Tag Archives: God

Today is January 9, 2015. I am alive and well.

How intimate do I want to be with God? Answer, very. I want to trust that all that is placed in my path is meant to bring me back to the front door. I want to know that after going left for several days, I will go right again.

There are many kinds of bushes. Some are simply more familiar to me in the desert. They require little water. I, on the other hand, require much water. My cup runneth over all the time. The water slaps at the side of my glass. I drink heartily from the tap. It is not just bottled water that I drink.

Religion does have its place. It brings many people to God. It brings many people to faith. Many like the choir singing “Amazing Grace.” I would mention another hymn, but I don’t know of any. I don’t know of religion. I am without a church. This is neither good nor bad.

I feel free of buildings. Walls cannot contain me. The breeze is crisp like a leaf of refrigerated lettuce.

There are many stones to hold in my palm. The weight of them is heavier than a hundred dollar bill. I may want for money, but somehow the bills are always paid with enough left over to buy an ice cream sundae.

I love God. I love the hats that God wears, and that if I put on two different socks, God still smiles at me. There is room in my heart for miracles, mine and the person who stands beside me at the bus stop.

Today, it is a miracle that I’m not stashed away in some psychiatric hospital. It is a miracle that I’m not drunk and begging at the corner, liquor slopped down the face of my shirt.

I rest today knowing there are daisies. The colored kind, not just white with a yellow centers. I am exposed to all kinds of moons. And the sun, although it stays the same, feels fresh each afternoon at noon.

Grams and Annie, my baby girl kittens, sleep against me as I write this. I am at peace today. The world is large and safe. I can dash from one door to the next, but often catch myself is a slow walk, heel toe, heel toe. Dear God, be with me. I will talk with the stranger on the elevator, wishing her a good day. I will go to bed with a clean mind and a heart filled with petals. The night will move on and I will again awaken to a new day. Grams and Annie purr.


Today is December 7, 2014. I am alive and well.

My poetry and experimental writing doesn’t go over too well. It’s safer to say “I ate a bowl of soup flavored with garlic. The garlic overwhelmed the smell of burnt toast; the toast something I was going to dip in the soup. The warmth of the soup burnishing my cheeks with its heat livens me.”

I love to be livened. I love to live in joy. Pat recently asked me what brings me joy. First to mind, I said “my kittens, Grams and Annie.” After that, I was stumped. I feel like I live in joy a great deal of the time. It’s an electricity that begins in my toes, pulses up my body and exits my mouth as I breath out. Breathing in fuels the electricity, so the loop through my body begins again.

So what brings joy to my life? My friends do. I have an outstanding drop of friends who cover the entire socio-economic spectrum, who are all amazed by life, who all are empowered by love and deep spiritual beliefs. They bring me joy. Hot water in the shower, a piece of red velvet cake, wind behind my ears, fit sleep, a soft shirt, shaved legs, coffee with creme brûlée and sweet n low, thick socks, clean laundry, a place to sleep, lotion covering my body, and clean hair. All these things bring me joy.

Today is December 1, 2014. I am alive and well.

Conversations with someone other than myself……

I want to write your story. I watched as you threw your heart to the wind with your shoestrings attached. Granted the heart was made from red velvet, but it was not the shape of a child’s drawing; it was the identical shape and size to be found in anatomical books, the page pulsating when the book is closed. I listened for the message you created when your heart blew away, the laces the length of a giraffe’s tail.

Do you slice children with your eyes; mean eyes that reflect off the shine in your mind? It is this shine in your mind that keeps you vibrant. You are as vibrant as the black curls of my hair, as vibrant as the ray of sun you covet in your God box. I know that even mean people can have Gods.

Was it the dog that made you mean minded? Or did you get caught in the storm of shoppers on Black Friday? Crowds can have bad effects on people even though all you have to do is step sideways out the door to avoid the mad rush.

Which meat of the turkey do you like, white or dark?

Do you believe your heart can be saved? The shopping did take it out of you; pulled any gentleness right from your heel. You waited in long lines when all you wanted was a single candle stick for prayer. It was not the grocery store. There was no express line for fifteen items or less. And the woman ahead of you insisted on digging for change. You wanted to grab her purse and fling it to the ground. A couple of pennies may have rolled out.

I want to write your story. Know yourself, and you will know the universe. I am the stranger who holds your heart without one bloody thorn. I am the ghost who plagues shoppers with credit cards. I consume the world and the world pretends interest. I can live my spiritual truth while walking in the world. I offer you raspberries. I offer you milk. I offer you sugar. Tonight, there will be new bed sheets. Soft rather than crisp; they will mold to your body. Your alarm clock is set for six a.m. Your story begins with a flutter of your lashes as you awake.

Today is November 7, 2014. I am alive and well.

I pray. Not at an alter, but at my bedside, in my car, in the restaurant restroom, in the employee bathroom. All good places for prayer. The one place I can think of that I don’t pray is underwater in the pool. Prayer is breath for me. To run out of breath as I pray doesn’t appeal to me. I confess, though, as a kid underwater, I use to pray to become a mermaid. I would have full breath underwater.

