Saved by Grace

Saved by Grace

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Hallelujah

Hallelujah
We're his words to me
Hallelujah
Is what he sang to me

He spoke them out into the night
He spoke them out to me
Hallelujah
Was his word to me

What could I find in thee
Was my heart's cry
What could I find in thine womb
Is what I found that night 

Hallelujah
Is what I found that night

Sunday, December 4, 2016

WHoly Ground

Brother Moses, what did you feel at that burning bush?
Watching this living thing consumed and not overtaken to death.
What was it like to feel the warmth on your skin from the eternal flames of life upon life.

You stopped. You considered. Something changed for you that day.
You SAW that the ground you were standing on was Holy.
That maybe this ground you have been walking on has been Holy this wHole time
You just were blind to see it

Moses, my friend, tell me, what was it like to come in union with the Holy?
To feel ONE with the grass beneath your toes.
To feel roots grow down through the magma to the core where earth and heaven meet.

Tell me, did you ever put your shoes on again?
Tell me, how did you walk in this world of already and not yet.
This land of consolation and desolation.

Tell me what it was like consuming the bread of life and affliction,
How did it taste to break it on your teeth and swallow it whole.
How did it leave you full and empty?

And the cup of sorrow and salvation,
What did the sweet and bitter taste like on your lips,
How did it quench your thirst and leave you breathless

Tell me, father Moses, so I too can taste and see the Holy of Wholies
Tell me you will, will you?
Dance with me there?




Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Flying Song

Daddy what would you sing to me
Mommy what would you sing
What would you sing to your baby girl?

I love you
I love you
Whatever you do

Go fly my child
Go fly my child
I gave you wings
So you can fly

I will cry my child
I will cry my child
But don't you come flyin back to me

But if you cry my child
When you cry my child
You can come flyin home to me

Wherever you go
Whatever you do
I will think the world of you

When I am not your home
And you are feeling alone
You can always come flying back to me.

And we will sing:

I love you
I love you
Whatever you do

Go fly my child
Go fly my child
I gave you wings
So you can fly

Just know that you can't stay
And I will never make you pay
When you come flying back to me.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Being an Observer of Magic

Observe: notice or perceive something and register it as being significant

I sat with this man, this old man with a scarf, that is the main character in the game "what doesn't belong here". As he smoked a pack of cigarettes and sipped on espresso and seltzer, he told me of magic, of hope that is real and his years of pretending. I saw that there are options:you can pretend or you could actually experience beauty in the hands of grace before a meal. Beauty in the way a home embraces you with its color and warmth, the kind of home you encounter a couple times in a lifetime.

As we talked about the impoverished lifestyle of the "famous" street we were on, the sound of liquid streaming on the pavement behind me distracted me. I turned and sure enough it was exactly what I had imagined, yet in a different form. A large brown hound dog was urinating on the pavement right in front of the coffee shop where the man with the scarf and I were talking about the magic that seemed dead in this place. We both leaned back in our chairs and wailed with laughter as I caught his half astonished half disgusted mouth drop at this sight of this rabid beast turned pet making his mark. This dog had no idea how profound his action was at that very moment, he was only responding to nature.

The statement he made is that there was no room for nature on this famous street, only room for cold plastic seats and tattoos that tell half of a story the holder never cared to finish. Therefore it is etched on the authors skin for eternity, hoarded selfishly, never to enter the ears and hearts of humanity around him starving for that half chewed story that he gave up on.

I wanted to believe this man in the red scarf. I wanted to believe that magic does exist, a part of me was picking up on the magic inside of him. The stories he had made from being an observer in his everyday life. We don't have to live in the mundane, we can create and experience magic everywhere because it is inside of us!

Thursday, August 4, 2016

Ocean Endings

Why does every good thing
Come to an end?

I will make it last
If I just change out the water
If I breathe into your lungs
Will you stay a bit longer?

Every magical night
And soft lullaby
Slowly becomes quiet. Still.

Then the silence.

Why is the silence so loud
So vast. So lonesome.
It faithfully points to the Truth
Like a river flows to the Ocean

Has the truth ever been touched
It stands as a virgin does
Seductive and Pure
Never to be found in a sentence

It is as mysterious as the wind:
It's beginning rush with anticipation in its wings
The bumps rise to the skin and it is gone.
Washed away in another drop of sweat

The only way to bring it back
Is to set a date with the river
To jump in
And the rivers calendar is full with openings

To make a reservation you must forget how to swim.

Ocean party of ONE your river is now available.

Saturday, May 21, 2016

Honeysuckle

Smells of honey and sweetness fill my nostrils. The air is thick and the stands are full.  Orange dirt is under my finger nails as I reach for the bush behind my brother’s baseball field.  I pinch at the long prism and pull it from the stem, racing to put my lips around it and suck the juices from the vine.  “mmmmm” as I feel my delight turn to sound for the outside world to hear from my chest to my throat up to the vibration of my mouth.  The quick rush of sweetness surges into my tastebuds as I look over into the grey and blue eyes of my childhood friend who is mirroring my every move. His eyebrows rise high on his forehead and creases are forming in his rosy cheeks as the corner of his mouth rise.  His hair is dark auburn and wet around his face.  A slight breeze sends the white and yellow buds whispering, beckoning to us, and the ting of the metal bat brings us back to reality.  Patrick’s puffy freckled wrists reach up to grab another thistle from the leaves, as the breeze sends my hair dancing to tickle the back of my neck. We reach for another.

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Home

Abba. Give me a word today.
It seems you have left me in the grey.
Come back home to me And
I'll come home to you

Mama. Give me a sign today.
I can't see with your back to me.
Turn around
Let's dance in what's found

Brother. Give me a hand today.
For I am weary and broken down
If you turn that ship around
I'll come swimming to you

Family. I will give you the Truth.
I have left home, turned my back
My ship has sailed

Home. Where are you?
The waters now you are
I still see your face in the tides
I hear your songs in the wind
But I'm gone.

Abba. Give me a word today.
I am home at sea with you
You are mine. I am yours.
Dancing to the beat of the unknown.