Frail skin holds the organs
in pink bags of flesh.
Incredible really,
this vessel enmeshed.
It comes with no manual,
it lives and it breathes,
it hastens to dying
and actions my deeds.
Expanding through feeling
with soul wings it flies,
to learning and vision
my vehicle gives rise.
This matter in motion,
a here and a there,
and loving brings to it
the Truth all stripped bare.
Look at these fingers,
they move as I ask!
And when I flow through them
they dance with each task.
A one-off uniqueness,
a fine joyful mess,
a tangle of loveliness,
chaos and rest.
For those who come closer
I offer my best,
embracing them wholly
I find myself blessed.
For M.W.
What the eternal thought wills
Words of the day, courtesy of the sublime George Macdonald.
Prudence
The one secret of life and development is not to devise and plan
but to fall in with the forces at work - to do every moment's duty aright -
that being the part in the process allotted to us:
and let come - not what will, for there is no such thing -
but what the eternal thought wills for each of us,
has intended in each of us from the first.
The privilege of pain
On the shore of a lake I sink to my knees, with blood condensed from the coarse weight of being. The earth subsides, and a burning tide flows into me. Like a bloated vessel I crack. Alone and broken, the brittle form built of fallacies and frailties cannot play with the flames. Every pore opens, scalded as certainty retreats. No singular thread of resistance remains. I stand unhoused in dislocation. Listen. The privilege of pain has blazed through me. As she lifts, a flicker of light beams through the haze. Refined, I rise and weigh my memories. Look! They are lighter too.
Being a walking question mark 