Ruah's Poetry

Spring at Santa Sabina

 On my first retreat

I brought a suitcase full 

 of books on silence

And sat entranced

by pages and pages

on mindfulness, mysticism.

, 

I didn't hear the fountain glisten

or smell unfolding purple

or notice cool bands of moving shadow.

If  every creature is a Word of God

This one was loud

luminous, insistent.

I don't know what she said

but her feet were so small,

her wings diaphanous with speed.

The garden around me

 within me

 awakens.

Soul's Prayer

Great Spirit

Remove from me

All that gets in the way

Of my being who you ask me to be

So that I might  do

What you ask me to do 

Soul's Prayer

Great Spirit

Remove from me

All that gets in the way

Of my being who you ask me to be

So that I might  do

What you ask me to do 

When Its Time

to lean into that opening door,

my dear companion,

may I release you 

back into precious earth

with care, gratitude, respect

You have been

partner, teacher,

trickster, angel

on this journey

into unimaginable Being

Go in peace, love, 

into the deep roots

and underground waters.

I bless you, praise you,

thank you

Shadow Work

There are two wolves in the heart; love and hate. Which do I feed?    

Like your Sister,

These eyes are yellow,

 rich ruff grey and white.

The belly though-

a demanding emptiness.

I will not starve you,

ignore you,

drive you away,

pretend your breath 

is not in my own nostrils.

But feed you

with the red ripeness

of this love

She places 

in my shaking hand.

May you know

what it is 

to be full.

Come. Lie down here.

We have living water too.

Inscape

It can take time and practice
to know
the  heart of a thing-

A sometimes difficult
and always simple
presence.

Then  -if
you are lucky - or blessed -
the deep down in
drops its veil
 shyly
or with a shout.

You are changed forever

 

 

Beauty

May beauty break open my heart with Light.

May tenderness gather those pieces

And compassion place them upon the altar that is this world

May wisdom place a cup upon that altar

May Spirit pour that gathered light

back into our even-now brokenness

So we know each fragment 

As infinitely precious

Whole 

Inescapably One

The Silence of the Mystic

The silence of a mystic

is the space between the words

of every poem

No space - no meaning
No meaning - no mystery
No mystery - no music
No music - no poem

Praying the Holy in Anger

May anger ground me in the real Real-

Earth speaks- I am here

May Anger purify my troubled heart-

Fire speaks- I wake

May Anger clear my confusing mind

Air speaks - I perceive

May Anger couple with Being

Water speaks- I gather

May Anger proceed from wisdom

Soul speaks- I act

May Anger blossom with trust

Spirit speaks- I release

Paschal

Sharing bread and wine-

This time no passing over-

We come here to die

Tender fear - fueled wound-

Tight pretending to be god-

Comes now to the cross

In anguish and love-

Our suffering God with us-

We release the lie

And surrender,

Resurrected and restored,

Into the God

We are.

Fire Pieta

Sitting legs open wide on the black ground,
she cradles the burned llama
against the fullness of her body.

An officer with a shotgun
approaches from the lower left,
to perform the final, brutal mercy.

She waits.
Her eyes are lowered.
I imagine she is rocking,
crooning.

Now and Not Yet

Nailed to the silent cross
Of soul-breaking Empire-
We stand amid the lost

Angels, held back, weeping
No presence, comfort, power
Displayed before the jeering

Now shouted whispers, prayer
Of trusting and despair -
The Father, stricken, waiting

You see and hear from hell and Hell
Each tortured empty heart
That begs and Yes: this Mercy

The Finest Poem

The finest poem -
and prayer -
stops before completion
and waits in silence.

Warrior

The sword can cut or free

Sever

Or make room for joining

My tongue too

Speech or silence

There are many kinds of refusal

I seek those places

In myself

Where forcefulness is not violent 

Righteousness does not destroy

The sword and tongue

Clear

And do not create debris

There is a warrior here

Whose No makes possible 

The greater Yes

Whose stand is like a stake

Supporting a slim young tree

Whose on-fire heart

Bursts open

Waiting seeds of compassion.

