Stream of Consciousness During Peter Kater Concert

I am as much as any fabled queen

or reigning Monarch

(even a butterfly)

I am moved beyond caring

What others think

If they are tiresome enough to dislike my I Am

I am enough for having touched the hem of the garment.

I only tell my story to one ear at a time

I am worn out of those who only have their lives

Who interrupt, who interfere

My tolerance is narrowed to nothing of their spectrum

I am reaching back

I pull the past up over me

To shake its discovery & settle it about me

Only if I find it saves the now

Which it never will

No longer being in existence

This is how I know I will fade too

When Time catches up to shake me out

In remembrance.

We are all spectacular

A sea of fireworks

A crackling voice

Summoned from inside

The mind of God

The intelligence of divinity

We are sparklers

In a Child’s hands (our Creator)

To be gazed upon in wonder

To share as a signal burning

In brief being, a heart stilling at our approach

The less I declare, the more I bare

Suspended upon a glissando of time

Fallen about me

Stripping me of thought, idea-free

I simply Am

with no identity at all, Divine.

An exaltation of moments

I have no time for those who do not believe

I’m right here, mirroring your movements

With a dance of my own to explore / implore

Seized by that same Time, shaken in its jaws, immortal

These words will walk before me

Forever: I follow

I am no longer a writer

That has passed…

I await the new, the next, the beyond

At one time, I’d have been anxious

There would be no bottom,

I would fall forever without words

But this was never so, I see.

I am as timeless as you

When the stories fling themselves farther than I can find them

Still, I will walk the earth

Until I walk into my wings & fly.

My records are no longer kept

There will be no memory:

I will be erased as winds upon the seas

As the faraway rumble of an unheard poet

A blessing unsaid

Beleaguered by all it has not done

While these look from windows

To skies that do not bend

But rather continue into blue forever

I have not lost so much

The this I thought

I have rather laid it down

And wandered off, wandered on.

I have let the breath I held so long

Breathe out

I am empty & careless

With little to say

And Eternity just ahead.

A lady-in-waiting

So fulfilled there is nothing more to gain       

So emptied out, the carelessness of life gives way

To benefit in only the absurd

In the thought of one more day

Which defies the blank clocks

This is what happens

When focus narrows

One at a time each thought

Melts to the next

The containers become nets

Centers do not hold

Banks have no tender

When earth is in full function,

The next must move along

The darkness must light

Or become what it is & give way.

The hands must flicker, reaching into

That needing to be carried

What to take

To bring

And why

And where.

The finding & the losing are equal,

Tho some will tell you no

the students will push the professors aside

to forge ahead into knowledge

The conservatives here murdered the “professoria”

There:

This thing about change?

It happens in between

Reality & that place between breath.

The packages are all opened

Their box flaps gape,

I have reached the place where I no longer

Know who I am, or why

And little in between moves me

Or can slow me down

Tho I pace the snail,

 & the turtle feels immortal nearby

The holy is no more

Nor ever was

My beliefs, as I said,

Have never been.

The solid ground has become insubstantial

The national and the local

Have merged inharmoniously even so.

My days of small satisfactions

Matter to me

The air I breathe

The food I eat

Are all I need

I move away

Into obscurity

Carrying out

Some mandate unwrit

Askance

Never breached by immortality

Tho believed in by anyone else

I am rendered null & void

The blankest of checks

In wealth unimagined

Bestirred & limitless

Indeed

Across the trackless desert

The cemented city

The brainless sky

My thoughts streak beyond

And below

There are no surfaces anymore

I am brought finally

To standstill

In front of me a mirror

I can no longer pray

Having become prayer entirely

I recognize my limits

But pay no attention

I have gone.

Experience

Ethical

So lost in the ending I missed the beginning entirely

Or was it off-way round?

It never mattered anyway

Since the continuum overtook

The answer & the question both.
in being lost in myself

I lost the self

The point of the exercise

Broke off

The pencil dulled to charcoal

As I realized any act I create

Is only a momentary level of cognition

For an out-of-body experience

I have busied myself so long

I think I matter

And it’s time to let go of all that

To be the final void.

Chord echoing the space

In between the worlds

I surrender

I am no more

I am no

I am

I.

