Sacrament

Tell me
what would you pay
for a blade of grass
or a rainbow?

How much
is a breath
of fresh air
worth?

Living here
in this fertile land
it's easy
to take the sun
and rain
for granted

The earth
lies robbed
wounded
at the feet
of our greed
and neglect

Our children
stand impoverished
and uncertain
the inheritors
of our greed
and neglect

We have taken
and not given

We have said
neither please
nor thankyou

We have fallen
a long way short
of our caretaker
commission

Yet Creation
blesses us
regardless

God gives us
his sacrament
of love
in seed and leaf
flower and fruit

Rain and sunlight
fall the same
on the innocent
and unjust

But like tears
and burning fever
on the face
of an unwell child
the earth
cannot hide
the symptoms
of her pain.

The Blank Page

Each day is an empty canvas, and we paint on it as we will. Sometimes we choose the palette, sometimes it’s chosen for us. Sometimes other hands and imaginations may contribute to, or interfere with, our work-in-progress. But we always have a wet brush in hand, and can modify the lines, if not always the composition. And we get to choose when and how to hang the work. and when and how to start a fresh canvas.

This blank page is my final frontier, my Everest. It’s the cell where I’ll achieve transcendence; my cross and my empty tomb; my Emmaus and Damascus roads. Writing is a kind of meditation, a way of prayer. Here I find a forum for angst and intuition. Here I make my confession, and find absolution. Here, where I shed my past, lies my secret map of tomorrow.