File opened 3/8/96



                              A LAMB AT ONE WITH THE WORLD

                              ALL IS GIVEN TO EACH ACCORDING TO THEIR FAITH

                              ALL THINGS RADIANT

                              A MORNING MEDITATION ON ISAIAH

                              A NEW WORLD

                              AS A PEARL IN A FLAME



                              CHRIST'S ROCK OF THE WIND

                              COMMENTS TO THOSE ON THE OUTSIDE

                                        LOOKING IN AND CATAGORIZING



                              DOWN, IN THE BASEMENT OF THINGS

                              DOWN IN THE RADIANT ROOTS






                              I DON'T REMEMBER

                              IF I SHOULD ASK TO KISS THE WIND

                              I WOULD BE A POLLY WOG IN A SILVER SEA



                              LONGING TO HEAR THAT TRUE SONG

                              LOST AND FOUND



                              MY TRUTH



                              QUESTIONS FOR LAMBS IN THEIR DREAMS



                              REGARDING THE LAST AND BEST REFUGE FROM GOD



                              SWIMMING THROUGH THE EYES OF THE HEART



                              THE HELPERS OF PRAYER

                              THE REALIZED MEANING OF SALVATION

                              THERE IS A TINY, SPACELESS SPACE

                                         DOWN IN THE DEPTHS THE SOUL

                              THERE IS MUSIC IN THE SPIRIT OF GOD

                              THE SPIRIT OF PRAYER (30 meditations)

                              THE UNUTTERABLE SEEKS US

                              THIS POETRY IS NOT YOU

                              THIS SIMPLE VISION

                              THOSE WHO KNOW, DRINK LUMINESENT STREAMS

                              TO LIVE

                              TO SEEK THE BEAUTY OF GOD

                              TWO SIDES



                              UPON A MYSTERIOUS WEAVING

                                   OF FANCY AND TRUTH



                              WE ARE MIRRORS OF CONSCIOUSNESS

                              WE MUST WORK IN THE HEART

                              WHO IS TEACHING THIS THING WRONGLY?

                              I. WHY GOD DOESN'T HAVE A NAME

                              II. WHY GOD HAS A NAME

                              WORDS CAN BE KNIVES


                              LAST POEM IN FILE:  THE SPIRIT OF PRAYER






                              THE POEMS:



                              WE ARE MIRRORS OF CONSCIOUSNESS


                              We are mirrors of consciousness.

                              When our mirrors are clean

                              we reflect the hidden light

                              of the Holy.

                              Have I said it too plainly

                              for poetry?





                              THE UNUTTERABLE SEEKS US


                              In prayer

                              we appear before God.

                              Our imagination,

                              fluid in prayer,

                              conjures images:


                              of the divine.

                              Prayer-born images

                              overflow into deeds.

                              Through us,

                              the unutterable

                              seeks incarnation.





                              THE HELPERS OF PRAYER


                              Along the desert of the sky

                              wheels the seeing spirits.

                              Faint, and far away

                              they seem... yet raging in God

                              louder than the sun!

                              My prayer burns in their midst,

                              the natural center

                              of their circumference,

                              though I am unaware

                              and feel as if

                              my words had merely melted

                              as snow within a molten light

                              of nothingness.

                              Off they silently roar,

                              wheels whirling within wheels,

                              with the fragile flame of my prayer

                              held within like the holy,

                              they fly boldly,

                              flames melting into the Flame.






                              CHRIST'S ROCK OF THE WIND


                              Dig down to Christ's rock of the wind

                              and open its treasury.

                              There, words were born...

                              and there,

                              words are reborn as you

                              in essences.






                              TO SEEK THE BEAUTY OF GOD


                              To seek the beauty of God

                              is to be linked to the minds

                              of angels

                              and deathless holy

                              human souls

                              who have passed through

                              to express glory as their delight

                              --being the purpose of the heavens.

                              In the creative fulgent of God

                              all becomes creative.

                              And what is made?

                              A certainty of blend:

                              beauty working compassion

                              and compassion birthing beauty.

                              And poured to earth through Heaven's

                              silent glass,

                              this is the full, redemptive

                              miracle that transforms us.





                              A MORNING MEDITATION ON ISAIAH


                              "And God will be our beauty!"

                              The prophet said it.

                              "God our everlasting light!"

                              No more oppression, nor grief.

                              What a wild dream of hope!

