life: acoustic & amplified

a buzz

it happens every time this year…

some form of mystical madness

that seeps through …

lingers,

even raptures the atmosphere…

something waiting,

anticipating, announcing …

I often go off the grid, around the corner, deep down in the layers of my life…and sit there, pray there, waltz with God…

and then I review the pages of the calendar

heading back to Dec. 24th and leaving the main stream,

while never able to remove myself from the

Road to Damascus

and falling off horses,

falling off logs,

awakening to the fire in my cells…

the interruption of human and divine

blind radiance that makes the unknown, Known.

I could flip to October and the birthing of babies,

or back to January and the beginning of the end with mom;

or June 7th and Ordination

Whether it be babies or bumblebees,

or prayer walking in the trees,

kayaking on Lake Cunningham,

no one has the same God

or just the right story,

But…

the journey through all of eternity

now that is truly yours,

given freely for you. Forever and ever,

kind of like fairy tales

or the mystics and giants.

You find the Light when it’s time,

when the messages click,

and sometimes there is that horse

or the conversation with Hildegard

– the twirling with Rumi

the sunset that opens the inner eye

the cool morning breath as you walk around the block…

the prayer that seeped through to the other side…

the baby you rock to sleep every night…

finally you can say,

we are dancing in paradise

God’s rumba is ALIVE…

Beauty,

Rev. Donna Knutson

Only calmness will reassure

the bees to let you rob their hoard.

Any sweat of fear provokes them.

Approach with confidence, and from

the side, not shading their entrance.

And hush smoke gently from the spout

of the pot of rags, for sparks will

anger them. If you go near bees

every day they will know you.

And never jerk or turn so quick

you excite them. If weeds are trimmed

around the hive they have access

and feel free. When they taste your smoke

they fill themselves with honey and

are laden and lazy as you

lift the lid to let in daylight.

No bee full of sweetness wants to

sting. Resist greed. With the top off

you touch the fat gold frames, each cell

a hex perfect as a snowflake,

a sealed relic of sun and time

and roots of many acres fixed

in crystal-tight arrays, in rows

and lattices of sweeter latin

from scattered prose of meadow, woods.

Honey by Richard Morgan

There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love. 1 John 4:18

When love’s got hold of you, there isn’t a lie in the universe that can hold you, or pull you apart.

Let the broken say: when you’re bruised by lies, believe truth and whisper it louder: I am my beloved’s.

– Ann Voskamp

There are bees all over

making love to the lavender

I, the daughter of Eve,

think about my bad choices.

revel in grace abundant,

that gently saves me from my self.

shy sunflowers

remind me of forgiveness.

the garden gnome and the smiling turtles

remind me of when I used to try so hard.

nothing was easy.

I worked for two.

carrying a load made to share.

Love…is a holy experience

Yes and Amen!

so is life!

the sparkling red bird feeder

keeps reminding me

to stop and just relax.

The birds come,

when it’s full they eat;

when it’s empty they fly

to find provision

at the next place.

always

there is provision.

they never whine or complain –

they just fly!

knowing,

trusting.

the cool breeze makes me smile.

I think about sharing the empty chair

with someone

who prays for me.

who prays with me.

who could sit in silent company

with me.

breathing it all in.

loving it all out.

sharing.

open.

transparent.

speaking these miracles

in new ways, to open me

to more wonder,

while sharing

the same heart,

the same thirst.

There’s intimacy in the air tonight

God is walking with me

in the cool of the evening

Eden is ch-ch-changing

Welcoming me home.

Well done, my child

Amy Lloyd

Bee Blessing

The night

the bees came

was a cold one,

moonless,

sharp and

frost tipped.

They arrived

still

swaddled in

smoky slumber,

lost in the deep humming

dreamtime

of the hive.

The signs had been

observed,

the Beeman told us,

and a dark night

before the new moon

was perfect.

Tomorrow,

they would

wake to a

new world,

like toddlers

unremembering

their journey

home,

knowing only the

sweet

soporific

rhythm of the

car engine

beneath.

Scouting ahead,

like a faithful

servant,

the Beeman

had checked the

ground

and pronounced it

good;

“They will like the

old ivy and

the heather”,

he said,

“It will make

the honey sweeter

even,

perhaps,

medicinal.”

Locked up in the

old orchard,

high walled,

and

open skyed,

they will work

their ancient

alchemy

and turn pollen

into

liquid gold.

Leaving their

wax worked

cells

at dawn’s daily

summons

to gather goods,

their wings

a droning

chant

upon the wind,

they will

bee-bless

blooms and blossom,

alighting with

a touch

that dusts them

with the yellow

gift of

new life,

as they seek

the hidden

sweetness

of the

flower.

