A Blessing for a Sound Mind

I bless you with a softening of voices
that have been known to shout.

I bless your heart to rise with outpourings
over your countenance, love.

I bless the anointing balsam to drizzle
between the hemispheres, a baptism.

I bless the neural pathways to belong
to the Mapmaker's whisper,

for original thought to retrain
and new branches to grow from the great stem.

I bless your spirit in redistribution
and for memories awash with forgiveness.

I bless you with the power of what is forgiven
and for the soundness of hands upon your temples.

I bless you with the possibilities of patience
and for the malice of the monkey mind to cease chatter.

As knees upon the cool earthen floor bow into silence
as knees bend in repose and a well worn heart lies down,

and a head lays upon a cushion and this becomes the very
gathering place of God, a staircase of holiness,

all that can be heard - angels walking up and walking down.

I bless you with a cognizance no longer tormented, kissed
with the kisses of the Christ who subdues all storms,

who causes temptations in the desert to be shown their place.

I bless you with the words, It is good
as God breathes over you peace of a blissful kind.

I bless you with an ease and repair of fragmentation,
alignment with the sounds of Heaven,
quiet when quiet is due

and pleasures of glory to soak upon the lobes
with a radiance of truth.

No carefully prepared remedy, no devised scheme
can do what can be done when Spirit calls out
over the hills and valleys of consciousness:

Be still, and know that I am God.

Jenneth Graser

Photography Nik Shuliahin Unsplash

The Humble in Making

Upon the mind water flows.
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