Prayer to me is like an open envelope. I can fill it with glitter and then seal it. When I need the creative spark of glitter, I can open the envelope, throw it into the air, and marvel at the sight. Of course, I am then responsible  for vacuuming the carpet.

Prayer is an action word. Simple prayer, “God please help me.” Then I get up from my knees, and do what God would have me do. How do I know if I’m aligned with God? By how I feel. By the ease with which I participate in the day. I am a crayon coloring between the lines. I am a blank piece of paper allowing colors to splash me awake. I am a little beetle surfing the neighborhood on a green leaf.

The possibilities for prayer are endless. It is best when I pray for someone else; someone who’s ailing, someone who I am upset with, wishing for her to receive all the good things that come from a life well lived. And my favorite prayer is “God please rid me of self.” When offered this, I have vision. I can see the cacti from my bedroom window and know they cannot hurt me as long as I don’t touch them. I can listen to a person in pain and have compassion, with no need to tell her it will get better because both of us know it won’t; different yes, better no. I can smell life; it is buttered toast and a cup of coffee. I can taste life; it is shampoo I use in my hair. Prayers quiet my mind. It is good to put on my glasses.

Today is October 31, 2014. I am alive and well.

Does a broken heart ever heal? Or do we simply move on, glass at our feet, ever reminded to wear shoes? How long before we can actually go barefoot? I know “how long” is different for everybody. I am still wearing shoes, although I have found new love. One man doesn’t replace the other; it is more a continuum. Things moving forward in an upward spiral is much better than things moving backward with one stone being heaped in a pile of other stones. The stones are the weight that brought death to VIrginia Woolfe, an amazing writer, who walked into the water never to arise again.

I had a pile of stones, and then borrowed a power drill from God, and turned the stones to dust. This dust, although bagged by me, sometimes shows up on my skin right before a shower. I have a continuos love for Guy, my ex, but have climbed into that upward spiral. This doesn’t mean I have left Guy behind. Quite the contrary. Guy taught me I could love. My forgiveness of him, my love for him, continues to fuel my life. I know I have love for Mark because I have love for Guy. I’m really at a loss as to how to make sense of this.

My love doesn’t compartmentalize itself. It is free flowing energy that is increased by loving many. However, Mark is the prime beneficiary of my love. I don’t wish to return to a pile of stones. Life continues to surprise me. I glow in the shadow of elms. At night, when all the shadows have been eaten away by the dark, I thank God for both Guy and Mark. Having love twice doesn’t fatten me. I feel light. My spindly arms are not frail and reach for…well, I don’t know exactly what. But it’s ablaze, I do know that.

Today is September 5, 2014. I am alive and well.

Poem for your pleasure…..I hope

When the World Turns Blue

There is little to look at outside of water. Black Converse sneakers laced to the ankle begging to meet the earth halfway between the dream and a next step forward. The next step forward is hard as stale toast and as necessary as lips. Lips blow horns, blow trombones. Saxophones. Keep food from slipping past the teeth. Console. Welcome. Say good-bye. Sensuality. Sweet. So sweet. Even chapped they will whistle. Lovely. Remember this when the next step forward places you below water and you need a straw to breathe with. And the moon rolls around the track in a fifteen minute mile. Slowly. I float head above the water. Breasts. Midriff. Thighs. Knees. Shins. Imagine black Converse sneakers. Imagine God wearing black Converse sneakers in one of many incarnations. Imagine God.

Today is August 22, 2014. I am alive and well.

I experience God when feeling light headed. The doctor would tell me it is because of low blood pressure and I might want to consider drinking more water. Well, I drink a gallon and a half of water a day. I take a galloon to work and am teased by Sid saying I am drinking vodka. I haven’t drunk vodka for thirty two years.

Experiencing God is like standing barefoot on hot stones on a December day. At first, I’m afraid the hot stones will blister my feet. But the cold has become unbearable. The heat moves up my body and explodes in my brain. Nothing else exists for that moment. The cold spirals away. And then, I smartly head for the hall in the house where I can find a pair of shoes and a jacket.

God is love, but what does that look like? A woman at Pet Smart let me go ahead of her in line because I only had three cans of salmon compared to her cases and bags of food. That was an act of kindness. I used Strato’s name to than him for bagging my groceries; using his name implies “I am more than just a bag boy.” Trish and I worked out this morning, high fived each other when done, and said I love you. She has my back as I have her’s, and God is in this mix.

I can’t believe I’m sharing this….when I finally get my bra hooked, I thank God for the help! Why not bring God to small things?!

Today, the darkness of indecision and anxiety does not attach itself to my wrists. I was my hands with Ivory. After the bubbles, the water runs clean.

For all of you who are atheists, I hope I don’t offend you by mentioning God. I just want to let you know that one of my favorite people is atheist and is one of the most spiritual people I know. I understand, you don’t have to believe in God to be spiritual.

I do leave you with a quote however….says Flannery O’Connor, “Only God is an atheist.” I find this interesting to think about.

Good cheer to all.