Passel of Pups

a passel of puppies.
cozy and warm.
keeping each other close.
all arms and legs and snuggly warmth.
adolescent pups, warming each other with friendship & care.

one small pup will not enter the pile.
he sits cold and lonely to the side,
whimpering on his own.
another nudges him toward the heap, but
he is stubborn and weak all at the same time.
he cannot see the warmth and healing to be found in the pile.

a passel of puppies.
all adolescent arms and legs.
words neither needed nor wanted.
their warmth & care speaking volumes.
all snuggled up, piled upon, tumbling over each other.

five young pups. a perfect litter.
goofy, cozy. warm & caring.
nurturing their own.
eyes not yet open, instinctually looking out for each other.

a passel of puppies.
cozy and warm.
keeping each other close.

Memory demands so much

---by denise levertov


Memory demands so much,
it wants every fiber
told and retold.
It gives and gives
but for a price, making you
risk drudgery, lapse
into document, treacheries
of glaring noon and a slow march.
Leaf never before
seen or envisioned, flying spider
of rose-red autumn, playing
a lone current of undecided wind,
lift me with you, take me
off this ground of memory that clings
to my feet like thick clay,
exacting gratitude for gifts and gifts.
Take me flying before
you vanish, leaf, before
I have time to remember you,
intent instead on being
in the midst of that flight,
of those unforeseeable words.




photo by bill hughlett


Someone very close to me nearly died this weekend. “Memory demands so much” speaks volumes. Giving and giving can feel like drudgery (Is it ever enough?) Caught in the mire. A slow march. I have been here before. Stuck. Hurting. Sad and Angry. Seeking communication. Yearning. And I am ever reminded of the little girl who forged her way on her own. Alone.

Leaf, take me away. Let me soar high above the pain with you. The trails of a leaf are like the roads on a map. The paths of our journey. Slow march in the heat of the day—the heat of life’s battle. Or bundled, cold and shivering in the dark of night. Praying for comfort and sweet release in whatever form it might take. Death? Peace? Are they one in the same? Will we only find peace when we finally get to heaven? Or is heaven right here on earth and we are privileged to catch small glimpses of it throughout our earthly lives?

“Memory demands so much.” Fragile child on an emergency room table. Teen with eyes rolled back in head. Comatose? Dead? Witnessing the dance toward death—a slow painful march. Memory demands so much.

Can I remember my flight with God holding me in his arms? It demands so much. The hard times seem to flow easily through my brain—present and at the forefront. But can I remember the glory? Those brief moments when I have been known by another? Moments in community battling for the glory of God?

Evil wants us to be overtaken by the dark moments—the emergency room lights—the harsh sunlight of day—the agony of watching a child leave, again and again.

I want memory to turn to the good times. Riding with my daughter on a ferry. Laughing with my son in the car. I did not know how swiftly the time would fly. Memory demands so much. I have been here before—on the edge—on the verge of losing—being left—bereft of God. I feel the rhythm; the moving away, that has become so familiar.

Memory demands so much.

Desert & Darkness

photo by bill hughlett

Desert & Darkness. Is there a difference between being in the desert and living in the darkness? Both seem to include waiting. Waiting is something that is welcomed and revered during this season of Advent. Are desert and darkness the same states of being? Is the difference between darkness and light defined simply by the attitude with which they are received? Where is light found during desert times? And, for what were the desert fathers searching? Were they barren and bereft of God’s holy presence? Or were they closer to God because of the barrenness?

Two books come to mind: Alan Jones’ Soul Making and the devotional book, Streams in the Desert. Both of these are reminiscent of a moving toward something. It may be painful in the midst of the experience, but the message is hope for something less painful—something more solid on which to stand. Does having hope mean we want to leave the desert or need to leave in order to find solace?

