life: acoustic & amplified

what matters most

Sometimes our knowing so much holds us back…

Head and heart language

bunched up in the laundry basket

between loads of colored clothes

that go either in the hot or cold,

delicate and normal…

First or second rinse…

How many books on the shelves explain God…

Or list gratitude as number four ,

After loving God, neighbor and oneself?

And the balance has to change if the soul is to

Learn the lessons of this lifetime…

Endure the consequences,

Wrap up years on a calendar

With more joys than sorrows.

Perhaps there is meaning in Sabbath rest,

Sharing popsicles with toddlers with sticky hands;

Washing old quilts and hanging them on clotheslines to dry…

Saying, “I don’t know,” and it’s alright.

Writing poetry that preaches a basic message of goodness…

While standing in the crowd,

Cheering for the other guy

Witnessing God in the subtle and the sly

Trading nothing for what has been,

Yet defining what has been enough,

What will not do anymore,

And that coming to the earth at this time

Is for the curious, the creative and those who

Value communion – and what stirs one up inside.

Complicated and complex –

The sharing of spiritual thought on levels that

Change the planet and the sway of the trees as we walk in the park.

Beauty,

Rev.Donna Knutson

Letting go into the wind

The winding road behind obliterated

Creating a heart of sand inside

then allowing the salt water to wash it clean

Ready for new footprints

of children ready to play

creating circles of care

evolution of spring into summer brings so much new

green, growth, flowers

Honey bees can’t resist pollination

making love brings birthdays galore

one after another

Blessing heaped on blessing

Grace upon grace

Mercy’s for this day

we wear our sunshine if needed

we sing praises until we’re done

then walk on down to the river

feeling emotional

baptism is only the simplest picture

of a brand new life

💞

Amy Lloyd

dusted

You ask me again this evening

at what price

Does wisdom finally come

in any life

Or at any age & now I think

I know

The answer swear to me that

when I tell you

It is only everything you believe

You will travel as far from this city

as you can before

The streets grow smeared & lost

to the smug

& promiscuous coming of the day

💞

Before Dawn by David St. John

I couldn’t name it, the sweet

sadness welling up in me for weeks.

So I cleaned, found myself standing

in a room with a rag in my hand,

the birds calling time-to-go, time-to-go.

And like an old woman near the end

of her life I could hear it, the voice

of a man I never loved who pressed

my breasts to his hips and whispered

“My little doves, my white, white lilies.”

I could almost cry when I remember it.

I don’t remember when I began

to call everyone “sweetie,”

as if they were my daughters,

my darlings, my little birds.

I have always loved too much,

or not enough. Last night

I read a poem about God and almost

believed it—God sipping coffee,

smoking cherry tobacco. I’ve arrived

at a time in my life when I could believe

almost anything.

Today, pumping gas into my old car, I stood

hatless in the rain and the whole world

went silent—cars on the wet street

sliding past without sound, the attendant’s

mouth opening and closing on air

as he walked from pump to pump, his footsteps

erased in the rain—nothing

but the tiny numbers in their square windows

rolling by my shoulder, the unstoppable seconds

gliding by as I stood at the Chevron,

balancing evenly on my two feet, a gas nozzle

gripped in my hand, my hair gathering rain.

And I saw it didn’t matter

who had loved me or who I loved. I was alone.

The black oily asphalt, the slick beauty

of the Iranian attendant, the thickening

clouds—nothing was mine. And I understood

finally, after a semester of philosophy,

a thousand books of poetry, after death

and childbirth and the startled cries of men

who called out my name as they entered me,

I finally believed I was alone, felt it

in my actual, visceral heart, heard it echo

like a thin bell. And the sounds

came back, the slish of tires

and footsteps, all the delicate cargo

they carried saying thank you

and yes. So I paid and climbed into my car

as if nothing had happened—

as if everything mattered — What else could I do?

I drove to the grocery store

and bought wheat bread and milk,

a candy bar wrapped in gold foil,

smiled at the teenaged cashier

with the pimpled face and the plastic

name plate pinned above her small breast,

and knew her secret, her sweet fear—

Little bird. Little darling. She handed me

my change, my brown bag, a torn receipt,

pushed the cash drawer in with her hip

and smiled back.

❤️

—Dorianne Laux, What We Carry

wanderer

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.

