how do we shelter love?

oh so fine & so rare

Mist in the Morning, Nothing Around Me


Sand & Roses

Was I lost? No question.

Did I know where I was? Not at all.

Had I ever been happier in my life? Never.

…..Mary Oliver

on this anniversary day, I shelter love…that soft belly of love….a spirituality in the body & breath….from the heart curling inside out, sensing the deep silence of love’s presence….a gift to be unwrapped again & again….listen to the gentle unfurling of reality met by sky & grandeur & roses….to be held under wings…

Love sails me around the house. I walk two steps on the ground & four steps in the air. It is love. It is consolation. I don’t care if it is consolation. I am not attached to consolation. I love God. Love carries me all around. I don’t want to do anything but love. And when the bell rings, it is like pulling teeth to make myself shift because of that love, secret love, hidden love, obscure love, down inside me & outside me, where I don’t care to talk about it. Anyway, I don’t have the time or the energy to discuss such matters. I have only time for eternity, which is to say, for love, love, love. Maybe Saint Teresa would like to have me snap out of it, but it is pure, I tell you: I am not attached to it (I hope) & it is love, & it gives me soft punches all the time in the center of my heart. Love is pushing me around the monastery, love is kicking me all around, like a gong, I tell you. Love is the only thing that makes it possible for me to continue to tick….Thomas Merton

beauty isn’t is the simple, silver moon…

a poem for a special day…

These are kissing Sundays-

cloaked around an endless week,

they seek up easy, around & in-

the unexpected & verdant ache

pulled from inertia.

The wan light of sprite-green brushes

a pale cheek, nudging like dulcet chimes.

Unfolding day, a precise moment

spun from a stripped-down life,

a baby-new dusting

of bud in breeze,

A rich mix of time & muddy boots-

yokes the closeness of greening.

Within a new bloom on kissing Sunday-

the grass, soft like vellum or mist, grows

up and around & in me,

calling me home.

….In Blue

8 thoughts on “how do we shelter love?

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