So these,

our new

sisters,

stalled in choir

combs now,

upon this

whole and holy

land of

Ards,

will make,

with us poor

Friars,

one great

monastery of

praise,

for

bees and brothers

both,

seek the

sweet nectar

of the now,

and are in our

very

seeking,

blessed

and become

blessing.

(Written to celebrate the arrival this month of the new Beehives to the Ards Friary Walled Garden)

By Richard Hendrick

what the hell???

YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE

Sometimes your purpose in life

is to have no clue what your purpose is.

And to wonder. To explore.

To be silent.

That’s the purpose, sometimes.

Sometimes the meaning of life

is to feel that life has no meaning.

To question. To doubt.

That’s the meaning, sometimes.

To wonder about meaning.

It feels so meaningful, to wonder, sometimes.

And full.

And close.

And nobody can take this away from you.

Your questions.

Your innocence.

Your open heart.

– Jeff Foster

Who me?

Raw, done.

Here, there. Lost, found. Everywhere, nowhere. Content, disconnected. Words, no words. Early, late. No time, no place.

Was. Are. Will be.

Dream.

Sense. Non sense.

Blah blah blah.

Take it. Leave it.

Chocolate. Vanilla.

Choose.

Meaning?

❓

Robin OK

this trash

this treasure

this friend

this enemy

this flower

this weed

this life

this death

this beginning

this end

this good

this evil

this empty

this full

this token

this covenant

this truth

this lie

this power

this slavery

this day

this night

this love

this lust

this busy

this patience

this bitter

this sweet

this later

this now

this laughter

this grief

this doubt

this certainty

this faith

this hopeless

this beauty

this ugly

this star

this stone

this me

this you

this many

this one

☯️

Amy Lloyd

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
🧐😎🤨😏😞

We know everything. We read a lot.

We understand how things work.

We've mastered the calculus,

foreseen the vectors of cause and effect,

and applied ourselves

to the the necessary lies and habits,

the anonymities,

the anesthesia of busyness,

the closure of certainty.

We already know everything,

everything worth knowing, anyway,

so much that nothing else can get in,

nothing worm its way into

our philosophical offshore account.

We are secure,

while under—

under that something

we didn't know of,

didn't know there was anything under,

something swells, something in darkness

moves, draws near, gathers,

like stellar dust coalescing into a planet.

A tenderness honeys in an open field.

A mystery leans toward us

as if to touch us, as if to whisper:

         You have no idea 💡 – how much I want to be with you.

_________________

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

———–

written

Is it

the season?

the sky?

the sea?

or simply new shades of blue

writing love songs across across the world for me?

💙

Amy Lloyd

full to the top

Do not be afraid,

though love changes.

We are not meant to be the same

in the morning,

after prayer,

before confession,

after midnight when the ancients pass by,

during conversations with friends holding hot chocolate,

nor even, after something old has died,

and no one can find a baby to hold…

or a prayer shawl to throw over your shoulders;

Do not be afraid

though love changes

who we are,

what we say,

how we are of service,

can we kneel to plant bulbs?

will you wait at the hospital one more day?

can you be love, while love moves through the healing in your hands?

Do not be afraid

when love is all you hear

and it is tiny, like blueberries in oatmeal;

and it is kind, like soft hugs from friends,

ordinary

fragile

weak

different

– versions of holding sacred ground,

for

hurts,

and tales

for the healing of shame,

the woe of

the betrayals,

Do not be afraid

for lovers come in many forms

and some are there to surprise us…

and some are there to guide us…

but most

are

there

to

open

us

to births we have not seen…

Beauty,

Rev. Donna Knutson

and now…

I eat the freshness of the strawberries

rose red and bursting with sweet

I give the heart of Mexican red jasper to the song of healing hands

smooth as oil on my skin

I release the pain which held such diabolical court within my body

ending years of tyranny held in my muscles

I drink long of the source of life

I thank long for the gifts lavished upon me

I praise long for the uncomfortable roads taken to reach this summit

I walk in wonder and astonishment at the beauty and goodness

always beauty and goodness everywhere

it is enough

I laugh and rest and love and play

it is enough

Amen

🙏🏻

Amy Lloyd

Dolphin photos found on Ana Lisa DeJong’s facebook post 🌊😘

this morning

every morning I wake with wonder

at where I am

at what is happening in this moment

how phat these days are

how rich this morning’s avocado on toast

how abundant the morning sunshine

how freely the windmills turn

how beds of gold and grey hold me so very tenderly in the night

how moments we enter into with another brings such unlimited expansion

how a tender act can change the chemistry of the whole world

how $4 can change someone’s whole day’s experience

how much there is beyond ourselves

and every sip is as sweet as the nectar of the gods

of how we get to do it

we get to choose it

every moment

of every day

as a prayer

as a song

as a gift

🌝

Amy Lloyd

We have not come here

for information.