What has prompted this line of questioning? It must go back to old fundamental roots that clash with my present aversion to a theology that insists if we are not “happy” then we are not walking “properly” with the Lord. This was kicked off by the question “Are you in a ‘desert place’ in your spiritual life right now? If so, what are some things you could do to re-kindle your excitement with the Lord?” I think the words “if so” and “re-kindle” tell me being in the desert or the darkness is not o.k. And thus I come back to the question, are darkness and desert the same space? I believe, the overriding question is: how will we choose to receive God in those places of difficulty in our lives?

This advent season has brought many reminders that darkness is seasonal. (Seasonal in an ebb and flow sort of way in our lives, not just the physical moving toward darkness as we approach the winter solstice.) Darkness provides us with a time of rest and a time of waiting. Thomas Moore in Dark Nights of the Soul says darkness is often associated with or labeled as depression. It is something we want to get out of or away from. I, however, have found periodic solace this year in the darkness. Therefore, I was bothered when it was suggested to “re-kindle” my time with the Lord because that indicates I am not meeting God in the darkness (or desert). The opposite, however, has been true because in many ways I have been met more distinctly in the darkest places than I have in the shining light of day or good times.

So once again I return to the question: Are desert and darkness the same place? And, is it all about the attitude with which we view them? I do not believe either place to be void of God even though at times we may not feel His presence. Maybe it all is about the attitude. Maybe it is about our personal relationship with God. Maybe it’s about unearthing our own rhythm in the darkness and finding our oasis in the desert. Maybe, it’s something I will ponder awhile longer. What do you think?

Six Senses of God

No old man in flowing robes and long white beard for me. My God looks like the wind, the rain, the sun & moon. He is creation all around--both seen and imagined.

Rainstorm beating on a tin roof & brook gently babbling through the forest. The laughter of children and screams of childbirth. Tinkling bells and booming gongs. These are the voices of Majesty.

God smells like spring after the first rain. Roses, old and fragrant. Wet dog and fresh baked bread. Homemade cookies & pie.

Taste the sweet nectar dripping from fresh berries. Complexities of a gourmet meal. Chinese food and take out pizza. Communion wine. God pours flavor into life.

Experience God with the touch of a newborn’s bottom, a soft kitten or the bark of a gnarled tree. The suede of a child’s head and the crepe of a woman’s weathered hand.

A presence that embodies pain and sorrow, joy and laughter. A tugging of the heart and a whisper in the ear. The flutter of stomach and the pounding of heart. Our God is the feast of eyes and the fullness of soul.

In Praise of Sweet Darkness

The following poem by David Whyte was selected for inspiration to write and experiment with new kinds of poetry during a session of The Sacred Center’s Awakening the Creative Spirit program. In this exercise we used a modified and condensed version of the Glosa style to create "In Praise of Sweet Darkness."

Sweet Darkness

When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.

When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.

There you can be sure
you are not beyond love…

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

Anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.

-- David Whyte



"ancient" photo by lucy


In Praise of Sweet Darkness

The dank, moist smell of a cave.
The skin of a snake molting away.
The rich loam of life.
Time to go into the dark where the night has eyes to recognize its own.

A mother’s womb.
One mustard seed of hope.
The blood of crucifixion.
There you can be sure you are not beyond love…

Holding & sustaining.
Nurturing & growing.
Rising from the dead.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn

Birth moving into new life.
The oak rising from an acorn.
Darkness giving way to light.
Anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you.

Remembrance & Surprise

"offering" photo by bill hughlett

I don’t recall ever being so focused on or interested in the season or spirit of Advent as I have been this year. The word advent means “coming” or “arrival.” For me, it also feels like a time of remembrance. A remembering of story—the story of my personal life as well as remembrance of the greatest story ever told—the coming of Christ, the birth of a King in a manger and the resurrection of a man from the dead.

The advent season is also one filled with surprise. I cannot help but imagine the surprise (more likely shock) of a young Mary when the angel told her she would give birth to a Savior. Fast forward thirty or so years and witness the surprise of the women who found the tomb empty; their friend and king gone.

We live with a God of surprise. Advent is filled with both surprise and anticipation. These are the themes for me this year as I sit in the darkness and wait. Part of me knows exactly for what I am waiting. I am waiting expectantly for the coming of the Lord and the celebration of his birth. More present in my mind, however, is the anticipation for the coming surprise. What will happen next in my life? From where will the next surprise come? How and when will I leave this darkness?