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“I Always Want A Tomorrow”

tho there will come a day when tomorrow comes no more

and all life goes far away in this three dimensional way

of having hands & feet, a mouth to kiss, hair to comb

a life to help others & put things away

all the ordinary events of the day

spent like coins of the Old Realm

to buy dreams in the New.

Do you think I should have refused?

was there a way to do things otherwise?

I came here to do this: to live as I have

alone & halfway water

belonging nowhere but where I am

and that only scantily.

it was a way to pay it off early

any debt I owed, any fault repaired

so I slipped between the bars & the barriers

to awaken here, my eyes wise with birth

soon clouded with living in so small a space

as a body – enlarged now tho it may be…

I complain no more

I tuck myself into a ball & keep rolling

I move because I can & because there is no other way to live.

And in the unexpected, ordinary morning

I catch myself looking up at a ragged sky

edged & egged in blue with the hoarse clouds ballooning

higher than life itself, the fragile bridges to a firm & total God

the creation in which I am as secure as individuality can make me.

I live now after dying to myself in so many spaces

And who I am is all I am, the wild paths fraught with winds

snatching my words & my blinking my eyes.

this is what counts: the here & now of forever

at which I stare, an idiot believing in sanity

not to be had here or now but only imagined.

With No Time to Consider Her Life

she did so anyway, the thoughts slowing her more

tangling her feet & tugging her ears

those old songs of faraway

no closer than before.

the now crowded about her

spilling into the future, disparaging the past

yet still she clung to what have you, to what might have been

as she clings to this now, knowing nothing else.

“I Was Alone, But That’s Not the Same as Being Lonely“

They spoke of families to visit, of grandchildren & sons,

nieces & daughters, of turkeys waiting to be carved

by the man of the house

while all the women know exactly how to use a knife.

a best-kept secret, that of life & death

where-over the women rule, washing the dead,

touching the wounds with aching fingers

mourning is the same as rejoicing

when death chooses another & calls out its hooting cry.

we women shudder & move aside for we are not the targets

we are only life symbolic & whole, uncommonly bested by life or time or tide

until we say “Basta!” Enough! Until we hold up a right hand to stop the tide no man can ever claim

the secrets all live inside of us & even cutting us open will not these reveal

their seclusion is their elation

their joy is that of all of nature resplendent in the sun.

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The Space Between

There is a gap between loneliness & solitude. I used to spend a lot of time in the former & now find myself firmly ensconced in the latter. Yet I am only now noticing the difference.

When I was a child, I cherished being alone because the only person to be with was Mom & she was demanding at best… “Did you do the list? Ironing? Vacuuming? Polishing?” All I’d done with the list was find a hiding place I thought she’d never look for it. This didn’t work as Mother had a memory beyond normal & was quite willing to review every chore left undone, every sin committed against hearth & home in that category. And she always started with the very first time I’d missed something & worked into the present. So being alone meant I could do just what I wanted & only that.

It became loneliness when I didn’t want to be the only person in the mirror. This was a position I occupied for many years, an Occupation worthy of the name torture.

There came a time when I began to appreciate (tho did not really recognize) that doing these little jobs earned me personal rewards of satisfaction, of fresh environs & clean clothes. I liked keeping up with the house & the sense of accomplishment it brought.

There are many who cannot handle their own company: they cry their missing persons as tho their tears will draw them back. I sure don’t. When you’re gone from my life, especially if I’m the one who’s chosen to put you out of bounds, you’re gone. I say goodbye, erase the contact information anywhere it occurs & pay it no more mind.

Um, this is probably not normal. But I’ve never laid claims to that term personally. I seldom look back & if I do, it is to find something I left behind, not because I’m into remaking the contact.

Others lament relationships gone dry, squandered money & the gaps in life they perceive from these. I move ahead, working around any holes in the emotional landscape until I fill them in. I’m more likely to miss some activity done together than the person I did it with.

There has always been a set-aside for this in me: I don’t feel it should be this easy. But it is. I don’t linger in it, I don’t doubt myself anymore for being the way I am.

I figure I’ve achieved two goals set long ago in my life: nothing left to lose & nothing left to prove. This provides stress relief immeasurable! If I haven’t proven my worth, probably never will. If I have lost because of an encounter, not much I say or do in that newer reality will resolve or bind it back.

I know others feel I’m faking this, but, no, it is real enough. I’ll hang a hat on it & await tomorrow in peace & comfort. I figure I’m made this way, for better or worse, so I may as well get on with life in the new paradigm thus created.

