Manna Meditations

after the ice storm …

Manna Meditations, Day 28

The ice that encased us inside all day gives way, suddenly, to sun:

It is this way always, isn’t it?

The Light, knifing through the cold.

The gray, giving way to glitter and spark:

Here is what I know: Goodness comes slow, but it wins every time. 💛

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Manna Meditations

the words i need you to hear today …

Manna Meditations, Day 27

I drive out to a solitary place, where the forest gives way to open fields.

When I park the car at an overlook, the only sound is the wind tearing around the car, trying to find a way into my little shell of warm air.

I have my big camera with me, but for some reason it feels right today to leave it on the seat beside me…  To trust that the Manna need not be caught with a telephoto lens.  That it’s right within arm’s reach.

So I roll down the window and point my iPhone at the horizon instead.  There’s nothing here but a lone tree lingering against the blue.  Nothing but bare ground and open sky.

So I wait.

And I wait.

I wait until the Light and Presence begins to fill the car … until a cloud or two floats into the frame, soft-bodied and slow.

The clouds move close to the tree, until they look almost within arm’s length of those limbs.

And then the clouds wait, too.

I snap a picture, realizing as I do so that I am here to remind you of just one thing:

Ah, friend … You are not alone.

💛

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Manna Meditations

gratitude in the winter dark…

(Manna Meditations, Day 23)

In these gray days, let us not forget to look for the ordinary wonder …

To see beauty in bare lines and broken places, in cracks crazing the sidewalk like fine china:

To see color in subtler shades — the blonde of afternoon sunlight.  The burnished bronze of fallen leaves, shining against wet dark asphalt:

Let us see warmth in the naked white limbs of sycamores, which reach out to embrace each other across streets and lanes, unhampered by their green-leaf summer clothing:

And let us see sunsets — one for every day, astoundingly aflame, the gift as predictable as clockwork:

Ah, Lord.  This place is cold and dark…

And also, it is beautiful. 

💛

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Manna Meditations

one for the weary …

(…because we’re all still children sometimes … frenzied… exhausted… in stubborn rebellion against that old human need for Rest…)

Blown snow.
White, not yet wet —
sifted sugar.

Airspun, storm-sung:
it beds down gentle,
tucks the lawn in tight,

settling over the branches
like a soft hand on a forearm:

Hush…

Rest now.

Just be.

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Almost Poetry, Manna Meditations

this is what i am trying to tell you …

Manna Meditations, Day 12

I find the Light
rumpled in the morning sheets–
toss back the quilt and there it is,
rising in the gold air,
catching in the dust motes,
setting them on fire.

Sometimes, too,
I find it caught fast
in a crosshatch of frost on the windows,
or crystalline, scattered
over spikes of frozen grass.

I swallow it in the sunshine
on my eggs at breakfast.

It glints on my glasses
as I read.

Sometimes I could lick
the Light off my fingers like butter —
Sometimes it drips through my hands
and down my wrists
like spilled perfume.

*

But some mornings,
I wake and it is not there.

I am thirsty for it, calling for it,
crack-lipped and crazed
as a fever patient.

In those days,
the shadows fill the room
and the sky is snuffed
& there is no appetite
for eggs
or butter
or perfume
or the Presence.

*

In that day,
carry the Light to me
in your cupped hands.

Kneel at my bedside, Friend,
and I’ll drink from your upturned palms.

*

Hear me.

Oh, hear me:

When we are not alone
(and we are never alone),

there is always Enough.

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