Long-ish Form

Our Mother Who is among us Holy is your name We are your kingdom  You writhe within, awakening us May we make a heaven of this earth.  May we share the love-made bread Of your table,  This day.  Heal our sickly hearts Even as we attend to the  Wounds of those beside us.  Lead us, Warrior Priestess,  Into battle. For our good, Deliver to our hands  New ways of being. For this world is yours And we are its people;  We are Your kingdom, we are Your glory. Now, then, and forever

Oh aren’t there stars / Shining somewhere? / And I know you are here, / Sitting on this patio with / Porch lights, a holy candelabra, / Cigarette incense wafting towards the watching moon. 

To be human is to love the sound of your own voice, to be transfixed by the telling Of your story. Our Stories are the first way that we embody god; the first way that we learn their name is through hearing our own. If you are afraid to speak, too little or too much, remember that the world was spoken into being. Our Stories are our Shapers; we shape ourselves through them. We do not so much manifest things outside ourselves as we manifest them in our mouths. What do you emb

A Meditation Shape me into an instrument Of  peace; Grant me serenity to accept  What is not mine to change,  To change  what you have given me to shape: Sow love where there is fear, Hope where despair would grow, Forgiveness in the furrows of my wounds. Embroider me with wisdom, Threads from the hem of your  Garment spread over the cold  Immeasurable universe. May I always see the stone beneath my feet;  Eternal Flame, light the lamp I use  To   choose between the roads  Pa