DAFFODILS

Here in the land of singers and trumpets,
heralding spring from a black loamy stage,
proud flowers brightly sway as a cool breeze
passes, illuminated from within.

Their long night of darkness fin’lly over,
pushing tender green leaves toward Mother sun,
hiding a deep saffron grace from the world
‘til we’ve humbly earned that gift from heaven.

Bursting open upon a bright random
morning, reminding us all of a joy
we posess, nodding to the immortal
Godseed, illuminated from within.

(poem inspired by photograph taken by and used with permission of

Christine Valters Paintner - www.abbeyofthearts.com)

A VISIT TO EL SANTUARIO DE PARADISO
- wherein we quickly learn why angels have wings

With a simple, quick call the time and date was set. And so, at the appointed time, I approached the white building in eager anticipation. No doorman…hmm, I guess even Saint Peter gets a day off every once in a while. Spotting the entry access board, I pressed the buzzer. Almost before my finger left the button, a clear, strong voice spoke my name. I listened intently to the instructions, never having been here before. After being buzzed in, I was to walk through the door to the elevator. Upon entering the elevator, I was to press the top floor button. Finally, after leaving the elevator, I was to look to the left for a stairway that I would take to the top and find a front door. (That's the part where the wings on angels come in handy.)

The door, not gates, not pearly, well maybe painted pearly gray stood before me. And, just as with the access board, my presence seemed known before I had a chance to announce myself. The door opened widely and my guide declared, "I'm K." After removing my snowy shoes and leaving them outside the door, I was led into El Santuario De Paradiso.

My bearings went a kilter as I was presented with an overload of creative beauty displayed in all manners of ways under 40 watt bulbs. K. is El Santuario's textile artist, but today he would also be my guide into the world of creation. Fabrics predominantly of earthy tones hung from high ceilings (yes, ceilings). Creation, creativity, cosmos, order, chaos, labyrinths, holy patterns from a universal world of spirituality created through the artful application of bleach lay overlapping one another, covering light sources illuminating their inner beauty. I suppose K. had been speaking for a while, but his art spoke to me more loudly.

I was shown a room of rest that took me to a Middle Eastern desert tent of royalty from long ago. It was easy to imagine quickly falling asleep in such a haven and the smile that would cross my face as I awakened to so much beauty.

I shared with K. my love of beauty and creativity and my avocation of poetry. Unfortunately, I came ill-prepared to share my work. A business card would have to do for now.

And finally the time came when we both ran out of words. We shamelessly looked deeply into one another's eyes for some time and instinctively knew we were in the presence of the Godseed at work. There were few words left that could express our feelings and so with a warm hug, I was on my way.

Just a few short weeks ago, I was blessed to receive the whispered message, "Son, take my hand. Let's go for a walk." I'm not sure I can even trace the steps that led me to El Santuario de Paradiso, but I know who led me there.

I am truly blessed.

Thank you, K.

Amen.

FINALLY!

Finally! Christmas came last night,
riding the wave of raucous carols poorly sung
blaring from speakers at the outdoor ice rink.
Stumbling through the laughter
of experienced skaters
watching 1-year olds
lose their new-found footing
on ground that now betrays them.

Christmas wafted in on the scent
of hot chocolate in Styrofoam cups
cradled up close to frozen faces,
slurping, greedily seeking
the blessing of a marshmallow host.
Clouds of steam rising
like incense and prayers
from sweaty, hatless heads.

Christmas came inside a while,
just to take a load off,
to catch its breath
and then head back outside
to take another spin,
making children grin
and helping grown-ups
slow down enough to
feel their souls leap a little.