Changes

There are some changes
that come in life -

sneaking up on you slowly
like the erosion of a hill.

One day you emerge to find
that a path looks strangely new -

somehow the same but different.

You make the turn you have made for
a hundred hundred times only to find
you are not where you think you are.

A rise above
or one path over
you have been fooled by the
subtleties of time and wind,
erosion and movement.

These subtleties are within
as well.  The aging of the spleen
and the thining of the cell wall
show the signs on the earth
to be strangely new, somehow changed.

The quantity of attainment is
just not there.  I don't find
the need to push on ten-thousand
times harder than I might.
I do not need to hike
the whole trail.  I do not need to
plunge into icy waters.
I am not fighting against
some inner goal to beat myself at
my own silly game.

It has changed.  It is the
quality of attainment I now find
need of.  I need to sit at the bottom
of the bluff and soak in the
trout lilies, geranium and solomon's
seal.  I need to lie next to the rushing
waters and eat up the sun on all my
skin as I listen to the pounding rush of
the icy stream.  I need to let the hues
of green against brown change my mood and
infuse my life with that which is
truly robust - the GREATNESS of the woods.
The other of my own self.

It is at that point
that I feel as if
I have been spit up
on land by some great fish;

I am a new man.
The changes have come
to be, old things have
passed away.

Cioa!

tjm+

The Heart of the Mountain

There is a stream
that flows from the
heart of the mountain
to my heart.

There is a wind
that blows across
her hills into me.

I can stand here
a thousand, thousand
times

and never
feel the
less for it.

She fortifies me
as a sister does,

knowing we share
the same blood,
the same toils,
the same heart.

Knowing we hold
the pain of all
existence

in our hearts;
softening us to
the core.

She takes the
dead and dying
and gives them
a place to give
up their hold

on all they
have known
to be living.

She tenderly turns
their bones into
tendrils and roots
pushing life back
out above her
skin.

There is a stream

that flows from the

heart of the mountain

to my heart.

Ciao!  

TJM+

Cricket Space

There is a space
on the other side
of the lake;

a space where
a cricket can
crawl between
the rock and the
moss that is leaning

up against
the tree.

A space just
small enough
to hide
from the wind
and the rain that
drives itself
against

the calm.

I shall find

THAT space.

There I shall
hunker down
and listen
for the sound of
the growing roots

and the seeping
rain

and the
sound
of brittle leaves
blowing over
the rocks.

It is quiet there.
And calm;

did I say calm?

Ciao!

TJM+

Beeswax Candles at Vespers

A brokenness in my body
at the end of the day
weakly calls to weakness
asking for a silent peace
to attend my way.

O God make speed
to save,
O LORD make haste
to help us.

Incense rises
on some altar
daises in the
islands of
Greece,
on the Holy Mountain,
and at Sinai.

I hear the crackle
of the candle flame, slowly
hissing as it burns
the beeswax up and
through the wick.

As wax melts from
the fire, may those
who hate THEE flee from
before Your throne.

Words rise up,
all over the world,
as day comes to rest
in the evening
vesperal light.

O Gladsome Light,
sing on from the
fourth century,
call our hearts
in the groan that is a
chant and a cry.

Now lettest
Thou Thy servant
depart in peace,
according
to THY word.

TJM+

The Heart Longs

How the heart longs
for a peace unending,
for joy in a friendship
with God.

It longs for an end
to strife and divided lives.

A bird lands
in the nest
and feeds the young
with all that it has gathered

the heart sinks into saying,
YES.  This is as it should be.

A bear takes its young
with it for a season
maybe two.  Turning over
logs and digging through
the ants, licking them up.

It shares its berries and
its grub.  The heart feels
YES again.

But we can not
sit around a table
of faith without
finding diversions that
should not be.  Paying the
mortgage for the too large
building,

collecting more from the
burdened souls that come
to pray
to eat God
to care for the poor.

There can be no teaching
the young to hunger
and thirst for righteousness
when our faith has become
a project, managed to avoid

waste and undue
expense.  We have turned
our Father's House into
a den of thieves and robbers.

How the heart longs

for a peace unending.

It longs for an end

to strife and divided lives.

The heart longs

to be opened by

God, to make

a place for the

King to dwell.

Listen then to the

needs of the heart.

Do not allow

anything else to rule.

Where there are leaders

who call for fiscal reform,

ignore them.

Where there are practical

men who want to build

larger buildings, assail them

with these words:

"I long for YOU."

"Don't bring ME any more 

worthless grain offerings. 

Your incense is disgusting to me, 

so are your New Moon Festivals, 

your days of worship, 

and the assemblies you call. 

I can't stand your evil assemblies."

It is time

for the harvest

there can be

no more dawdling.

The heart knows what

it wants, it longs

for and hopes for

things we have forgotten

to mention.

Find those things.

Seek those things.

Ask for those things.

Be filled with

what can satisfy.

Peace,

Tom +

Beckoning

Beckoning
from the cold,
empty
place that

sometimes rises
in my soul.

I call out -
not knowing
but
trusting
I will see
a face.

Trusting
I will hear
a voice.

The heart
alights at the
hope of encounter,

the mind is
put to ease.

A stillness
blows over the
barren, snow -

only the snow,

and in that
cold, cold
wind

is the warmth of
feeling that

all shall be well,
all shall be well,
all manner of things
shall be well.

I cannot give this to
my mind,

it races a thousand
thousand directions.

But creeping,
slowly seeping
out of my heart
is a sure sense
that the ONE will
be here.

And in that epiphany,

the mind is settled
choosing not to ride
its daunting waves
and peace comes

catching me in its
sure strong hands.

It is a path
I can only enter
by beckoning,

by crying our in my despair.

Then,
only then
does peace
flood my soul.


_____

Peace,

Tom +

In the Trees

I hear more in the
trees tonight

than the wind.

I hear freedom
a cleansing
cold wave that

takes from us
the burden

of our much-toiling
flesh.

I hear the silence
behind the ocean

of pine whipping
sound,

bough whistling
peace -

a peace
that knows it is
all.

It passes
more than just
all understanding.

It passes
all beauty,
all joy,

even all hope.

Because it is
all of these things.

And how is it
that the wind

can be all of these things -
freedom, peace, understanding,
beauty,joy and even hope.

That
I may never know.

But, I hear it.

Ciao!

Tom +