~ Edward Abbey

the home of the master

is not always what we expect.

the soul of the yogi is sometimes, more than a little, troubled.

the heart of the guru

not always easy or calm.

the path of the pilgrim

not always smooth and straight.

a lot of good angels

seem to be very scruffy.

the most valiant warriors come carrying death on their swords.

the best pastures for the beloved sheep

are often quite tricky to find.

the best of life

usually comes to us the very hard way.

we fall. we learn.

we rise. we fall again.

in these days of fast food.

loud, busy

and instant everything.

silence, prayer

and that elusive, most difficult, quality-

self mastery

are still the pathways

to happiness

🌅

Amy Lloyd

Let’s run. Let’s keep running. Let’s swallow so much blue our mouths become skies become oceans. Hold on to whatever of me is easiest, like my hands or this thing in my chest that can’t stop talking about you.

by Yves Olade

a question or two

What is a small act of pure love?

Isn’t that the ultimate oxymoron?

What matters and what doesn’t?

Who decides?

What really rings the Captain bells in the halls of heaven?

Where are the grandest palaces built?

Who truly owns everything we claim,

everything we hold so dear?

What color will you pick to wear to the grandest wedding you will ever attend?

When do the people who clean the outhouses regain their appetites and feast?

Do you believe everybody’s poop stinks,

yet is a common element of this thing called:

being human?

Should gratitude protect us from life’s hardships?

If I’m thankful do I get to keep what I want?

Why do some people never know hunger and others literally starve to death?

Which of the following is the more important question?

Why me?

Why NOT me?

❤️

Amy Lloyd

Deeper than my words,

deeper than my knowing,

Spirit, pray in me.

I open the door of my heart for you.

I hold the arms of my spirit open for you.

Welcome. Spirit, pray in me.

I only hold the space.

I do not hear your prayers,

your sighs too deep for my hearing.

I do not know how to pray.

I only know how to be still,

Spirit, as you pray in me.

__________________

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

www.unfoldinglight.net

Sometimes I tremble like a storm-swept flower,

And seek to hide my tortured soul from thee,

Bowing my head in deep humility

Before the silent thunder of thy power.

Sometimes I flee before thy blazing light,

As from the specter of pursuing death;

Intimidated lest thy mighty breath,

Windways, will sweep me into utter night.

For oh, I fear they will be swallowed up—

The loves which are to me of vital worth,

My passion and my pleasure in the earth—

And lost forever in thy magic cup!

I fear, I fear my truly human heart

Will perish on the altar-stone of art!

– Poetry by Claude McKay

begin again

There is nothing to fear in the act of beginning. More often than not it knows the journey ahead better than we ever could. Perhaps the art of harvesting the secret riches of our lives is best achieved when we place profound trust in the act of beginning. Risk might be our greatest ally. To live a truly creative life, we always need to cast a critical look at where we presently are, attempting always to discern where we have become stagnant and where new beginning might be ripening. There can be no growth if we do not remain open and vulnerable to what is new and different. I have never seen anyone take a risk for growth that was not rewarded a thousand times over.

– John O’Donohue

No big challenge has ever been solved, and no lasting improvement has ever been achieved, unless people dare to try something different. Dare to think different.

– Cook

it’s our choice

we are here to impact the world

in special ways

each of us play some small part

in the greatest story of all

…and God spoke…

God created…

God keeps creating….

we keep creating…

It’s who we are…

our design is to design…

impact takes destruction

from chaos comes order

beauty in every part of the process

Can you see it?

Can you live there now?

step into the blasted uncomfort-zone?

stay there for as long as it takes for the mud to settle,

for the bones to pop back into place,

with no guarantee of a pleasant outcome…

will you stand up and be counted?

keep stepping into the void

knowing the value of the work

knowing the well-being of the world may well depend on us standing in our own skin

speaking our own words of truth

choosing what we really want to eat from today’s menu

💞

Amy Lloyd

“Trust the intelligence of chaos. Life is only refreshing itself.”

– Jeff Foster

something

Something is true,
more true than most,
more to the root:
the love that founds you,
the joy that finds you
the peace that frees you
in the being beneath your doing.
It is the sun of the sunrise of you,
the song
that gives the singing of your life.
Let it be the music you dance to,
the drumbeat of your journey.
Let it be the path you’re on.
Let it be the one heart that believes
what is worth believing,
the one ear that hears
what is true in others.
It married you long ago.
Renew your vows and stay faithful.
If you lose it,
stop and listen.
Go with it, always with it.
Trust it deeper than any thing else,
except maybe the voice that utters it.