                              Our inner being swathed with glory:

                              washed through, flushed out,

                              clean and free!

                              God the harmony of our minds;

                              God the image birther,

                              the pure drop,

                              the full, loving emotion,

                              the river of knowing

                              --the great adventure!

                              And all people will be flowing

                              in deathless Life...

                              What a place to be alive!

                              Earth, a vast community of song:

                              busy with God-sung beauty makers,

                              compassionate care-givers,

                              celebrators of each and all.

                              Neighbor sharing love

                              and sustenance with neighbor

                              and receiving the same again.

                              Gifts of love binding

                              soul to soul in love's freedoms!

                              It seems so simple,

                              so profoundly sane.

                              Just a slight shift

                              from our tiny cauldrons

                              of anguish and anger.

                              Just a little dying

                              to the dark and light

                              illusions of our selves.






                         I. WHY GOD DOESN'T HAVE A NAME


                         Does a glittering sapphire

                         need the word, "light,"

                         or "beauty"

                         inscribed upon it?

                         Would you write

                         black letters on a ruby

                         saying "Oh wondrous fire?

                         or on a perfect pearl

                         would you write

                         "lucid moon,"

                         or "silver cloud of the sea?"

                         The metaphor fails.

                         Just gaze for a while

                         intently at a jewel.

                         To feel the essence of it

                         is to adore;

                         to adore is to know

                         and savor it

                         with your mind and heart.



                         II. WHY GOD HAS A NAME


                         Soul needs names.

                         Words convey essences

                         to those who are word-wise,

                         who eat words

                         like hot bread,

                         who drink them

                         like bitter glacier water

                         or a flow of chocolate.

                         Call grief, "grief":

                         not apathy, nor anger, nor depression.

                         With that word-key

                         you can access and weep

                         every sorrow away.

                         Call ecstasy

                         by its rightful names:

                         freedom, silver fish,

                         quiver of the loins,

                         blue ice and rose buds,

                         the dance of two lovers--Christ!

                         If you call me Lloyd I'll avoid you.

                         Love me and call me Blake, or Haggart,

                         (my hidden name),

                         or Steele if you're my intimate.

                         It is my name sounding

                         with love's music in your voice

                         that reveals the color of my soul.

                         Because I am,

                         call me by my name!

                         You may yet come to know

                         my secret story.

                         So I ask you,

                         what is God's name?






                         DOWN, IN THE BASEMENT OF THINGS


                         There is a clarity

                         in which one

                         sinks down under all souls

                         and things

                         where, from the bottom side up,

                         the visibility is astonishing.

                         Looking from the top

                         things are opaque. Souls,

                         mingling with the elements,

                         barely appear.

                         But from below,

                         all things seem made of glass—

                         and God shines through!

                         The soul,

                         down in the basement of things,

                         observes everything


                         and is flooded

                         with countless beams of light.







                         IF I SHOULD ASK TO KISS THE WIND


                         If I should ask to kiss the wind,

                         then the wind kisses me,

                         in the same way as it kisses

                         young, shimmering trees.


                         Yes, I can kiss wild streams of wind

                         each morning, noon and night

                         by writing poems unto God

                         in the freedom of His light.





                         AS A PEARL IN A FLAME


                         As a pearl in a flame

                         so is the soul

                         in God.





                         TWO SIDES


                         When a great prince dies,

                         many beautiful and powerful people come

                         to anoint his body

                         and bear it to a tomb

                         embellished with stone saints

                         who cannot weep.

                         But when a poor, holy man dies,

                         dogs may howl

                         as his soul is disrobed and revealed,

                         and angelic women, with faces more fair

                         than the Pleiades of heaven,

                         come to anoint his soul

                         with mysterious golden songs

                         as they bear him across

                         luminescent seas.





                         THE REALIZED MEANING OF SALVATION


                         We are trying to dig down

                         to the utter core of us,

                         the naked vulnerability

                         which longs to open

                         without shame

                         into the ecstasy

                         of God's flowing life.

                         It is this disrobing

                         of the soul

                         which lightens the heart

                         and flushes love

                         and awe

                         through our being.

                         It is this pure


                         which is the essence of religion,

                         the realized meaning of







                         I can swim up through the pool

                         of my imagination

                         to break through firmament waters

                         into a new world.

                         Jesus is there.

                         A wild angelic woman is there.