I claim my power & presence in this way. I don’t have to tell my stories anymore – if I don’t care for others’, how much less will they care for mine? I keep the funny ones only & repeat them for best effect.

Could this mean a constant revamping of selfhood? That’s one result of being thus. So many spend life with a crick in their neck from looking behind. I’ve always felt I cannot get ahead gazing over my shoulder.

Less than perfect I stand. Happy in this condition I walk forward. Blessed to the uttermost, I am.

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The Words Themselves, Au Naturel

Got a threesome that’s awesome & just needed someone to write them, I think, somehow they chose me for the word juggle. I read these with fish-lips, open & moist. Where? Who? So raw a fork would not stand up in them. 

It’s hot again. Back in my bathing suit flower coverup with the fan white noising. 

This morning the blog entry caught me by the shoulder & spun me around tho I told it I didn’t have time for this, I had to be out & away soon & still with a shower to take & a forelock to tug to Powers but it pushed me back down & I wrote, putting on this song to write by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3wKzyIN1yk     Seems it needed a specific sound track. I still made it in time to unlock the door correctly & put up the coffee. 

Tonight I wrote the following – another lashing with the lonesome whip but again, just the words climbing up & oozing out from some deep well I thought covered, locked down, inaccessible. No longer needed as a proof of life. So I lay no claim to these: they are kitewords pushing past everything else to fly & I have found the strings in my hands. 

Something is breaking loose here, I run about picking up pieces with no way of putting anything together. 

It gets no better… 

I DIDN’T KNOW

I would live my life alone

Becoming existential

Hovering on non-existent

How could I

Why would I?

How do I not pass a razor over my wrists

Being so?

Were I truly alive

I might be made of memories,

I might have a love or, God be praised!, a lover

I might have been a woman someone could take by the hand

To an altar or a bedroom

To be made holy.

I am not stupid

These words will say it so.

I am too wise over time & experience.

But I sit in the middle of a road

Going both ways

To wonder at direction.

I did not know life could be this way

Or that mine would.

That my hands would be the only caress

Of time over me, that

My words would be my mirror

My reflection growing old with me

Mapping new arcs, new trails to play.

I did not know life could become a lump in the throat

A deceased cat, wounds that never heal

I would not have laid good money across the table

For a deal so rank as this.

For the numinous moments

I have paid. For the wonder of miracles

Experienced on beaches or in backyards

For love dancing always beyond reach

Always an admiration with the space in between

An uncrossable moat, an inaccessible moment

Where someone would love me in return.

Ah yes, I know about God & angels & I have

Talked with the elementals who grew roots on cuttings

For me, on plants I gave away to accommodate

That which walked alive around my life.

This has been the place where I’ve learned independence

From all else, over all else, above all.

This is the location I have reached

Where the familiar & the strange

Suffer each other in a silence broad & unbroken.

Here, of the here & now, this place

Where a heart breaks once again, but there is no blood

Only a sound unuttered.

The Gift Refused

Still trembles, being laid down

Walked away from.

Still holds its own elbows

Twice broken & crooked.

Weak with incomplete repairs

For some wholeness is never achieved.

The trick is to make it not matter

To find that sweet place where it no longer matters:

This imperfection, where a cup never reaches the lips

Held in that hand, where a blessing given from it

Is still whole, still love, from which light

May emanate, inexorable.

And of course, it does

Of course, this hand passes through the walls

I have built with it, the crooked holds with just

A rhyme of leaking.

I have grown into my imperfections,

My incompletions.

I have lost the idea of flawlessness

I think I tripped over it in darkness, an absence of light.

I did not turn it off myself,

Nor did I protest its dimming-out.

It does not matter to no longer be strong

To not care when my sins turn inside out & show to all

Faint, devoid of grace.

I have none of this & all of that & still am clean

As my God made me.

FAME WALKS AWAY

Fading like wallpaper in the sun

Dim & unremembered; it never was

Let alone did it crowd my doors

No paparazzi smoke outside the house

Awaiting my emergence

They are long away on wings of molten fame

Where everything happens to anything

Just like they were told it would.

It’s okay, I’m still friendly

I haven’t bitten any hands offering me food

Nor snarled at those who forget & forgive

With whom I’d be more comfortable should they now.

The old feelings do not abate

Nor fade

They just distance.

