April Musings from "The Color of Grace"

...I am an urn of Adam's skin, the thickness of a lifetime. When kicked I spill protesting blood. Each year, Spring takes a swing at bringing me around. Spring sings a resurrection song I strain to hear. A woodpecker drums its red head against a cedar pole Cumulus clouds rock in the promising wind. Gold sap pulsates in the boughs of the winter-charred oak. A robin chick sheds its itching egg. I press my ear to the earth: Dry bones, dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.

WORD HARVEST

Mining With a Feather Contemplative Writing And Spiritual Renewal Retreat – Facilitated by Tonia Colleen Martin And Jessica Campbell May 31-June 1, 2013

The Pearl

I woke up this morning with the image

of a pearl in my mind:

a tiny sphere brought into being by an irritating

grain of sand within the house of a muscle;

a space where competition between a foreign

and resident thought spar to arrive at something

beautiful and kind.


This is an image of instruction for me.

When I find myself in the realm of competition,

I want to lean kindly into that which irritates despite its 

essence of otherness.  I want to embrace this Other rather

than muscle it out by wit, criticism or ridicule

and wait for the pearl of new understanding

to roll sweetly into view.