to the left of the centre

if you exact with a surgeon’s skill,

to the left of the center,

beneath the bony shield of sternum,

suspended in tough ligament,

nestled in a spongy notch of lung,

you will see the pumping, deep pink muscle

that keeps blood pulsing

through me.

if you close your eyes and reach me

to the left of the center you will see

a throne where I worship at His feet

a soft chair where He whispers to me

a legacy, victory, my daughter Tori

friends who carry me when I am weak

who mirror back my grace and beauty

a precious bridge walking to trust and intimacy

broken bodies healing

          through Loving support and connected feeling

psalm 23, john 15, 16, 17

(Jesus prayed for me!)

van gogh churches and starry scenes

satie, rodin and debussy

parisian streets and cemeteries

a daisy

family heritage, reworked, redeemed

to the left of the center come meet me

This post was created in response to the prompt "to the left of the centre" at

je suis belle

"je suis belle"

no matter how great

his mortal strength
her eyes plead
the horizon
for safe passage
an escape from
unwarranted
uninvited
idolatry that reigns
when he tries
to name her
to save her from
the shame that
always lurks
in her shadow

every sinew in

his form strains

with the weight

of her oppression

his arms engulf her

without connection

to her soul

his embrace

embodies the fortress

that keeps her

from flight

absolution abides beyond              

her captivity

where Redemption flings wide

the gate to her freedom



 

Photos taken at the Rodin Museum, Philadelphia PA

(top) "Je Suis Belle"

(center foreground) "Je Suis Belle"

(center background) "Shame (Absolution)

(bottom) "Shame (Absolution)"

 

gathering blue (just outside my door)





just outside my door





job well done









montmartre knocker



desert beauty









poetry is-



Shipwreck Beach, Monhegan Island ME



poetry is-

...the tumultuous tide

hurling hustled vessels

careening through the surf

...the raucous rainstorm  

decorating mangled angles

oxidizing on the craggy beach      

...the viscous fog

suffocating mindless motion

lulling the soul to rest.

...the prevailing power

rending form and function

imparting a new existence.



history

my response to the Random Acts of Poetry prompt:

conversations

I am not sure exactly how I was led to the High Calling website, but the Photoplay, “Conversations”, enticed  me to jump right in and join the community.  As a photographer I love the challenge of seeking an image to convey a given message, and as a speech pathologist, I have been privy to some of the most miraculous conversations.  Many of these exchanges have taken place without the use of spoken words, in a quiet intimacy between two hearts listening and responding to each other.

I worked with my friend Michael for several hours during morning boot camp (www.CampCarekids.org) this past week.  Michael is an amazing 20-something young man with an enormous spirit and a body, at best, that resembles a crumpled bedcover.  Our “conversation” covered the following thoughts:  We were happy to see each other.  Michael had just completed his therapy intensive for the summer.  His parents are looking for a new day program for him but he’d rather just come to Crossroads to do his work.  It feels good for Michael’s twisted body to be stretched out on the mat, and it is a lot of work for him to be up on his elbows with his body across my lap for better positioning.  I need to keep working out, and step it up a bit.  With a little support to his forehead he can look around and see what his friends are doing.  Later on, Michael uttered his first word of the day, “home.”  He wanted to leave and see his father, who hadn't made the trip.

When I work with my patients, I let go of my head noise so I can hear them.  I hear their voices through their eye gaze, in their smiles, in the tension or relaxation of their muscles, in an accelerated heart rate or a relaxing sigh.  I listen with my hands as I hold them and help them move or rest.  We move together, resisting gravity, or in opposition, negotiating a goal.  Through the fear and resistance, I hear some of the most incredible songs and stories, vulnerabilities, conquests and dreams that God has placed in human hearts.  Sometimes there are few words.  Sometimes there are so many words a deeper meaning begs excavation from below the surface.

At the end of that day, my body was tired but I was feeling especially at peace.  I awoke the next morning with the realization that I had been blessed with a conversation that I didn’t easily recognize.  During our workout, Michael “spoke” to me of great love, not of “doing” because I was helping him, but of “being” because God created me.    It’s the transformative kind of love that God wants to lavish upon us.  I must confess that although I seek to bless with that kind of love, my heart is often too guarded and my mind too distracted to receive it.

My time with Michael reaffirmed the truth that we are not called to love in spite of a person’s perceived flaws, struggles, defects or differences from us.  We are not called to pray to fix what makes us uncomfortable or irritated, or to manipulate a situation.  We are called to love as the Father loves (John 13:34-45),  with vision that sees beyond the outward covering and into the heart (1 Samuel 16:7).  How beautiful our conversations must sound to Him when we slow down, listen and respond to each other with worshipful hearts, eyes, hands and spirits, surrendered in intimacy as He created us to be!

  

irony

striving hands toil ceaselessly

to serve created idols

when You graciously

tear them from my grasp

i clutch their shadow

and dare shake fists at the sky

(outcome contrary to what is expected)

surrendered hands rest humbly

palms facing skyward

when You graciously

pour into them Your design

life is bigger than

hands could ever hold

(outcome contrary to what is expected)

irony