But when brought ‘round again

Show up my imitation absolution

For what it is: I am still that

Creature of sin & imperfect reparation

Bewildered separation

Losing light as if it never was.

And that’s okay, after all.

This was never supposed to be the ultimate 24/7

But it was good as it gets

Up to here & that will return.

The ineffable joy of my being

Will refill on the next high tide

At some point, I will no longer notice

What never was.

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Prayer & the CommonWoman

Prayer is not necessarily a comfort zone. Prayer is where you go toe to toe with God. Human perceptions do not always apply here. How many have defined God to a perception? Is your God big enough to forgive that which you yourself cannot – atrocity, harm, pain, disability, disinformation? And if your God IS big enough, are you? Can you forgive a God Who forgives these?

Does your God only dwell in that which you consider positive – the newest of life, the best of life, the “god-given” of life? It is among the largest of minds only where God dwells within the most life-denying. That’s my boundary: if it is a denial of life, there is no God there. But the definitions here slim into invisibility, boundaries slip & waver. Yes, the devils are here among us & hide behind brittle facades of good works while undoing these very efforts, binding them with red tape & a powerful taint of “you’re not good enough to succeed.”

How do we overcome this? I love the thought of an unlimited God, but the boundaries I have set for myself rub up against that perception since I live in a limited body. God can fly, I can’t. God needs no physical food, I border on gluttony at times. God allows all I find distasteful or to be of an excess beyond reasonable, I bark & howl at the leash I’ve set upon my own neck by not enlarging my vision so. However, my “only human” status has encased my power-full, enormously loving, capable, miraculous being into a tiny membrane subject to gravity, to a need for energy replacement, to all to which God seems so much larger & more magnificent as to exempt Itself from.

And still.

I come up against / go up against myself in a brutal mirror when I pray. I admit to what I do not believe I am while knowing I am that. Somehow I balance it out to feeling better from prayer rather than finding myself lacking. I know this is because the confrontation that takes place makes me better for simply having walked up to it. It follows me out of the room whispering & guiding me into zones where I wish to remain since they seem to keep my “better side” more accessible to me & available to everyone else.

Prayer tells me “nothing” is not. Prayer tells me demons can be cast out, the unlife seeming manifest all over can be diminished into nonexistence – which is from whence it springs anyway. Prayer is in-form-ing me to be a more successful, huger, force of energy which only creates a betterment of everything touched. Prayer flies me when I my feet are laced in gravity  boots, prayer shuts down my physical hunger for spiritual sustenance, prayer allows humanity to show off in all the ways I find too loud or too noisesome. Prayer tells me being an everyday heroine is my happy place & tells me this is not the hardest place in the world to live from.

Prayer hurts, heals, has. Prayer is an energetic moving me forward when I just want to stay where I am in my own funk, fugue, fog, fear.

Communication is the only function of humanity. Prayer is that with my God, so fiercely personal & inhumanly possible that this me barely tolerates being in meditation.

Where do I go from here?

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Petite Large or Fitting In

While discovery, uncovering & some strange music playing over the speakers of life, I remained silent. I wondered if the muse had gone back to NM after experiencing Florida humidity. But it turns out she can get into the passenger seat, or actually drive our vehicle, but it’s simpler when the fit is good these days. She used to be so available in times of turmoil but I have gotten away from these – whether it’s the Hyland’s Calm I now carry instead of breath mints, or the ideas settling like sugar in the bottom of the cup for that last sweet sip, it’s a change for the better & a huge relief to psyche & physical.

I have found a job I can love & participate in to the betterment of all concerned.

I had decided on doing only something new – being a store stocker in a huge chain of expensive, gorgeous acquisitions, import buys & layouts by top interior decorators. I interviewed, was accepted, was then put into a maelstrom of orientation videos, still shots, ideas about how to work balers & large equipment (very carefully, it seems). I was made to try to get my Android phone to do iPhone activities & rolled eyes at when it just would not do that. I was tested beyond my age limits just to open boxes & stack stuff – my idea of simplicity in today’s complex hi-tek world.

Well, I’m not a shopper. The videos showed me oceans of merchandise I normally put my hands behind my back to see after securing my purse to neutral… the kind of stuff I shake my head at & say, “does someone really need this?” where price tags are oversize to accommodate the prices.

