Dream

I saw a million faces down by the sea,

In the sand, each grain differently etched

Cozied up to rocks and seagrass strands,

Not caring about where they were

Or why, or how, or any such thing.

And I looked so longingly for the face 

of my own heart, in the the watery film,

For I knew it once. I know I did.

In shadow and in light, it didn't matter,

for I felt it's constant beating with each breath.

But it seems to have been burried.

And now the harder I look,

the more lost I become.

The deeper the mud sinks.

So, I stop looking.

Because coming up short,

after each endevour

is just too painful a thing.

I want to, I want to, though.

How do you ride a bicycle on a tightrope over the grand canyon when you can't even walk and you don't know what a bicycle is because you were raised in the North Pole and they only have sleds, there?

I hear you. I see you.

There's a dizziness in me, 

needing stilling

& a certain silence is necessary.

At times looking away

as the needle goes in,

or the bandaid's ripped off

can make the process easier.

I am distracting myself, honestly.

But I trust healing is taking place.

A watched pot never boils...

Or a million other excuses.

Just let me heart take a bitty nap.

When it wakes,

It will know your arms 

and hands and soul, again

I'm sure.

Beauty

        This week, I'll be an explorer with those I love.
I'm looking forward to crossing the Sierras and seeing great tall pines, the cold wind blow in the evening treetrops peeking at the last bit of sun.. and visiting northernly fish and looking through clear water down to pebbly lake-bottom, and being reminded that love is real and all around us, in the air, and in those we care for.  C.S. Lewis says it far better than I:

"The [things] in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them,and what came through them was longing.  These things... are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited."

        Dear God-Above, 

May we finally arrive in this country and explore it all our live-long lives.