It is important for me to remember I have been here before—in the darkness—in this time of waiting and in this season of Advent. I will do my best to wait patiently but I am also filled with an excited anticipation—like a child waiting to open the first gift on Christmas morning. While I know the greatest gift was given with the birth of a small child centuries ago, I am still called to remember that each day is a new gift waiting to be unwrapped. Sometimes it feels like a cruel joke because the layers of wrapping paper are so many that I feel it will take forever to get to the present. Still, I will wait and I will pray to see each layer as a gift in itself with something to offer.

Remembrance and the willingness to be surprised are two of the greatest gifts we can offer ourselves each day. Advent is a time of waiting in the dark—waiting for the next surprise. My goal is to appreciate the darkness and remember it allows the light of surprise to shine even brighter.

Inner Poet

My inner poet is French.
Tipped beret and Mona Lisa smile. Her voice rings out with playful laughter, her arms wide open, leaping into darkness and light. She is beautiful and earnest. Seductive and serious.
She was born on the wings of angels and birthed out of pain and suffering.
I recognize her in the first morning light by the gentle shores of the sea. She is bathed in God’s fragrance and surrounded by belief.

What does this inner poet know for sure?
She is light. She is dark. Complete and unfinished. A creature of God. A glorious paradox.
This poet lives hidden from sight. Covered in blue scarves and white. Peeking through the window and knocking on the door. She lives at home inviting others to come and sit by her fire.

Her imagination is infinite. She dreams of knowing and being known, of embracing and being embraced. She desires community, fellowship, peace and solitude.
She must speak of everything. The resonant and the dissonant. The beauty and the depravity. The joy and the sorrow. The fullness of life and the darkness of death.

She sits on the sidewalks of Life, holding a thin cigarette and dreaming her dreams.
Her voice speaks in a beautiful accent. Tipped beret and all-knowing smile.
My inner poet is a romantic. She is French.

photo: mona lisa by italian (not french) painter, leonardo da vinci

Changing Seasons

Drawn to fire. Bursting color—red and yellow.
Texture. Shape. Bounty. God’s creativity.
Drawn to the messy versus the neat and tidy.
The composting leaves playing in water together.
The occasional blue leftover from summer—tranquil and calm.
The red is alive saying, “See me. Look at me.”
The branches of trees providing shelter. The old knobby trunks, gnarled with age.


The freshness of water. The cleansing of rain. The saturation of ground.
A pathway of color—neat and tidy—messy and composting.
Earthy browns. Spring greens. Changing autumn.

Waiting for winter. Welcoming the darkness.
Saying farewell to the brilliant light for a season.

photos by lucy

Heart Haiku

Heart
Crimson Cold
Beating, Breathing, Bleeding
Caught in a Vise
Yearning

Heart
Purity Personified
Beating, Bleeding, Breathing
Caught in a Vise
Loving

Heart Caught in a Vise
Evil and Beauty Conveyed
Grips the Hold of Life

modern cinquain and haiku poetry

Autumn Invitation

Autumn
Golden Fire
Glistening, Glowing, Inviting
Why do you call?
Fullness Beckons

"autumn fire" by lucy

The Tiniest Thread

Threads. Crumbs. Rocks.

Standing in the darkness
reaching for something to hold, to grasp and touch.
Can a thread be a lifeline?
A crumb, a meal?
A rock, a source of safety and comfort?

Holding on by a thread, the smallest thread of hope.
Thin and fine, fragile as a spider’s web.
The tiniest thread waiting, hoping to be woven
into something strong and beautiful.

"saxon road spider" by lucy

What Do I Know?

