose can be fulfilled. The gifts of love and law are simply there, To offer to others most needed care. The question is to be or not to be, If we are present we then can be free.
The ever present now opens the door, To many wonders of life and much more. The silence between speaking is then heard, Not joy or sorrow, but the calming word. Happiness is what we all want to win, In the present it can be found within. When the past and future distractions cease, Then in the present we connect with Peace.
Illustration by Bilal O
Paul Palmarozza
Kat Kambes (Katina Wright)
Priscilla Taylor
