Ruah Bull - Spiritual Director

 I go to the mountain side of the house to cut saplings, and clear a view to snow on the mountain. But when I look up, saw in hand, I see a nest clutched in the uppermost branches. I don't cut that one. I don't cut the others either. Suddenly, in every tree, an unseen nest where a mountain would be.

Not seeing The room is white Until that red apple.        

,  It's not magic; it isn't a trick. Every breath is a resurrection. And when we hear the poem Which is the world, when our eyes Gaze at the beloved's body, We're reborn in all the sacred parts Of our own bodies: The heart Contracts, the brain Releases its shower Of sparks And the tear Embarks on its pilgrimage Down the cheek to meet The smiling mouth.