Prayer to the Beloved

Great spirit, who exists at my core  

and in whom I exist: I am thankful,  

in awe and delight at your closeness. 

Fill and take over the land of my life, 

and open before me the road I must go. 

You present me with wealth of body and mind;

I am sorry that I continually hurt 

and neglect other people, thinking of myself.

And I let go of their hurting of me. 

You are there beyond the places of evil  

where I end up, in denial and weakness;

you offer ways through, ways to grow. 

You are here, oh beloved,

always have been, always will be. 

 

Do not pray

Do not pray and live the ordered life

because you ought to; go and live

to your extreme until you fail and fall

and find you cannot live unless

you pray and live the ordered life.

 

God's Bucket

If thankfulness for this dear life

rich with the wealth of ample living

rosy the health of simple living

joy in the love of even one other

strong in the love of even oneself

safe in the love of that which gives life –

if this does not rise, a well within,

then quietly sit and with God’s bucket

haul it up: practise the work of gratitude.

Soon it bubbles and surges – here it comes

sparkling – inundates, irrigates, floods

the glad fields, opens new channels,

becomes a new habit.

 

Are You Ancestors 

Are you ancestors or angels, or those I knew 

who died, who cluster round me in the night?  

You teach me in a language I’ve forgotten 

and when I wake, the early morning murmurs 

with your departing voices. Then I find 

you’ve left it all inside me – your will, 

your wisdom, light, your voice, your love. 

I spent the night within you; now, you are within. 

 

Grace lands

Sometimes grace explodes –

a blast of bliss

like the hit of a drug

and you hope maybe this

will last for ever.

 

But most times, grace lands disregarded,

a seed in damp earth silently settles

and if you let the pain of its rooting

penetrate you,

before you know it, branches of joy

and leaves of contentment

shelter the heart,

and in cool green shadow

a pillar of oak

stands at your centre.

 

The Blood and Bone Shop of the Heart 

with acknowledgement to W.B.Yeats 

 

Ladders of deceit rise and disappear

in what looks like light but is thin air. 

Clamber two rungs up, slip three back down, 

desperate to succeed, we elbow aside 

our fellow climbers, misstep and slide, 

fleeing the terrible basement below, 

down there where all the ladders start 

in the blood and bone shop of the heart. 

 

In flesh is leavened the bread of our offering, 

while blood ferments the wine of new will: 

Your yeast in our being, our essence distilled 

in the crucible of truth and pain and light  

which only those discover who descend  

to where love begins and self-seeking ends.