We Sorrow! Oh Blessed Lady!
Our world longs for healing
I know you hear our tears falling
The polar bear father groans for his children
The butterfly pauses too long on a wayward branch
The wolf mother considers if having cubs is a good idea
The salmon, bewildered swim in circles, aching with eggs
The blue bird of happiness seeks her mate, calling, calling…
The inch worm only attempts a quarter inch this morning
The depressed human, does not want to rise from sleep today
We, male and female, two by two, we
wonder how on earth, we will survive these institutions
like marriage, government, business, tax, insurance,
medical, credit cars, foreclosures, stock market and
terminable cell phone contracts we cannot get free from.
We wonder, how we could have come so so so far,
and gotten clear on really, so little that matters. We sorrow!
We celebrate the antidote,
losing sight that we created the disease.
As for me, by some miracle I am sure you are responsible for
I give thanks as I rise with joy and with prayer on my lips. Thank you.
Daily I think after my fellow humans
as I am my brother’s keeper and my sister’s sister,
however feeble my attempts, their heart is ever in my heart.
Precisely because my joy is full – and I am able
I worry after our kind. I call to you on our behalf.
I believe that those who are able to see themselves clear
of ceaseless hopelessness, must act quickly and deftly
on behalf of others. And so my days are spent,
in inquiry and action, full of hope and hopelessness about our kind.
We cannot make sense of all of it. We cannot find a sure path through.
Lady, make yourself clear. We sorrow! Oh Blessed Lady.
Our world needs a mother and you are it.
You, long obscured from our veiled eyes
are the way I breath. My ground of being.
There is a way through this wilderness and you know what it is.
Catch the tears of the polar bear and the butterfly, embrace the
wolf mother and her cubs, speak to the salmon and the blue bird
and restore the inch to the inch worm.
Blessed Lady, make we humans to wake up.
7:25 am – white writing desk.
A single Candle lit. Husband sleeping.
No kitty at my feet anymore.
Cold morning. Heater clicking.
Fast cars driving by.
A loan bird call cracks the morning.
White fuzzy slippers.
And comfort in the presence of creativity
as prayer. My first act almost every morning.