Her tail was a flurry
as she pounced down to pray….
oh you say?
don’t i mean PLAY…
perhaps it is you, who have lost your way…
for in honest play who can deny the communion with the divine?
To bow and to bend?
we are not ashamed!
pray out loud!
Tis not only for knees, you know!
the cats came to the doors, crying.
the skies were covered with yellow grey clouds
everything was edged with burnt orange and smoke…..
as they ran inside, we went out, in wonder.
ashes fell gently from the sky,
like snow.
as the swamp burned.
and the cats stayed inside, sleeping.
flowers bloom by opening,
perhaps we open by blooming…..
but this i know, we are all part of the sacred dance of life.
She had the same name as my mother,
and the same accent,
filled with granite and love –
.
the bed was to high for the dog to see Her,
and she was too immobilized to see Him —
and the rules did not allow big dogs on beds….
but slowly Her hand crept out from under the blanket,
and as She reached down,
He reached up…
.
Love always finds a way,
if only for a moment.
i looked over longingly at the bed,
but still had work to do…
i almost thought i could hear the pillow calling –
but someone had answered first….
and yet
She still had one ear cocked –
as if to say
‘I’m listening too -‘
it wasn’t the pillows, it was You!
.
your ears were like a lyre
and your eyes played a song of ancient love to my heart.
who says even fleeting love is not real?
Truth takes but a moment.
Love is forever.
Her eyes are the greenest green,
the brightest green,
the green of new growth
and hope.
and they looked right into mine,
and then She purred.
oh.
my.
dare i reflect back all that?
Busy and full
Of commitments and care
Filled with love
And despair.
Take the time to breath and sit,
If only for a little bit.
The owl is hooting in the dark,
Even as the dawn doth spark,
And the stinging creatures awaken and fly to and from their den,
And the flowers open their faces,
And the faces of friends appear in the light .
in the morning darkness
before the sun has risen,
light still shines
hidden
in the deep soft fur of Love.
There at my elbow is a muzzle,
nudging me to pay attention to the more important things in life –
all is illusion, and as such, magic is real –
and all is Love.
art does not mimic life, nor life art –
life is art, and art is life –
.
now go on with ya, create something –
or pet a dog.
or both.
Ministry of Animals 