What do I know?
I know the sun was out only moments ago with the promise of a dry morning.
I know that now the sky has turned gray and raindrops are not far behind.
I know the kitten in my lap is a creation of God even when he seems to be of the devil.
I know my daughter is beautiful and pure as she sleeps in the room down the hall.
I know that I will always be full of questions and unknowing.
I know God is near and yet I long to see his face.
And I know if I allow myself, His face will be seen in the sun, the rain, the kitten and my daughter.
I will see God in the questions and in the mystery.
I will know His presence even when my heart feels cold and dry because He gives the promise of sun after the rain and light amidst the dark.
But then again—what do I know?

"gus" by lucy

Woods of Splendor

The journey winds through woods of splendor.
Darkness and exposure reach from barren limbs--
limbs intertwined with delight and holiness.
Bending boughs offer protection from the storm and
their pursuit is filled with love and fullness.
It is perfect and whole.
The path is wet and wild, brilliant in its darkness.
The sensual and luscious step out of hiding to become known,
Enriching the journey in blazing splendor.

"st. joe's cathedral"

Colors of Your Life

i want to know…

~ why you leap for joy.
~ what is it you hold in your gently cupped hands?
~ where does the curving path lead?
~ for what do you reach?
~ what dreams live inside your young soul?
~ what lights the fire inside
and sends the lava flowing?
~ from where do you come and
where are you going?



~ how does the sun warm your heart?
~ what does it mean to “live wild?”
~ what brings you sadness?
~ for what do you reach?
~ who defines magic?
~ what causes your tears
and brings you delight?
~ where are you going and
~ where have you been?

tell me, please.
~ what are the colors of your life?

…i want to know.

photo by maryjane hughlett

Feminine World

I am the pain of the world, covered with blue scarves & white.
I am the beauty of the world, bare-shouldered with upswept hair.
I am the fire of the world, burning with desire and hope.
I am the joy of the world, reaching toward the heavens.



I am the beauty of the world, bare-shouldered with upswept hair.
I am the luscious berry, bursting with flavor.
I am the joy of the world, reaching toward the heavens.
I am the soul of the world, centered through pain, beauty, touch and taste.

I am the luscious berry.
I am the fire of the world.
I am the soul of the world.
I am the pain of the world, covered with blue scarves & white.



photo by maryjane hughlett

Good Morning, Sunshine

Good Morning, Sunshine.

Smile. Rest. Pause in the day.
Take a slow start for
often even goodness—-the bursting of joy-—moves things too quickly.
So pause. Consider things slowly & thoughtfully.

Spend time with a friend. With God.
Listen to the words of a song. Take them in. Absorb them.
Stop to smell the roses. Let their fragrance permeate your soul.

Watch the sunset. The sunrise. Embrace the seasons of life.
Touch a baby’s skin. An aged person’s wrinkles.
Experience the beauty.



Look into another’s eyes. Eyes surrounded by a dirt-crusted face & filthy hair.
Look into the soul. You may see Jesus there or
you may see yourself—hurting and longing for something more.

Slow down.
Take a walk and really see what is around you.
Ride the bus. Smell the smells. Feel the life.
Encounter Christ in the midst.

I met Faith at a bus stop. So beautiful. So memorable.
Was she real?
A stranger in the midst?
An angel?

Take time to smell the coffee. Feel its warmth. Be soothed by it rather than jolted and injected.
Breathe.

Listen to the sounds of silence.
A whispering fan. A chirping bird. A passing car. Notes of a softly playing guitar.
Sounds of silence. Sounds of quiet. A pause in the new day.

Consider things to be done slowly.
The start of the new day. The evening's close.
Prayer. Peace. Patience.

Good Morning, Sunshine.

photo by maryjane hughlett

Brazos de Dios

Part I

A red ball of sunshine greets me this morning.
The world is waking up although parts of it never went to sleep last night (including me).
Doors banging—wind blowing—caught in a twister.

My life right now—raw—restless—looking for a place to land.
I know my home is here with me and yet the world keeps hammering away at my sanity and serenity even in the dark of night.

What will I find this weekend among these women who have come searching for freedom?
Will I find my own freedom?

A small Texas bird speaks to me from the tree.
“It is here. Freedom is here for the choosing. Choose life. Choose life.”

