Pseudo Spring

What is winter doing

with the likes of spring?

Purple flower propagate

and wolf spiders wander 

in the fresh new green.

The wattle begins to bud, 

The blowflies buzz

as the first premature mosquito

makes his barbarous debut

There's nothing like a hug 

from the winter sun

As we lie supine

The whites of our thighs glisten 

as the icy southern wind 

licks our legs and sets our hairs upright

The butcherbird has a prodigy

To carry his song

Sporting a fresh new down of brown 

to show he will belong

Looking down upon us

his mother beckons with little clicks of her hooked beak 

and looks at me with refulgent eyes

she knows i know it wont be long

we exchange food for a song.

How i love my speudo spring

it's still winter but im not afraid 

of what the wind will bring

"Some Questions You Might Ask"

Is the soul solid, like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, like
the wings of a moth in the beak of the owl?
Who has it, and who doesn’t?
I keep looking around me.
The face of the moose is as sad
as the face of Jesus.
The swan opens her white wings slowly.
In the fall, the black bear carries leaves into the darkness.
One question leads to another.
Does it have a shape? Like an iceberg?
Like the eye of a hummingbird?
Does it have one lung, like the snake and the scallop?
Why should I have it, and not the anteater
who loves her children?
Why should I have it, and not the camel?
Come to think of it, what about the maple trees?
What about the blue iris?
What about all the little stones, sitting alone in the moonlight?
What about roses, and lemons, and their shining leaves?
What about the grass?

Mary Oliver

"Love so vast, 

love the sky cannot contain, 

How does all this fit within my heart?" 

- Rumi

Someday you will hear all things applaud your wonder.

Life claps in awe of the Divine’s performance.

When your veil is removed, you, dear –

you, everyone — will see that your being is Holy.

Who would want to stand before a mirror that was shattered,

and thus distorts our beauty 

that is so fragile 

as we grow.

An oasis for all life the soul becomes

when it is unveiled.

—Meister Eckhart

"Dig Here," The Angel Said

She caught me off guard when my soul said to me,

"Have we met?"

So surprised I was to hear her speak like that

I chuckled.

She began to sing a tale: "There was once a hardworking man

who used to worry so much because he could

not feed and clothe his children and

wife the way he wanted.

There was a beautiful little chapel in the village

where the man lived and one day while

he was praying, an angel

appeared.

The angel said, 'Follow me.' And he did out into an ancient forest.

'Now dig here,' the angel said. And the man felt strength in

his limbs he had not known since youth and with just

his bare hands he dug deep and found a

lost treasure, and his relationship

with the world changed."

Finding our soul's beauty does that--gives us

tremendous freedom

from worry.

"Dig here," the angel said--

"in your soul,

in your

soul."

~St. John of the Cross

How

Did the rose

Ever open its heart

And give to this world

All its

Beauty?

It felt the encouragement of light

Against its

Being.

Otherwise,

We all remain

Too

Frightened.

- Hafiz