Pilgrim Path

This blog is the work of a seeker and poet. Walking stick in hand, I head out into the world, not of the world, but in the world. My words and my friends carry me along and light the pilgrim path of spiritual journeys.

Monday, March 31, 2008


Late at night, the sentinel grins
at its sculptor’s naïve folly,
thinking he could capture time
and achieve immortal glory.

The sentry resumes his task each night
after graveyard gates are locked,
giving lie to those who claim
“dead men tell no tales.”

Row by row they take their turn,
spinning yarns from lives well lived,
adding to the Book of Life
tales of courage, joy and pain.

Storytellers one and all,
in rhythm or in verse,
the old scribe nods while carving words,
into solid granite.

Years from now, my story, too
will find its way into this tome,
to join my fellow pilgrims there,
my story freed, I’ll rest at last.

(Inspired by photo taken by and used with permission of
Christine Valters Paintner @ www.abbeyofthearts.com. )

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Sunday, March 30, 2008


I am blessed beyond measure in many regards. One of those blessings is my association with a number of organizations that allows me to take time away from my day-to-day life and go "on retreat." This past weekend, I attended a retreat whose theme was "Aspects of Love." I was asked by the organizers to compose a poem that I would read at the conclusion of the retreat. With acknowledgment to William Butler Yeats for inspiration, I present that poem now:


I went out to the woods
because their was a fire
in my heart that needed tending.

I know that words alone
cannot contain or change
the shape of this sacred flame.

And so I give myself the gift
of time to listen to the sound
of my heartbeat.

On holy land I cast off false illusions
and shed plates of armor
revealing a tender place
where love and I can live
and grow and thrive and welcome
each other home.

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Tuesday, March 25, 2008


Slowly I opened my eyes
as angels woke me from my rest,
asking me to speak
about my secret pleasures -

Receiving a present

covered in deep red wrapping paper
with a big white bow.

Feeling the heft
of a 1,000 page novel
that I hope will never end.

Sharing a homemade meal
and tasting love.

Seeing God in a stranger’s eyes.

Crying at the beauty of music
composed 300 years ago.

Smelling my old leather
jacket after coming in from the rain.

Seeing the secret shadow
of a rabbit on the moon.

Arriving in a foreign land
and feeling my heart sing.

Watching your mouth as you speak
and hearing every word
inscribed upon my heart.

Falling back asleep to dream about my secret pleasures.

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Thursday, March 20, 2008


Winter, Spring.
Life, death, life,
shiver, quiver, groan,
shrink, thrust, spill,
cover, reveal, bask,
dark, light, glory,
hungry, fed. Amen.


Tuesday, March 11, 2008


Paper thin, pale skin begins
to crepe like dry moth wings -
unable to carry any longer
the heavy loads of heartbeat and breathe.

Clouded eyes blink and struggle
to focus for a minute -
a sharp exhale rushes out
and meets the shaky rise
as I struggle to stand.

Feet shuffle across a forest floor,
making their way

to lay this broken body down
and rest in a soft pine needle nest.

At last I find my placecard
for the eternal feast.

Poem inspired by photograph taken by and used with permission of Christine Valters Paintner (www.abbeyofthearts.com)

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Thursday, March 06, 2008


The wild geese have left the temple
to join me on my path.
Welcome companions who’ll guide me
to new paths of wonder.

Each step I take finds them
gracefully overhead.
Showing me the way to venture
northward to unknown lands.

Swooping and diving, young ganders
make a scene testing their wings.
Summoned by their elders,
they complain as they rejoin the flock.

Closing my eyes I am carried
to the coast of a rugged isle
where tidal pools provide a haven
for clams, puffins and seagulls.

Just as quickly I'm at the summit
of a verdant mountain, gazing down
on an artisan village blessed
by the arches of a double rainbow.

Gently I return from my journey
from sea to mountaintop,.
Delivered by my guardian geese
to the easy chair I never left.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008


On this gray late winter morning,
as rain washes all the color from the earth,
Beauty sits at her wooden desk and
writes out invitations to her friends.
They’ll enter through the transom,
a window, or under a door, not wishing
to be heard, but soon enough they’ll unravel
your mind and steal your breath.
The slash of sunlight that strikes
the hallway floor prepares you
for the return of wonder to your heart.
Colorless sunlight opens us to joy and awe.

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