_________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

Re-membered @ 53

How you choose to remember — determines how the broken dismembered things in your life will be remade and re-membered.

You have to choose to intentionally remember God’s goodness, if you want your brokenness to be re-membered into wholeness.

– Ann Voskamp

The real things haven’t changed. It is still best to be honest and truthful; to make the most of what we have; to be happy with simple pleasures; and have courage when things go wrong.

– Laura Ingalls Wilder

joy

lost

the line

of development and decency

I will wake you up

just when you get to sleep

good and proper

to tell you a bedtime story

to remind you joy is everywhere

there’s a bit of scandal

among the bohemian wildflowers

whispers concerning my impending number

advanced imperfections looming ahead

speaking of cool, calm and collected

I laugh with delicious delight

at wondrous traditions

such as chocolate cake

and making wishes

I love life with all its messy, gory glory

Love is our name.

We are the soul of the soul of the world around us

Yet let none of us believe we have power to change another

only the responsibility to inspire each other

to be our very best selves

to recognize beauty as beauty

Share your favorite toast with me:

to friends and foes

and each one I’ll never know –

I honor your courage to live out loud

may we all find ourselves more than we ever expected

hear! hear!

❤️

Amy Lloyd

found between the lines

I decline all offers to live in a house of reasons and proofs

I refuse to live a moment without the faith of doubt

I reject staying in a box of absolute truths

I deny my own dogged-dogma of black and white knowledge

I challenge myself continually to keep letting go of what I know for sure

I intentionally say no to my own sense of pride and privilege

I humbly confess my own lack of humble speech

I gratefully open myself to the vast newness of each day

I necessarily choose to rely on God rather than myself

I stand on the foundational stone of believing life is always for me even when I can’t see it

I embrace change, understanding its value, even when it’s a struggle and feels difficult for me

I bow on the shores of the ocean of goodness and pain as find my place among all the grains of sand

I sit in the most comfy seat of miraculous realization:

I am a drop of the ocean – I am the ocean in a drop

I stand on the circle of the earth and speak to the wind and the fire, the stars and the dirt

I am water – I flow

I am earth – I grow

I am that I am that I am that I am

abundance in every breath

ashes to ashes

dust to dust

I rise

I fall

I live

I die

I love

I love

I follow the light

I follow the light

❤️

Amy Lloyd

VOCATION

When I discovered

the emerald in my chest

I gave up every profession,

all wealth, adventure, fame,

just to follow the humblest

vocation: I became

a Jewel Polisher.

Keep moving the soft

old cloth of breathing

over the precious gemstone

lodged deeper inside you

than your name, your hope,

your story, until

you know beyond thought

and confusion

that the meadow, the forest,

the mountain in its

wreathe of clouds,

even the Beloved’s face,

are simply one

edgeless brilliant

reflection

of your heart.

❤️

– Fred LaMotte

Be with me, Beauty, for the fire is dying;

My dog and I are old, too old for roving.

Man, whose young passion sets the spindrift flying,

Is soon too lame to march, too cold for loving.

I take the book and gather to the fire,

Turning old yellow leaves; minute by minute

The clock ticks to my heart. A withered wire,

Moves a thiun ghost of music in the spinet.

I cannot sail your seas, I cannot wander

Your cornland, nor your hill-land, nor your valleys

Ever again, nore share the battle yonder

Where the young knight the broken squadron rallies.

Only stay quiet while my mind remembers

The beauty of fire from the beauty of embers.

Beauty, have pity! for the strong have power,

The rich their wealth, the beautiful their grace,

Summer of man its sunlight and its flower.

Spring-time of man, all April in a face.

Only, as in the jostling in the Strand,

Where the mob thrusts, or loiters, or is loud,

The beggar with the saucer in his hand

Asks only a penny from the passing crowd,

So, from this glittering world with all its fashion,

Its fire, and play of men, its stir, its march,

Let me have wisdom, Beauty, wisdom and passion,

Bread to the soul, rain when the summers parch.

Give me but these, and though the darkness close

Even the night will blossom as the rose.

🌹

On Growing Old by John Masefield

Magic is all around you, even within you, don’t be afraid to let it show.

Watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places.

– Roald Dahl

Believe in magic and you will find it. Discover the magic within yourself and share it with the world. It will celebrate with you 🌈

⁃ Calvin Chou