Morning Communion
Allow me to shed concern for the sake of communion—in the heartland of the soul’s silence. May this reverence slip seamlessly like pearls of dew onto the day.
With deepening devotion, missteps grow meaningless. The path overflows: a domed luminosity that contains and leads on.
Communion renders the blessing of hallowed silence. All is well and possible. God has never abandoned; only I have wandered away. Life is redolent of His grace and love.
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Life contains scenes, real and imagined, but its tenor sprouts from deeper ground.
All happenings pass away, lost in the vibrancy of some new reality. The importance of today’s luster is ephemeral, a dying ember in the coming of dawn.
Our days are soon gone. Now is the time to cross the divide and explore new lands, bearing witness to experience. In the flowering of spirit, life springs forth—from the treasure trove of truth, the realm of the sacred.
Awakening
FORGIVENESS
Forgiveness sparks the soul—
when, in surrender,
I find strength to freely give
the love that God has given.
Love is for giving,
unencumbered by condition—
rendering blessed peace,
relief from stirring hunger.
May we truly spend this life,
with time still left to wonder
how forgiveness, humbly—
inspires the soul from slumber.
PRESENCE
Turning from Presence, the path fades away—
until remembering, I follow,
intuiting how and where to step.
The wellspring rings eternal, finding entrance
as I peer through the entanglement—
to the radiance of fertile ground.
Presence lights the Way for eyes just awakened—
through the rowdy playing field,
up the still silence of Heaven.
In Remembrance
Today is Chris’s birthday. He would have been 38. Our love remains, a golden thread spanning the ages.
Chris journeys through the sheer glow of Heaven. A rock climber in life, he now climbs unbound.
Happy birthday, dear son. I feel your humble spirit and the holy heights that beckon. May you drink from streams of milk and honey and be garlanded with stardust. You have my heart, today and always.
Reflections of a Son
On May 31, 2003, my son died in a rock climbing accident in Yosemite National Park. He was twenty-five.
After Chris died, I created a manuscript about his life, which included many poems. Later, the manuscript was culled into a book without poems. In remembrance, for the 11th anniversary of Chris’s fall, I am sharing a few of the poems.
Love’s Angel expresses the sense of Chris’s freedom following death. Growing Up and Reverie cast light on his character and love of life. The final unnamed poem reflects on my experience of loss as a whole.
Love’s Angel
Chris is Love’s angel,
such wealth untold;
I feel his sparkling Presence—
stardust turned to gold.
Love is not earth’s servant—
rather rapture on the wing.
Love flames mortal hearts,
then soars to hear seraphs sing.
Angels flit among us
like shining shafts of light—
Some linger but a moment,
then spiral into flight.
Away, away—
to Love’s sweet home.
I’ll know you by the ash
you hail from heaven’s dome.
Growing Up
Chris grew up and up,
an unwieldy clatter of bones
ahead of himself.
He was the tallest kid in class.
While playmates tilted
to tease or taunt,
he tied knots in their shoes,
and learned to laugh at himself.
At six foot five the kid settled in—
a slick, swift, lanky
gem of a guy,
though they say he couldn’t dance!
When others cracked up,
he’d jazz it up,
bobbing above the crowd.
Goofy or graceful, it was all the same.
Chris rolled with the rhythm of life.
Reverie
Chris danced the elfin jig
under a crescent moon.
He leaped to touch the arc
of a rainbowed afternoon.
Live your life, forget the strife,
Whirl and twirl; be free!
The wind is heckling clouds,
and the sun glitters glee.
Chris juggled feathers
strewn by wayward flocks.
He gazed on nature’s splendor,
whistling on the rocks.
Laugh and play your nimble days,
tread lightly on the earth.
Rain is clapping; trees are sapping—
My love is full of mirth.
Unnamed
Loss is loss of pleasure—
the pleasure of a tantalizing smile.
But what is loss compared to love,
when love is all the good worthwhile?
Through faith, miracles work
to rouse the tender twinge to wing.
Through loss I probe that deeper well
to tap the silent mystic spring.
When Chris was 14, he discovered rock climbing. His brave journey as a rock climber and my climb from despair after he died come to life in the book Freedom to Fall. To order a copy, click on the appropriate link above.
Carry On
My daughter has a favorite song that she plays daily: “Carry On” by Fun. It is her source of inspiration in a time of recovery, while she is mine—
Beneath the surface, a voice is softly singing, enticing me to cast aside uncertainty and freshly mint my life: Carry on, carry on.
Accepting life’s conditions allows us to keep the creative spirit alive—from caringly attending to details to fervently expressing faith. To not spend time in overcoming but to use the gifts at hand, treasuring what we have.
The beauty of life is that illumined songs catch on. What once belonged to the creator belongs to everyone. What once were words of prophets become our own.
I have a beautiful daughter full of light and love. A song inspires her life in trying times while she inspires mine.
Morning Song Reflections 