Even when the battle is tough and turbulent—when you are caught in a twister—Breathe.
Breathe in the air that smells slightly different.
Take in the vines of the field. They are but branches and the root lies deep beneath.

Trust. Trust God. Trust the process. Trust myself.



Part II

I feel so raw right now—bursting with emotion.
Tender and strong—anchored with a root that is deep and everlasting.

My vineyard is intertwined with sunflowers.
The red rock of my childhood surrounds me. It is the flat terrain of my youth.
Yet I know the road was neither flat nor smooth.

Bobwhite calling. Beautiful. Familiar.
“Come play with me. Come join the rising sun.”
The gnats are trying to irritate. It is my choice to stay calm or to despair.

I watch a small white butterfly—a miracle. Hear the bobwhite.
My stomach is starting to growl. Mosquitoes are buzzing.
This new day has begun.

I will join my friends. I will find solace in the midst of the twister.
The arms of God are all around me.
Brazos de Dios.



photos by bill hughlett

The Darkest Night

How can black become even blacker?
What is the color of darkness?
Who knows the color of water?
The color of tears?
The color of sorrow?
What is the taste of sorrow?
Bitter and salty. Full of tears.

Too bitter.
Too much.
Too black.

“The Tale of the Instant Coffee …

... or Confessions of a Seattleite”

Once upon a time there was a young woman who we will call Lucy. Lucy was a person who learned to drink coffee during those formidable college years when the balancing act was a challenge between happy hours and study time. Coffee became an essential tool for Lucy once she discovered it’s magical abilities to induce alertness after a few nights of minimal sleep.

Lucy’s love of coffee followed her into her career as a public accountant and she drank cup after cup of coffee throughout the day and evening without effect. Time went by and Lucy moved from career woman to stay-at-home motherhood—her love of coffee only waning during the first trimester of pregnancy when the smell of almost anything except orange soda pop was repugnant.

During this time a wonderful thing occurred. Lucy moved to the coffee capital of the world—Seattle. There she was soon introduced to a variety of coffee concoctions and ultimately landed upon her regular—the tall nonfat latte. Still, nothing could beat a fresh cup of coffee (or several) so Lucy’s coffee chugging days continued—until…

photo by bill hughlett

Aak! Bladder problems!! By this time Lucy had already made the move from regular coffee to decaf since she found that there might have been a slight addiction problem (e.g. screaming headaches when coffee was withheld). Decaf or no, Lucy continued to love her coffee and faithfully awoke to the aroma of a fresh-brewed pot each morning. Alas, the urologist said no more. Or at least no more than one cup a day if Lucy wanted to divert wearing Depends for a while longer.

Lucy discovered that it is next to impossible to brew one cup of really good coffee. Oh, she tried the coffee press. She tried drinking only one cup out of the pot, but each left her lacking. One thing Lucy found that she loved almost more than the taste was the actual warmth of the drink. So, while visiting her sister (not a Seattleite), Lucy stumbled upon her sister’s “fix” of (I dare say it)…instant coffee.

Once again, Lucy was hooked. She found that she could control the strength and, of course, the size of the “cup”, and soon the whistling teapot began to take the place of the dripping of the coffee maker. The aroma was always fresh and the steam was more satisfying than any lukewarm concoction. Now, you must realize that Lucy is only able to admit this shame to her closest friends and just to keep up appearances, she often orders in public her favorite “Seattle” drink—a decaf tall nonfat latte—extra hot, of course!

Thus, concludes the tale of the instant coffee aka the confession of a Seattleite. (Names have been changed to protect reputations.)

Hope that you never find yourself likened to a bad cup of coffee--cold and bitter!!

The Edge

Come to the edge, He said. Come to the edge.
She smiled, lifted off the ground and did a cannonball into the unknown.

The unknown exploded and burst into a million miracles—glistening in the sky for all the world to see.
They floated through the sky, touching corners of the universe that had never known such brightness.

Come to the edge, She said. Come fly with me through the crystal atmosphere.
It is glorious. It is dangerous. It is life.