                         They smile into my eyes

                         and say,

                         "Welcome home!"

                         then speak unto my heart,

                         "Radically forgive yourself,

                         beloved one,

                         for the sake of God's name

                         in the world."








                         We must weave imaginative spells

                         of dreams

                         in order to do the deeds of compassion

                         infused with beauty.

                         Strangely, there is sort of illusion

                         that is very close

                         to reality.

                         God's Angels have been known to

                         joyously fly in and out

                         of fanciful dreams

                         of love.





                         A LAMB AT ONE WITH THE WORLD


                         I am at one with a broken,

                         adulterous world,

                         a lost lamb

                         lusting for life

                         and seeking redemption.

                         And all the while

                         God carries

                         my wooly little spirit

                         in His strong arms

                         as He flies along singing

                         in rivers of wind.








                         THERE IS A TINY, SPACELESS SPACE

                         DOWN IN THE DEPTHS THE SOUL


                         There is a tiny, spaceless space,

                         (smaller than you can imagine),

                         down in the depths of your soul

                         within which angels chant

                         and deathless children sing...

                         for harmony and innocence

                         are in the immortal soul,

                         and yet, so thickly cloaked with clay

                         that only on rare occasions of prayer,

                         or love's ecstatic celebrations,

                         or in the soul's deepest songs of sorrows,

                         or on the death bed

                         may they be clearly sensed.






                         THERE IS MUSIC IN THE SPIRIT OF GOD


                         There is music in the Spirit of God,

                         the wild poetry of His heart.

                         He pours it out through every tree;

                         courses it through birds.

                         Simple, passionate souls know this:

                         a free people upon whose minds

                         God writes His verse.

                         All creation waits

                         for a love-ravished people

                         to pour their Maker's music out.

                         Light gathers like liquid

                         in the bottom of a valley:

                         worshipers have assembled in the fields.

                         Hand in hand, they sway

                         unto the rhythms of stars--

                         loving the rocks, loving the sea,

                         loving sky!

                         God's light floods through their songs

                         into the earth...

                         Rabbits and squirrels come out of their holes,

                         drawn towards palatable grace.

                         Fearlessly bounding to the people's feet

                         they hear angels singing.





                         DOWN IN THE RADIANT ROOTS


                         Goodness, love and beauty

                         have created us

                         through magnificent wisdom.

                         Why not see each other

                         as wisely made?

                         Evil is an intrusion

                         best overcome by redirection

                         of attention

                         to the holy roots of things.

                         Evil enchants us

                         only as it hides in good.

                         In truth! it is a vapid alienation

                         from God, a tough, resistant nature

                         existent outside the divine feast

                         in warpage of its own deceit.

                         It is goodness, love and beauty

                         that have created us

                         through magnificent wisdom!

                         In the face of all painful contradictions,

                         let us vividly remember

                         and passionately proclaim

                         in deeds and words of utmost courtesy

                         these truths!





                              A NEW WORLD


                              The radiance of rocks and trees

                              shines from the night

                              as sky lightens and beckons.

                              Draft horses in yellow yokes

                              pull new plows.

                              The fields are chock-full of corn

                              and partridge:

                              a dozen coveys per acre, I suppose.

                              Fat chickens wobble on the roads,

                              eating fat worms. 

                              A cottage lies buried

                              in sunflowers and aspens.

                              Cucumber vines are spilling

                              over a picket fence.

                              Sunlight powers everything:

                              cars, tools, washing machines...

                              Inside, lovers write beautiful poems

                              on computers

                              and market, across the world,

                              their herbs,

                              which cause people to live

                              a hundred years or more.





                              WE MUST WORK IN THE HEART


                              We must work in the heart

                              with a white hot iron:

                              awaken a thorough forgiveness;

                              re-find the music,

                              and the beautiful shapes of things;

                              re-find our God-breathed passions;

                              re-find the glory

                              and the ecstasy of the holy;

                              let poetry run through us

                              towards itself again.






                              WHO IS TEACHING THIS THING WRONGLY?


                              "And they shall return to God

                              with everlasting joy upon their heads..."

                              Where is the artesian laughter,

                              the dancing feet,

                              the flashing light of freedom

                              in the eyes?

                              There is no joy

                              in a boring God.

                              Where is the God

                              that all little children

                              would spontaneously love?

                              Let's return

                              to that One.







