These words are for the artists and dreamers
Who want a slippery God,
Not the stone one
nailed permanently to a cross
In old buildings,
tacked down in polity and institution.
These are letters to the distracted ones
Endlessly scrolling the glowing screen
Needing a word to help them look up
At the glimmering sky,
To awaken again to the world.
These are for the workers, the doers,
Who never have time or energy enough,
The ones enduring the daily monotony
Longing to escape the slow strangle
Of unending tasks and obligations.
These are for the weary mothers
Wondering if they are disappearing,
Drowning in the bottomless needs
of their beautiful beloveds.
These are for you,
You gorgeous broken-hearted,
open-hearted ones.
You oh-so-overwhelmed ones.
You vibrant, silent ones.
You unnoticed, unsung ones.
A Dedication.
You treasure hunters,
Looking for words and incantations,
That will map a way to the
Magic underneath everything
That too often hides or slips away.
You who wonder why
Religion hasn’t been spacious enough
To allow the mystical, the whimsical, the wild
Divine to slip in.
You who are parched and
Longing for a deeper well
Of more and more
and more.
You who don’t long for more dead words
On more dead pages,
But living words and musical balm.
You who recognize the dance of this life
with all its terrible and tender grace.
You who need a sacred place
To hold what is real, and holy, and true.
This place, these pages,
This sanctuary of phrases
is for you.
