Singing

We all have to sing our own song
Whether beautifully or a little off key
We all need a flock where we can belong
Whether that is thousands flying together or just two or three.

That is what the birds have taught me.

Notable Quotable

Today's Notable Quotable is by EChamberlainMD

Here is a link to the original posting.  By the way, I asked permission before posting it over here on my teensey weensey blog.

http://new.exchristian.net/2012/04/by-ex-pastor-dan-d-ear-social-network.html#comment-488816471

It is a poem.  I like the message and the imagery.

LIKE A ROSE EXPLODES

Once upon a happy-ever-after it happens,
Sometime somewhere in the hills and trees,
Like smoke sneaking out from camps and cabins
On an uncalculated, unnavigated breeze,

That stirs you to find yourself lost in the moment
When time takes its last winter walk through your woods.
Like the last wisp of ashen aspen once smoking,
Something leaves you then and there for good.

Looking up where shadows of leaves wave like wings,
Like eyelashes flashing baby blues of sky,
Where the world gives you a wink, making you think
You can see right back in its wide open eyes,

When the end of the daylight hangs heavy in the air and
When shadows are melted and welded to black,
Like a newborn cast in the wild looks up, staring
In wonder under a starry-eyed mother earth gazing back,

When lightning scrapes the stone and steel horizon
And ricochets and ripples, turning night to day,
When thunder barks and sparks are flying,
And you feel the buzzing of something rushing your way,

When storm clouds hiss and spit then split apart,
The rain slipping their grip til they drip out of view,
Behind the crashing and splashing, the flash in the dark,
Like a rose explodes, the world opens to you.

Like a rose explodes,
The beauty's exposed,
And the world opens up to you.

When a fluttering, stuttering, stumbling, mumbling from heaven
Whispers, "Pay attention to what your senses deny,"
Right here, in your presence, is the question, the essence,
When you look up the answers in the sky.

It's not in spells of hells or catechisms
Or searches for meanings in visions or dreams
Or magic or miracle, myth or mysticism--
It's not in any of those things, it seems.

It's not printed or pressed on papyrus or pages
Or sketched or etched in stones or stars
Or languishing lost in the language of ancients.
It's in the rose that explodes
Right here where you are.

by EChamberlainMD

A Stone Pillow

The Bible

Throws you the bone of heaven

You celebrate your good fortune
While you lay your head
On a stone pillow
Your body on a bed of nails
Wearing a millstone around your neck
Chains on your wrists and ankles
Inside a musty dungeon
Within the high walls of a hard rock prison
Surrounded by a moat

Living in the fresh air of today
is out of reach
until you let go of the bone

Black Ice

Black ice on the highway and freezing temperatures in the air.

Winter has gripped the roads

The commuter’s tires have not

Spun out and dizzy

He looks wary

Too late! 

Untitled Poetry

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The wind howls in from the south southwest,

    blowing dust and banging shutters.

Bouncing over the low sparse brush,

    tumbleweeds scurry by,

Hurrying to make it to the river by dusk.

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The raging wind batters

With the fury of Mongol forces
Sweeping across the desert

The clumps of tall, stiff grasses

Unable to run before the enemy

Bend deeply
Groveling like peasants
Refusing to break

Willing themselves to survive until

The soldiers have marched through

And their tall, quiet serenity will be returned