What kind of woman can we be?
Will we be oxen, a horse, a mule that carries the load?
Will we press on through the muddied snow?
Will we be the calico cat chasing its tail, or
the ragged dog that’s at our hearth even after death?
We want it all, but we are pooled in perceptions
that lead us to all the wrong conclusions.
Shall we live like the monkeys all distracted and ADHD, or
elephants that understand language and
remember two plus one equals three?
Slowly we learn to live with what we only need,
a shelter from the storms, a handful of seed, a sweet memory.
Life is not within the power of objects,
though we’re sold a better life waits within the wings
in a gathering of often senseless things
where we live without Her.
We weather the torment of our lost goals
as life deluges our ragged shores and shoals.
God gives us paths through the tangled trees,
gives us sight to see through the bramble and the weeds,
a place above the stormy seas, She lies.
We’re bats and owls in the night sky,
guided by Her faint song as we homeward fly.
We can share our instinctual avenues,
Zoom our prayers and Shares of Her
as we strive to rise past life’s insanity, life’s inanity,
Her water swells of a river’s given flow,
feeding the souls near the Colorado.
The river seems to keeps tumbling downhill,
laden with our soap opera pageantries;
our given roles, our intricate tapestries,
that depict a still life in strife.
We are the actors of this that’s ours
as our tears melt into Hers!
How do we move the debris that gathers?
Shall we dredge our canals of all our crud?
Make out of the muck something better?
We have holes in our souls that drain Her.
She’s within the deep of all that flows
past towns whose houses of the Lord remember
God is the river and the birth of all water.
Will we be greater than our frailties, our inabilities,
our advanced degrees, to become part of Her?
Mother, giver of births, keeper of the Earth,
help us drown all that’s gone asunder!
Make us rainbow birds after the storm with thunder!
God never dissipates, neither can we create Her.
She cries, a lonely God standing at an open door,
hoping that we come home just once more.
May we grow closer to Her light,
less like the coyote and the fox,
having to feed off the darkening night.
Small pools trembles with God’s faint pulse
expanding across the universe She has caused.
We are woman, mother, daughter, sister,
bearer of the staff of life,
twined with God’s eternal thread that’s Her.
Our trails branch out like little rivulets
as we cast our errors upon inlets of the ether,
while living in the whatever,
just to join with Her.
We discover to be Godly is not a trivial matter,
so we step back, to listen, Her tears gently patter
upon the windows that we can perceive,
though we can easily be deceived, we still love Her.
Her music is a song of enlightenment,
a heavenly score with an angelic accompaniment,
though, we only hear a faint chord of Her.
The cycle of life keeps repeating and retreating,
as She tumbles down the Continental Divide
where all streams run into an eternal receiving,
wearing down everything that resists Her.
She is the chatter of flowing water!
She’s in the saving grace of a reservoir!
She’s the fount of life,
the giver of births, Earth’s midwife!
She’s even there, at the end of our descent
to raise us up to Her once again!
We are droplets showering Her fields with Her essence,within Her holy presence.