action healing, awakening, discernment, Growth, Humanity, Interfaith, Islam, jesus, love, nautilus love, Pacifism, Peace, Personal Experiences, Soul, the color of moments

Our Hearts: Moveable Feasts of Jesus

My heart is a table

Come leave your crumbs

Your finger print smudges

Your laughter

Your trailing sentences

Prop your elbows

Get lost in a thought and fall silent

Listen to the cadence of a brother’s voice

Analyze the curve and contour of a sister’s profile while she laughs, or frowns, or looks past you


See vulnerability in dimples and freckles

Wake up and realize that the face and its landscapes are slow lines drawn to the heart

Eye to eye

Move to a new table and sit, be vulnerable in the sitting

Patient and waiting

Set up one around yourself


As the church

As the body of Christ

Let us each make ourselves tables for the moveable feast of Jesus

action healing, discernment, Fear, Grace, Growth, Heartbreak, nautilus love, Year's End

A Page From The Atlas

There is a page in the middle of my atlas that I haven’t been able to look at for almost a year. My fingers turn pages quickly and my mind scurries to collect other thoughts to crowd out the ghosts that are sure to float upward as I pass the map of your state. As thoughts of the surf and the sand and the wind of a place that beheld you from boyhood beckon me back towards you I feel the panic rise. I think of the night you sat with me on the couch with that page. You drew a line with your long finger from the city to the pine barrens. Glancing at me with an eye telling me softly about their oddities. My fingers fly past that page the way a supersticious child walks faster by the one strange room at her grandmother’s house. The room where its dark and dread flows forth for no nameable reason. And so today I stopped at that page and I stared at your tiny town marked along the shore. In my mind I stared at the pictures of the boardwalk and abandoned carnival buildings you sent me with little captions and lovely explanations in a tone you forgot you ever used for me. I stared at the name of your town and said it in my mind and felt the panic rise.

And it’s been almost a year so I should be able to do that kind of thing now. I should be able to stare at a map of the place that beheld you from boyhood and have it mean nothing to me. And have it hold no more significance than any other distant state I’ve never been to before. It should hold no endearment or wistful memory for it is just a place and you are just another person from it.

Comfort, love, nautilus love, Soul, the color of moments, vignettes, Winter

Goofy Neuronal Whole Foods Trip: He Shops and I Love

Long legs amble in your very unique stride across the parking lot through the entrance to Whole Foods.  You get your cart, you get your provisions, you get pomegranate seeds and  your pears.  “Pomegranate seeds… I want that.  And, I got my pears”.  And the tone of  your voice and your definitive decision on fruit, a tender implosion in my heart. 

You grab a couple of bottles of kombucha.  One for you, and one for me to have when I am at your house.  You contemplate cashews and salted edamame snacks (perhaps they were soy) and the worth of a vegan blueberry muffin.  You laugh and groan in obliging disgust as I tell you an anecdotal story about the time I bit into a crisp baby carrot with a mushy middle.  And how the incongruence of the two textures  has left me fearful of ever bitting into a baby carrot again.  I told that story to you and you listened with ease.

Such a regular thing to do with you.  Such a daily thing.  Like eating candy from a box that rests on our chest, or the languid page turning of a travel book or an atlas.  Or drinking tea.  Languid daily things that hem in the eternal.  And I felt it eternity there with you in the store. An a priori gliding across shiny linoleum and grocery store ephemera.

You neared the check out line and became serious, now faced with work of the conveyor belt and cashier.  “I love you”, you say. 

“I love you too”, I say back, hoping so deeply that those five words in that little moment are to you the obvious, discernible and undeniable manifestation of every love strand I have for you.

And now, small little pauses and tender vocalizations as we say goodbye and in tandem, hang up the phone.

(After I wrote this I realized that it was four years to the day when I stood in the frozen predawn hours before work in front of a cavernous mailbox and dropped that letter to you).