Blessed are the poor in spirit; theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings.

 

Blessed are those who fight that voice that says “don’t be so needy” “you can do it on your own” “don’t need to ask for help” – they will know Love fully.

The mistaking of my spirit’s inside
For big and real and full and rich
But in comparison to what is the catch?
Big compared to who?
Bigger than you?
More real than you?
More full than you?
If you’re poor in spirit, then I’m richer than—you

 

Blessed are the ones who embrace uncertainty, for there is no other way to travel in the darkness.

They have not much to give,
in self-awareness lost,
and yet to them belong
a light that knows no
darkness.

 

Blessed are the uncomfortable, the ones who fought the Siren’s call and did not surrender their soul to the couch, the ones who stare in the face of suffering and kept going anyway; the truth is theirs forever.

I have found the paradox,
that if you love until it hurts,
there can be no more hurt,
only more love.

 

Blessed are those who despite tremendous tortures have not given up, for in the painful waiting is bareness of the soul.

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For the time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

 

Blessed are the poor in spirit; theirs is the Kingdom of God.

Still Wandering,

Tony