Light
and Dark Variations
by
Elena Estella Green
I
and the sky are one.
I and the sky,
Between the soaring and the settling
Down there is a center.
I and the sky,
There is an opening of
endlessness.
A vast sensation of flight.
I and the sky
Are a journey
Where love does not lose altitude.
I and the sky are One.
I and the Sky in darkness
Wait for salutation.
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The Call
It was windy and raining hard outside
and I was stretched out on the couch
working the remote control
with a popcorn-buttery finger
when my heart called me to prayer.
It wasn't duty or wisdom or guilt
(and, God knows, it wasn't discipline)
that interrupted by regularly scheduled
program for this important announcement.
No sir! My heart called me to prayer.
It was a call of such pure wanting,
not born of body, mind or feelings,
wanting me to witness, through a window of blessed
opportunity,
Love, Lover and Beloved playing together in the place
where we meet and are no different.
This heartcall grew and stayed for a visit.
And so it went throughout the day;
laundry, bills, Divine Presence,
a shower, a snack, Amazing Grace.
So quiet was my guest, so still and yet so insistent.
A week has past and a tender ache remains.
It's like when you've just enjoyed a great matinee
then step out into the crowds and the sunlight;
you know where you are and it ain't where you've just been.
That's how its been since the day my heart called me to prayer.
(Jonah Roll, Philadelphia)
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Centering Meditation
To sense being carried from believing to knowing
ushers in trouble much deeper than I wanted. Fences
fall, borders recede so
no one's aware I am crossing.
Peace welcomes communion most of us naturally
resist, since distance is more
solid, more safe, more
blissful all the way around than this circling time, this
knowing, this summery freeing thing that pulls every
instance into itself, loosening not buried strange gods,
but fears,
superstitions vying with a reason that wanes.
Yet these too disappear in the
mix, rising, like incense.
Then there's the wakeful hour, now and then-it
needn't
be a bright day-when the knowing consumes my heart.
And centering's
rhythm that keeps me home is ravished,
brought to its last, yet missing no beat,
tenderly joining
the energies of everywhere gathering in one place, here,
where
I am never what I want to do, never who I was.
(Barbara Wuest, Milwaukee)
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