I have not had money enough or access either to any stores other than thrifts of recycle/reuse/redone or cobbles from Farmer’s Market crafters still beyond my budget. My last great buy was a faux-vinyl purse at the World’s Attic Store on half-off day. And I had anxiety about overspending then! I’m not on any social media – even Twitter which rejected me handily over a Trump comment has totally closed its anal sphincter to my handle – so I’m at level of country bumpkin in the city at this point of life & happy to watch paint dry on a cool day. (I have the feeling using the term ‘country bumpkin’ pretty much shows current status, yeh?)

So here I was, in a gorgeous store worthy of 5th Avenue New York, pristine & clean-smelling, thinking wowsa, kiddo, you’ve arrived. Then they brought me into the room where I’d be working: dim, crowded, unfinished warehouse space with a diesel-emitting truck chugging outside the portal, cardboard in layers beyond a monkey’s climb & an assault of what I call “stank” immediate & stomach-turning. “And THIS is where you’ll work!” they crowed as if ushering me onstage for America’s Got Talent. “O Lord, how will I ever?” was my immediate thought but I could not back up: management stood behind me gesturing grandly.

Once again divine grace came into play, a Tinkerbell of love not bothering with a doorbell, but coming right through the walls. I am offered & hired instead to a job for which I’d volunteered at my Unity: a part-time position paying more & with better hours, a space in an office overlooking a park campus (the spot the mailmen park to have a break for lunch & the Opera Guild choose to meet.) I was literally plucked from Dante’s Third Circle & given executive parking privileges outside pearled gates.

My new job does not involve razor blades, conveyor belts, standing on a rubber mat or STANK. It will be familiar, comfortable & a return to early confidence gained by competence & practice from many years of office environmental experience. It involves no social media, no passwords, one alarm system & ball point pens rather than huge carry carts of delicate porcelain. There are no gold-footed ceramic elephants to relocate, nor 8′ rolled rugs imported from countries with exotic germs & scary embedded creatures in the creases.

I need to find a Rolodex somewhere to simplify things even more. And those plastic sheets that hold business cards, a few 3-ring binders & maybe even bookends (for $11 at Staples). I need to dress business casual & wear a nametag & a smile rather than an apron…

What I need is to offer my joy up in thanks for the rescue & the wand-wave Tink popped up with to work this magic in my life.

Thank you to all the saints! Gone from Isaac Asimov to Maeve Binchy in a stroke!

4

Exit Ian: Buh-Bye!

The list of shelters & transports lie twisted in the trash. The windows are open for the gorgeous fresh air blowing through. The outside shrubs scratch on the windows instead of bang. Ian has scuffled off to make thrashing entry emands elsewhere. The eyewall no longer peers overhead. Palms return to their usual majestic heights after being furiously wrestled for 24 hours. All heaves a collective ”Whew!”

There’s cleanup & catch-up & celebrations to be planned but we are spared the hovering storm stirring up havoc outside. That bunny last seen running frantically past the bushes out back might go home today once his burrow drains. My visions of the car tumbling down the street dissipate.

The windows & doors are open: beautiful cooler air gentles through the house. Have jeans on for the first time since June! And a shirt with sleeves! The fabric feels good. The potatoes I cooked up in advance will go well with breakfast.

There’s no internet yet. (I write this at 6:46 EST.) Our neighborhood never lost electric power tho it did some crazy Morse Code blink-dancing all day. This morning’s shower felt grand – I was able to let the tub drain out. For the first time in months, I dialed up warm water! I mean, it’s Florida, even a couple of Fall temperature days are to be totally appreciated.  Everything will likely stay closed as tentative explorations are made & cleanup crews power up buzzsaws, landscape trucks let fall their back gates to unpack tools & machinery.

Thank you to everyone who prayed this storm away, whose forces of grace & lack of fear bore it off land & out to sea. We are scrubbed & drubbed & squeaky clean once more if a bit exfoliated.

My shiniest personal thanks go to everyone who called, texted, emailed & told me what was going on since I choose to live in a Cave of Unknowing, avoiding media as much as I can. All good wishes are most truly appreciated & held close to heart!

Time to put plans into action & drum up a new life.

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A Realization

Readings no longer provide me with much information. All paths are now open to me. With none contraindicated, I am able to make good on any one of these. I recognize & organize all powers to my good.