                              I WOULD BE A POLLYWOG

                              IN A SILVER SEA


                              I would be a pollywog

                              in a silver sea

                              amidst a land

                              of thick jasmine,

                              where rose petals

                              grow moist at night

                              in quiet gardens

                              conceived by passionate women,

                              and pearls roll out

                              into sunlight

                              day by day.

                              I would wear

                              iridescent shoes

                              made of fish skin

                              to walk along paths

                              of human milk

                              and divine honey.

                              This is the land

                              of a thankful heart,

                              where common things

                              begin to glow.

                              This is the journey

                              of yielding

                              to the silent,

                              silver flow.





                              QUESTIONS FOR LAMBS

                              IN THEIR DREAMS


                              How do we know

                              that lambs in their dreams

                              do not see

                              lions licking them

                              upside down in a mirror?

                              How do we know

                              that stones

                              do not dream of sunlight

                              splashing through leaves

                              upon gray faces?

                              How do we know

                              that seals

                              do not chase

                              luminous fish

                              which glow

                              with beauty

                              in their eyes?

                              And didn't the ark of God

                              once get dropped

                              and spill so much liquid

                              gold on the ground

                              that it seeped

                              all the way to China?

                              And how do we know

                              that Jesus Christ

                              isn't inside

                              that fat girl

                              who hands out

                              Big Macs

                              like they were

                              going out of style,

                              or that the Holy One

                              isn't playing

                              games with lightning

                              inside the mind

                              of that paralyzed woman

                              whose courage shines

                              through the whole length

                              of her body?

                              We see life

                              through what we are...

                              and how do we know

                              what we are?






                              ALL IS GIVEN TO EACH

                              ACCORDING TO THEIR FAITH


                              The same God

                              who smiled on St. Francis

                              as he rolled naked in the snow

                              to subdue his bodily passions

                              smiled on King David

                              when he took

                              his 800th concubine.







                              O rose breath

                              of Holy love,

                              I love you...

                              O silver slew

                              of Divine joy,

                              I love you...









                         Should Church be a place

                         to hide from the naked Heavens,

                         a place of refuge

                         from encounters with the world of Spirit?

                         Why don't church goers meet angels?

                         If a profound spiritual awakening

                         should happen to a certain church member:

                         an opening of the eyes of the soul

                         to see spiritual halos, departed saints,

                         angels and devils, and the glory of God

                         hovering like fire above the altar--

                         would the congregation be a safe place to share it?

                         Or would there be murmurs of fear,

                         anxiety about delusions, hallucinations,

                         gastric distress, nervous breakdowns?

                         then castigation or an unspoken distancing.

                         I think God is too creative and free

                         for almost all religion:

                         that is why the seed shell must crack,

                         the old wine skin burst!


                         One day, the poetry of God

                         and religion will be one...

                         The fields will be singing;

                         the sky, angel packed.






                              LOST AND FOUND


                              Lost souls

                              live in the shadows

                              of their idols.

                              That is why they are lost.


                              Found souls

                              unfold in the light

                              of nothing

                              but the Light:

                              Naked and transparent

                              they flow in and out

                              with the Love

                              that is them

                              while lost souls

                              twist and mar

                              all good they acquire,

                              as they melt away

                              soul substance into lightless







                              ALL THINGS RADIANT


                              All things radiate

                              with the glory of God:

                              therefore, enter into all things

                              with great thankfulness of being

                              for the lush, plentitude of Life.

                              Life is the door to Life!

                              We are to be a simple,

                              open receptiveness

                              to the growing, loving presence

                              within and amongst us,

                              and within and amongst all things

                              which are reflected in us.





                              TO LIVE


                              One must learn to surrender

                              well and forgive freely

                              to be a sensitive soul

                              in this world.






                              LONGING TO HEAR THAT TRUE SONG


                              Do the wordless birds

                              always sense the breath of God,

                              or only when they are alone?:

                              when the flitting, dropping,

                              pecking and peeping is done

                              in the hush of day's end

                              and they sit silent in the dark.

                              Is it then that a sweet flow

                              wells forth in their breast and brains

                              and an ecstasy of rest overflows

                              into their song?





                              MY TRUTH


                              The anxiety to be something

                              in the eyes of others

                              is the worm's concern.

                              To Be in the breath of God's

                              loving radiance

                              is my truth,

                              letting God unfold life.