Come

Why do you believe in God? she asked-

 And I told her-- the showings 

- moments when all that is 

dissolved in golden light

-that time when I expanded-

yard, town, state, country, 

planet, sun,

cosmos 

and then back and back 

and back again

the lady bug on my hand-

-Those 5 no time days 

of pure and shimmering awareness-

everything- everyone- radiant-

vibrant, vibrating

wild, still, alive, only

a kind of perfect-

 

What happened? she asked

I woke up one day and I Saw

and I woke up one day and I didn't

But what did you do?-

{so many teachers and teachings and practices}

 did you get it to happen again?

 

As she asked I saw 2 things-

- a brown doe glimpsed in green woods-

Would I race, calling, crashing, to find her?

- closed shell in my hand, and a pearl

Or insist- Giver of Gifts - now -more?

 

Many souls are meant to 

strive, and climb that holy mountain

But my path is not that mountain 

rather forest, meadow, ocean

Where quiet, I breathe, and watch

 And if I once again 

am blessed with Sight- Well-

Thank you.

 

That's one of my names for God.

 

How They Come

Poems come sometimes

like a dog in my bed

pressing its cold brown nose

 against my cheek-- insisting, insisting-

wake up!

Sometimes like a cat

yowling under the porch 

until down on hands and knees

I scrabble in the dust and dirt

and pull

Then there are the ones

still as a pregnant hare

waiting for the 

winged shadow

to pass

How do poems come to you?

INSCAPE

It can take time

to know the heart of a thing,

a sometimes difficult 

and always simple

presence.

If you are lucky,

or blessed

that deep down in

drops its veil,

shyly, or with a shout.

You are changed

forever.

Making Lists

What if I made a list

not for the willful pleasure

of crossing things off

getting things done-

But for surprise

and noticing-

rain pregnant sky, happiness,

the silence after music, a poem

What if in making that list

my pencil broke

and released the scent

of clean clear gray

Peace in a Time of Revolution

To be still

In the curl of chaos

To welcome dark waters

And lightning strike

To steady

In webbed roots

As merciful wind whips leaves,

Blasts dead branches

To choose

This rough real

The generous gesture of a Heart

Emptied of all but YES

The peace of God

Is not my favored sleep, alas,

But rather trusting 

This bloody death

Is bloody birth

Fire Pieta
Sonoma County
October, 2017

Legs open wide on the blackened ground

She cradles the burned llama

Against the fullness of her body

An officer with a gun

Approaches up the hill

To perform the final mercy

She waits

Her eyes are lowered

I imagine she is rocking

Crooning

Praying the Poetry in Anger

May anger ground me in the real

Earth speaks- I am

May anger purify my troubled heart

Fire speaks - I wake

May anger clear confusing mind

Air speaks - I perceive

May anger couple together

Water speaks - I gather

May anger proceed from wisdom

Soul speaks - I act

May anger fruit with trust

Spirit speaks - I create

Beauty

May beauty break my heart

and tenderness gather the pieces,

to lay upon the altar of this weary world.

May wisdom place a blessing cup upon that altar 

and Spirit pour its gathering Light

into this ever-breaking 

Until we we know

each illumined fragment

as infinitely precious

Inescapably One 

Martin

   for Steven Charleston

His swollen hands rested on faded jeans

and he rocked slowly in the old porch swing. 

We could see dry dirt, bits of trash, and waves of heat

the blue silver of oil slick across the way.

Two small yellow flowers glowed in the murk.

A fat bumblebee bumbled back and forth between them.

Beneath a sky as blue as turquoise 

and clear as clean stream water

we could hear the soft roar of cars,

some rushing through the reservation

some leaving, some trying to leave.

A breeze blew through like a blessing from somewhere.

I could hear his breath-faint wheeze, rough cough.

I could smell him- sage, sweat, tobacco, wood.

The bee came closer, louder than the cars.

He turned to look at me- young white woman bringing food.

His eyes were filled with Tears, and with Light.

I knew I was sitting with a Christ.