Upon the thoughts, the rain.
A gust on every curvaceous turn
of the brain.
There are angels on the pathways
of memory, treading softly.
There is a jar of sweet balsam -
see how it is poured into forgiveness.
Every branching off of every
tree of thought is reaching for the
root of meaning.
Rest now, into the water,
into the breath that comes from
air above the mountains,
clearing all the smog of voices on
the horizon.
The pointing fingers are no more
lining the path of imagination.
God is in the neurons.
See how small God may be!
Set a course of possible thought -
trees voluptuous in leaf, in blossom,
in fruit, fragrance the path
of emerging ways of being.
The nagging voices shouting "less"
are swept off of the path with "more"!
More hope, more love, more
surrender in our weakest places.
We find a pulsing strength in the
wind, water, fire of God
and we are grounded on the
earth of the humble
in making.
Jenneth Graser
Artist - Bianca Green
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