                              THIS SIMPLE VISION


                              This spiritual vision

                              is about simple openness

                              to the simple openness of God:

                              clarity of soul;

                              poetry of thought and heart;

                              birthing beauty

                              in suffering

                              and dying people.

                              It is a simple, joyous vision.

                              It is about growing into

                              God's expansiveness of God

                              that is alive!

                              beautiful, ecstatic!





                              WORDS CAN BE KNIVES



                              I must be writing down the layers

                              to the bones.

                              Words can be knives, sharp, honed,

                              making thin, deep cuts that flay the body

                              open: the soul glistens, moist, pink in the

                              light. This work of art.

                              This Life!






                              I DON'T REMEMBER


                              I don't remember laughing with my father,

                              hearing the best of the old stories.

                              I don't remember exploring my body

                              with a slim young girl,

                              giggling as we discovered hers without shame.

                              I don't remember bringing all my fears

                              to my parents and having them laugh

                              and pray them away with me.

                              I don't remember ever having

                              an ambition for this life of mine

                              other than finding my way home,

                              other than being alive.






                              THIS POETRY IS NOT YOU


                              This poetry is not You,

                              nor any image.

                              The Bible is not You,

                              nor any holy book.

                              The saints are not You,

                              nor any compassionate deed.

                              This longing is not You,

                              nor any answer.

                              The light in a lover's eyes

                              is not You,

                              nor is this body You,

                              or any truth--

                              yet You cloth Yourself

                              with all these

                              at Your pleasure,

                              then laughingly

                              divest Yourself

                              of all things

                              to run naked

                              into garments of sunlight

                              through invisible snow.






                              COMMENTS TO THOSE ON THE OUTSIDE

                              LOOKING IN AND CATEGORIZING


                              They can call it lyricism,

                              they can call it romanticism,

                              but the poet who writes it

                              calls it green life

                              budding in the brain,

                              rose buds blooming in the loins,

                              blue rivers running from the belly,

                              three fountains of honied milk,

                              a throat of candle light,

                              gold horns of the morning star

                              piercing a heart.


                              Life's language flows out

                              from the inside

                              of Life.







                         Who knows the freedom of a child,

                         and senses souls of things born wild,

                         embracing love's most certain pain of loss

                         while moving through the mysteries of the cross?


                         Those who know, drink luminescent streams,

                         and eat the constancy of fiery dreams

                         mingled with sounds of secret weeping

                         from illusive dreams the asleep are keeping.


                         And knowing, they are washed by naked being

                         to laugh within the dreams their hearts are seeing,

                         while yielding, yielding dark unto that death

                         which blows through light of holy breath:


                         until a beautiful child of wise compassions

                         weeps for dead things done and undone —

                         while spinning, spinning, in a sea of sun.






                         THE SPIRIT OF PRAYER

                         (40 Meditations)



                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         flows on creatively forever...




                         If we are prayerless,

                         perhaps it is because

                         we do not believe

                         in an image of God

                         that makes us

                         love Divine freedom

                         and laughter.




                         When Love causes us

                         to imagine the divine

                         that imagination is not true--

                         but the Love that flows through it





                         Talk to God.

                         God speaks back,

                         not with a voice in the brain

                         but with a sense of wisdom

                         flowing through countless elements

                         of life

                         in the brain,

                         in the heart,

                         in the belly...




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is like a little girl

                         stretching her whole body up

                         in morning's first rays

                         of sunlight

                         and laughing.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is like a curious boy

                         full of wonder,

                         hunting for fireflies

                         with a magnifying glass

                         in the grass

                         at night.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is a woman softly dropping

                         her dress

                         before her lover's eyes

                         as her soul

                         melts down

                         to her toes.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is a warrior

                         swinging his sword

                         and singing

                         as he cuts through the skull

                         of his own inner enemy

                         in twisted dark.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is walking down

                         a city street

                         with an 800 year old

                         Cesterian Abbey

                         wrapt around you.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is saying, "Thank you God,

                         I love you too,"

                         by the way

                         you wash

                         the dishes

                         or comb your hair.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is a warm glow

                         of an invisible flame

                         on the fingertips

                         as they touch

                         a face.




                         The Spirit of Prayer


                         moonlight out of your eyes,

                         sunlight into your footprints.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is the freedom of God

                         playing with us.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is openness...

                         when all things open,

                         when the breath of God

                         flows freely through,

                         and Loving Is...




