Song of the South: Trust Fall

As I discuss how being renewed and revived through experiencing the cosmic Christ in new ways while at Wild Goose, and how this calls me to continue to do the same each day, I am struck by how central stopping, pushing away the noise of the days I have faced, and just meditating and paying attention are to this experience.   While at Goose, I wrote a poem about such meditation.

May it bless you!


Trust Fall


I sit cross legged at the foot of the high mountain
whose greening presence looms over me,
its sunlit shape reflected off the waters
like one of momma’s oil paintings
that hang upon my home’s walls
crafted here not by momma’s skilled artist hand
but by unseen brush-strokes,
soaked with light itself
patterned into shimmering art upon water canvas
by mother Spirit’s ever moving fingers,
shrouded even in this golden morning light
as if by concealing cloud of mountain mist.


Its shadow falls over me like the comfortable blanket
which wrapped my beloved warm and safe
our last cold and stormy night.
All fear, insecurity, and shame of the past fade away
into the warmth of its unfolding.

My breath moves
in sync with the song of the stream,
a rhythm which stops the grinding wheels of time,
of progress,
of aging,
of loss.


Still and silent there,
my eyes lock with a green legged bright winged companion,
grasshopper meditating upon rock
around which foaming waters
roar in eddies and flows,
constant and unchanging as time.

french broad river

And, like me in this moment,
all of that flows, rushing down river.
While I am at one with river,
green hill,
and rock,
I am silent,
swept up in each note
of your siren song, Oh Spirit.



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