Ruah Bull - Spiritual Director

  Mother's Day Haiku All is illumined The body of God is here Our breath is Her Breath "Holy' men look up- Afraid of that which birthed them- This Creating One Why the drive to leave? "Christ is all, and is in all" Earth a sacrament Ascension expands Through each space/time dimension Light and Dark sisters To go up, go down Matter is contracted Light Each stone a still saint

 Like that moment before time when silence falls pregnant with sound when stillness dreams of movement and brain and tongue  seek the first creating word a flicker/ snowdrops an encouragement of light It is right to hope and wise to trust for in every once again beginning the promised pronouncement  It is good

 A new king! Who will destroy our enemies, Banish the unclean, Restore us to sweet righteousness You ride that humble donkey For you are one of us And when your chariot is of gold our  pockets will be full  There are agitators in the crowd "You don't get it; You don't get it" We have ways to silence them With shouts and fronds and arms You are here to save us And make our people great again. Victory is now. Hosanna!

 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.

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 

 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

Their god a broken child become a breaking man clung to the cloak of power and called forth violent worship- flags, guns, crosses, noose While others, in humbling wisdom, surrendered before the naked infinite One this shocking, vulnerable love- gold, frankincense, myrrh, self

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.

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

 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

 Nailed to the silent cross Of soul-breaking Empire- We stand amid the lost Angels, held back weeping No presence, comfort, power Displayed before those jeering But cries of trust, despair and blessing And love that is unmaimed The Father, stricken, waiting You see and hear from hell and Hell Each tortured empty heart That begs and yes: this Mercy

What if I could make a list the purpose of which was not the willful joy of crossing things off? What if I made a list of noticings, say: flowering blue sage my husbands work-rough hands the turned off radio red tail on a telephone pole loneliness What if every list,  or some, broke this pencil and released the scent of clean grey lead

  Hope stains my heart with the very face of Love tending to this world

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.

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

Lean your true heart Into that beckoning Love, And All are One.

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

To attend like this small dog at the gopher hole- Wait!- what arises?