                         Prayer is this freeing,

                         this loosing

                         of constrictions,

                         this letting God

                         be God

                         in nakedness

                         of flowing forth,

                         in trust's creative


                         and simple

                         loving action...




                         The Spirit flows

                         out of your heart

                         when you believe it so.

                         The Spirit flows

                         through your voice

                         when you believe it so.

                         The Spirit

                         flows out of your belly

                         and loins

                         when you believe it so.




                         The Spirit

                         shines through your loving eyes

                         and beams through your loving smile.

                         You breathe it in

                         and breathe it out.

                         It flows and laughs,

                         twirls and tumbles

                         --yet, is unmovable.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is freedom

                         in simple stillness,


                         in simple actions,


                         in simple song,


                         in simple speech

                         to love

                         the Love

                         that loves

                         the Love

                         in us

                         that loves...




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is beautiful God

                         flowing through

                         and joyously animating,

                         or quieting

                         our spirit

                         in adoration.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is the essence

                         and fragrance

                         of a grateful heart.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         worships God

                         with names as praise

                         and without names

                         as silent observation

                         and pure savoring.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         opens the heart,

                         opens the brain,

                         opens the arms,

                         opens the voice,

                         opens the belly,

                         opens the loins,

                         pours in innocence:

                         spills life in and out.




                         The Spirit of Prayer works

                         to open people

                         to God's Love,

                         to cleanse and free them

                         from wounds and lies and constrictions

                         until Love overflows

                         all containers

                         into expansive oceans

                         of innocent Love.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is radiant grace,

                         abounding and bubbling,

                         seeping all silky and pouring

                         to all people.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         moves the breath of God

                         through every cell

                         as Love for my body

                         saying a wordless,

                         "Yes, Life, yes, yes!"




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is God's

                         silver waters


                         through the brain,

                         swirling through

                         the heart,

                         and splashing

                         down upon

                         pure, rosy loins.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         is invisible light


                         out your hands

                         onto the heads of children,

                         blessing them;

                         upon the body of the sick,

                         blessing them;

                         onto the head of a dog,

                         blessing it;

                         into the belly of a cat

                         blessing it:

                         blessing green things,

                         blessing trees,

                         blessing the earth,

                         blessing all you love

                         or wish to love

                         with Love.




                         The Spirit of Prayer

                         blesses God

                         in blessing

                         all God loves.




                         Go outside.

                         Put your two hands

                         over your heart.

                         Lift your face to the sky

                         and say,

                         "God, I love you."

                         That is the Spirit of Prayer.




                         Sit in your house

                         or on a hill

                         or next to the sea.


                         "I love You

                         because you love me,"

                         over and over

                         until your heart

                         starts to get it.

                         That is the Spirit of Prayer.




                         Learning to love

                         lavishly and wisely.

                         That is the Spirit of Prayer.



                         Freeing God to be untamable God;

                         yourself to be

                         the process of You!

                         That is the Spirit of Prayer.



                         Freeing yourself

                         and all people in your heart

                         into innocence.

                         That is the Spirit of Prayer.



                         Welcoming and embracing all wounded

                         ones within

       with tenderness and laughter.

       That is the Spirit of Prayer.



                         Grieving love's loss with tears;

                         opening the pain fiercely to God’s freedom.

  That is the Spirit of Prayer.




                         Being firm and free and tender

                         in the world,

                         brimming over the spontaneous silver flow

                         of Divine Being.

                                           That is the Spirit of Prayer.



                                           Talking to God

                                            even when it's really painful

                                            to keep believing in God.

                                           That is the Spirit of Prayer.



                                           Believing with all your heart in the voice of tender Love

                                           and being bitterly disappointed

                                           then only believing in the grief and unbelief

       with the captive part of your heart

                                           while you hold back that wild, crazy part that loves without

        conditions just because you know

                                           God is beautiful beyond all belief no matter what happens.

                                           That is the Spirit of Prayer.



                                           Continuing to Love God’s Love and freedom

                                           no matter how many evolutionary scholars say God

                                           is nothing more than a misguided evolutionary instinct.

                                           That is the Spirit of Prayer.



                                           Never giving up the dream

                              of joyously making beauty everywhere.

                                           That is the Spirit of Prayer.



                              Loving without conditions or regret.

                              This is the Spirit of Prayer

                              that flows on full of faith forever.