Wounded Deer

It's not just the way
you were clipped
by the oncoming car
before the beginning of the hunt.

It's not just your eyes
melting, merging into mine
moments before.

It's not just the silence
the deep woods, the whispers
that come into your dreams.

It's the way,
even in your wounding,
you still come close
longing to be touched,
welcoming all past disaster
into your heart.

The Mysteries

They don't come,
dressed as ghosts
with the whirl of thunder,
drumbeats, feathers, prayers...

They don't come
with ritual and ceremony
to the sleeping room
of the screaming child.

There is no one left
to pull the child out
into the world.

No. Not now.

The mysteries
are just a subtle knocking
on the walls of the psyche
echoing deep
into the still lake of your heart.

God is calling

All the doors must be opened
and the shadow of Self
revealed.