Waning moon
Stars, small suns to other worlds,
the smell of morning.
No matter the evil,
the ugly,
or the political,
the Mystery is still here.
Can we remember this?
©photo and poem by caf
The Mystery
Tag: mystery
A Mother’s Blessing
Imagine how happy Earth was
the day you opened your new born eyes
and drew your first breath
in a green forest that
sheltered unfolding ferns, wildflowers, fledglings
and you – an innocent fawn.
The mourning doves cooed,
ground hogs danced
the nearby hills murmured with astonishment.
Others gathered to see you
sniff your freshness
admire your raw, emerging awareness
And the forest sang you a birthing song
of greeting and sheltering …
Welcome new one to a space of wonder,
fields, streams, sunshine and rain.
This will be your home for a short while
until the Spirit that birthed you calls you home.
May your wildness be a blessing
a beacon for all to see how plain innocence
can be a way of life,
and unconditional living
is the truest nature of all creatures.
May you grow in grace and ease.
May confident peace and joy
move freely through your soul.
May you know wonder as a friend
and parcel of your own nature.
May you find comfort in the soul
that weaves all together
and is your truest home.
Amen.
©poem and photo by caf
The Mystery
Waning moon
Stars, small suns to other worlds
the smell of morning.
No matter the evil,
the ugly,
or the political,
the Mystery is still here.
©photo and poem by caf
Blessing for a Candle
Blessing for a Candle
The candle burns
a hollow in her heart
where Light settles, plants itself and grows
to brighten and warm her soul
body, mind
in the cold of these dark times.
The wick burrows deeply
into the fuel of its flame
the waxy substance, the ground
on which it burns
sinking deeper into the core of its life
She learns the thing
that feeds her,
the stuff she eats to live
and scatters to the air.
The flame her Being,
the flicker her Breath
the light her Vision
the darkness?…some would say death
some would say mystery,
the match, the secret sparking of her life
in the cold of these dark times.
©photo and poem by caf
The Mystery
Waning half moon
Stars small suns to other worlds
The smell of morning
No matter the evil,
the ugly,
or the political
The mystery is still here.
©photo and poem caf
Fog and Shadow
Fog and Shadow
This morning her drowsy heart throws off its covers
as she runs to the window and sees the thick fog
softening the edges of vapor filled light and shadow.
Blurry air conceals a presence not quite seen.
Misty mystery encircles large trees
home for familiars.
Secrets and adventures expect discovery
within the soft dimly lighted air.
Voices of the air – geese, ravens –
pierce the shadows covering the entrance to the otherwhere.
Cloaked prophets call from shrouded zones
bearing witness to what lives in hidden spaces.
Who can see through fog?
Who can arouse the oracle living in the filmy veil of shadow?
Whose face is that glowing and elusive?
Who murmurs in light and deep tones?
She moves into the dark side of the vapors
sliding between worlds
to the place where fog and shadow
sing to the clear light,
to magic,
to enchantment,
to the potential of embryos sprouting in the darkness,
to the birth of fire.
Lingering, listening, leaving
before she can hear the whole truth of unseen worlds,
she longs for the shadow, the unknowable, the impenetrable,
the center of the labyrinth.
The place where God creates and angels are still.
by caf
©photo and poem by caf
Angel of the Labyrinth
I walked the labyrinth with your hand in my pocket
and your voice on my shoulder.
Your shoes walked with me
and we saw that there are barriers in life
and you can jump them sometimes if you want,
but if you do you find yourself someplace
you were supposed to be earlier or later
but not now.
The smoothest way in or out is to follow the path
without leaping the stones, though you know you can,
until you reach the center
where the way of return is not what you think
and is unrecognizable, although it mirrors the way in.
If you don’t follow the path you could be lost in the maze.
I heard your voice say
“It takes a lot of patience, but
what else are we here to do, except follow the path to its end
where it begins again, notice what’s in our way
one foot, then the other
breathing, opening, paying attention.”
I say “I’m so happy to have you on this path with me, so glad you return when I call you, and wistful when you go.”
Tell me a truth”, I say to you
“Tell me what you’ve learned over there after you finished the labyrinth.”
“Things just are” you reply. “Just look and enjoy, there is nothing else to know.”
CAF
©Carole Fults photo and poem