The incoming storm pulled me into the reading at which I realized this. I always hope for good guidance & now understand all I’m doing is sorting through street signs when I already know where I am & the way to go. These only await the doing to achieve the imprimatur of reality. My reality is no one else’s: imagine this! In a world of billions, no one else lives my life with my emotional signature or ideas! No one speaks my words nor understands in the same way as I do.

My taste receptors have changed, that tells me to eat less. I used to eat with a kind of desperation, with the idea my best satisfaction came from that activity. What was I attempting to recapture? Where else can I achieve satiety? It is the memory of another me – the former me – the distractive & unknowing me of yesterday. (I notice I largely remember to whom I’ve told my stories, while listening to those of others ad infinitum. It’s pushing a button: one word releases their tape to recite the speech I have heard before. I realize I am given what I asked for – New Thoughts! I am not shackled to my stories anymore. I can discriminate as to what needs to be heard so I know what is to be shared. If every word makes an impression, why dig the groove that takes me back to that nonproductive mindset from which I repeat the fight to be free?

This recent reading does tell me it is time to enact. There’s the place where my energy will grow into that in which others wish to participate. Each written word is a presage to speaking it.

It’s close. I can feel it. I can taste it in the Now.

0

Epilogue & Epiphany: Both Sides Now

I stare into the hurricane whose eye will not blink.

Many changes are in the offing (offering) of life. Now is as good a time as any to break open the piggybank of experience & count the coins. I give gratitude for the gifts & guilts of my existence. I have lived through so many changes & approach the imminent & eminent with calm reflection.

Where will I be five days from now? Floating out to sea (to see) or lying cold on a slab, I am ready for any ending & all new beginning in equal measure.

I look at myself & find no fear. I look into myself, finding only incubating change.  Even in the storm, the ocean retains its blue-gray beauty. I am of that same inevitability. I know the bedrock presence of Life no matter what.

The house is as secure as we can make it which means little when Nature focuses to bear down in Category Four force…pushing a wall of wind & water ahead. There is little safety on the surface, but I experience the clarity I traveled so far to find.

Rain pats down its Braille of gentle touch before meeting itself in rising water. Though inland from the beaches, I am exposed on all levels.

My change approaches at bullet train speed. The life cargo remains…yesterday I sealed packets at church – my DNA is in strange places forever.

Shall I write an entry or a eulogy? How many have this opportunity? Words will never dance to anyone else’s music as they have to mine! My uniqueness may be engulfed or overrun, but it will never be replicated.

It is time to ask yet again the meaning of life to manifest. I am proud of what I have accomplished even if my confused little heart has lost the Order of its yuan shen (Prime Directive.) It has ordered me about & I obeyed. I brought life to that which I thought in my own way. I have lived in many rooms where my energy still burns.

I write a farewell of sorts: this experience may be a grand exclamation point whether I go or stay. The universe landed me here at this time. I am lucky to have lived my heartbreaks early so more delight & joy may run before me, scattering rose petals of sublime expectation, of colorful invitation.

Bring me Home. I allow & welcome all revisions to the lifeline. Once upon a time I prayed hard for New Thoughts & now I write the words to bring truth to the request. I unwrap a totally individual Birthday Gift.

I am a light-bringer, a light-bearer. I know my days will never be the same as before. But this is only one timeline among many & I will be remembered with love for each encounter.

I’m ready, now, to blink.

Love,

Carol

7

A Birthday of Blessing

Being fully human: I am fully divine.

I am based in blessing

Rooted in divinity

Wrought in the free will of Self

Ablaze at times with the incandescence of a life well-lived

My joys are a playground of opportunities

The games they engender

Call through my windows

The call to prayer is also the call to play.

We are celebrants to Mystery

Dabblers in proven technology of partnership with God

Wanderers across trackless land

   Wrinkled sea

Our journeys return us, as always, to Heaven

The God Who sent me sends this storm

Spending me as profligate coin

Emotions discovered / recovered to Thee return

On that investment.

Bring me forth again, O Lord?

Take me into the marketplace of Your love

Use me to indulge Your desires

Circulate me in Your world: I wear Your fingerprints

I invest all wisdoms saved up from Love

Treasures indeed of a holy gathering

Help, health, insight & interest…

Pocket me with pleasure, God,

The shining copper penny, the one among the many

Allow my return over & over

As the bearing of Your spiritual tender

I am Yours alone until I rejoin the All

Here I am, Lord of Love

   Ka-ching!

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