Friday, November 25, 2011


You are a peculiar people:

To the world, moving widdershins.

Your mind, and your heart, and your soul

Are attuned unto the heavens.
It is not the powerful that
Inherit the earth, but the meek.

The strong don’t survive alone, but

Bear infirmity of the weak.

The door opens because you knock,

And you shall find because you seek.

You shall have whatever you say,

Because you believe what you speak.

You have brought captive your thoughts, and

You have placed guards over your speech.

You exemplify what you say,

Putting to practice what you preach.

You are known by your love and by

Your kindness and every good deed:

The hungry are fed, the hurting

Are healed and the captive are freed.

To reach to the uttermost of the

Heavens, you drop down to your knees.

You do as God wills,

And not as you please.

Monday, November 14, 2011


As a child, I found life too difficult to bear.

There was no peace to be found anywhere.

My mom was caught in a battle she couldn’t win.

I watched my father beat her as a cock pecking a hen.

And there was nothing I could do about the situation

Except to remove my participation

As a witness to the brutality

And check reality.

How could I be

Thrust into the arms of domestic violence?

So my defense was to lose all cognizance

In a place of pretense.

And I sought safety within a bubble,

As if I could extract myself from the trouble

In my home. 

There I found myself so alone.

Yet I was still there and I could still see and hear

And I could still be consumed with fear

And helplessness.

“God bless this mess”,

Should have been the sign above the door.

It was my mother’s screams that tore

Into my psyche,

Making me crazy,

Crazy enough to jump over the deep end

To a place where I could see out and they could see in:

Into my bubble,

Where I could escape the rubble

Of a broken family and be disengaged

From the rage.

Our two worlds could never intersect.

And I was where they could never interject

Their poisoned thoughts and feelings.

Their fighting already had me reeling

And teetering between sanity and insanity.

I had to find a place to protect me.

This bubble would keep me from the viruses,

Because malice is

A disease,

Which comes with guarantees

Of no cure.

So for sure,

There’d be more immunity the further I withdrew.

Yet, over my heart’s wounds grew


I became imprisoned behind walled palaces

With a condition of heart cirrhosis.

My heart was as the rock before Moses.

Then I realized that this is not what living is.

And it would be better to participate in life and accept what living gives.

So I burst my bubble and entered into the world naked and exposed,

Vulnerable and transposed.

Ready to laugh, to love, to cry,

To hurt, to share, to die,

To fulfill my purpose and my destiny,

By being the ultimate and fullest expression of me.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

I Offer You

When you reach the end of life and you are ready to let go,
You look around for someone you know
And want to hold their hand,
Want someone to understand,
Because you don't, even though you hope you do. 
Because at the end of this life, with the things of this life, you are through,
And you are unsure of where you are coming to.
You are walking through an open door,
And you believe that there is much in store,
But you can't take anything or anyone with you,
Because you are being born again. 
Even your body, you leave behind,
And there is another form you will find
Awaits you.  And so you detach from every attachment you have made
And leave for others everything you have laid
In store,
Wanting only to hold that hand once more,
Because holding that hand you know you have lived and been apart
Of another's heart.
But then you know,
That even that hand, you must let go.
But let it be the last thing you do. 
So what can I offer you,
But my hand?

Wednesday, November 9, 2011


From the depths of her soul came an agonizing cry.
It permeated the earth; it reached to the sky.
It was a cry for solace, a cry for relief,
For she was enveloped in a spirit of grief.

Tears gushed from her eyes as a waterfall
And rushed down her face as if to wash away all
That did engulf her; yet this river of tears
Told a story most clear,
Of the pain and the suffering brought by the loss of one dear.

Those who were close to her, her neighbors and friends,
Were moved with compassion, wanting her suffering to end.
They came to her in droves; each bearing a gift.
Some brought her food, some - a word of cheer as a lift.
While some just sat still, silent and near
To lend her a shoulder or a listening ear.
Some busied their hands doing her household chores.
Some gathered together and prayed to God even more.

From her tear-soaked handkerchief, she lifted her head.
She saw what others were doing; she heard what they said.
Then she knew the truth of all she had read:
That those who did mourn would rise from their bed
Of sorrow, finding comfort from all their distress
And soon realize they were truly - blessed.

Feed the Hungry

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