We have come

to be touched.

You only learn the name

of the flower

when its fragrance

fills your heart.

Your first and last teacher

is the breath

of silence.

🌹

Fred LaMotte

Wherever there are no limits, where Infinity and Eternity and Immortality exist, that is where God is.

~Mikhael Aivanhov; The Mystery of Light

Seljalandsfoss, a waterfall in Iceland at sundown

we gather together

feasting is a participatory sport

it always includes laughter

and some toasting the abundance

the glow of the gathering

the beauty of the loved

the decadence of the riches

the thrill of being together

it’s a glorious feeling

the body full grateful

all the senses fully engaged

❤️

Amy Lloyd

I made cranberry sauce, and when it was done put it into a dark blue bowl for the beautiful contrast. I was thinking, doing this, about the old ways of gratitude: Indians thanking the deer they’d slain, grace before supper, kneeling before bed. I was thinking that gratitude is too much absent in our lives now, and we need it back, even if it only takes the form of acknowledging the blue of a bowl against the red of cranberries.

⁃ Elizabeth Berg

More than these greens tossed with toasted pecans,

I want to serve you the hymn I sang into the wooden bowl

as I blended the oil and white vinegar. More than honey ice cream

beside the warm pie, I want to serve you the bliss in the apples’ flesh,

how it gathered the sun and carried its luminousness to this table.

More than the popovers, the risen ecstasy of wheat, milk and eggs,

I want to serve you the warmth that urged the tranformation to bread.

Blessings, I want to serve you full choruses of hallelujah, oh so wholly

here in this moment. Oh so holy here in this world.

~ Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

in everything

The greatest thing is to give thanks for everything. He who has learned this knows what it means to live. He has penetrated the whole mystery of life: giving thanks for everything.

⁃ Albert Schweitzer

Listen

with the night falling we are saying thank you

we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings

we are running out of the glass rooms

with our mouths full of food to look at the sky

and say thank you

we are standing by the water thanking it

smiling by the windows looking out

in our directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging

after funerals we are saying thank you

after the news of the dead

whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you

in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators

remembering wars and the police at the door

and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you

in the banks we are saying thank you

in the faces of the officials and the rich

and of all who will never change

we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us

our lost feelings we are saying thank you

with the forests falling faster than the minutes

of our lives we are saying thank you

with the words going out like cells of a brain

with the cities growing over us

we are saying thank you faster and faster

with nobody listening we are saying thank you

we are saying thank you and waving

dark though it is

🦃

Thanks by W.S. Merwin

For that free Grace bringing us past great risks

& thro’ great griefs surviving to this feast

sober & still, with the children unborn and born,

among brave friends, Lord, we stand again in debt

and find ourselves in the glad position: Gratitude.

We praise our ancestors who delivered us here

within warm walls all safe, aware of music,

likely toward ample & attractive meat

with whatever accompaniment

Kate in her kind ingenuity has seen fit to devise,

and we hope—across the most strange year to come—

continually to do them and You not sufficient honour

but such as we become able to devise

out of decent or joyful conscience & thanksgiving.

Yippee!

Bless then, as Thou wilt, this wilderness board.

🦃

Minnesota Thanksgiving by John Berryman

the year of everything

the year that brought the start of everything

here

now

me…

letting go

into the sheer joy

into mountains of gratitude

for years I declared,

Life is FOR me!

this very year proving it true

🌹

Amy Lloyd

<<<<<<

travel lightly

what you bring becomes part of the landscape.

– Anne Bishop

melting morning

within 15 morning minutes mist disappears

melting into this new morning beauty

reminders

whatever you hold

keep letting go

all the good things you are will return

wait 20 years

it’s all good

worth everything

a bit of maintenance keeps the doors fresh

peeling paint is always a sign

being healthy is simply flow

guard your hearty thought patterns

live the giveaway every day

thanks-living is our highest plaque of honoring

nail it to all the rooms inside of you

mail it to the whole sweet world today

🌍

❤️

Amy Lloyd

meadow management

When you are in a dark place

and you want to get out of it,

remember that life is not somewhere else,

but where you are.

The story may or may not be

that you quickly escape.

But the story surely is that God is with you

where you are.

Before you leap toward the escape hatch,

be where you are.

Notice. Look around, even in a dark room,

and see God there

before you leave.

__________________

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

for such a time as this

what if it all comes down to this moment in time

this arena you stand in right now

this opportunity straight ahead in the path

this pickle

this dilemma

this hot spot

this crisis

this…

just this…

this choice for you to take as it is

to rise strong in your glory

to be all that you can be

this very morning

🌝

Amy Lloyd