70 Years

To A Priestly Friend

There are no cloisters for pagans
Save the magic grove and secret stream,
For an altar, my heart in stillness
For sacrament, the violet that grows unseen
In woods blessed by silence
     and rushing of wind
     and gurgling of water
     and energy that mingles in separateness
With light that separates in shadows
I dwell in patterns of darkness
Rehearsing structures of light
With winged angels buzzing around me
To aid my soul in flight.

-Jehanah-

What a mystery, life

What a mystery, life
One day there is utmost contentment
While the next – a heavy heart
And nothing seems right.


Why is it that sometimes
We are like on a mountain top
Believing that we will never be the same?
We will not get lost
We will hold onto our vision
And grow such vast possibilities . . .


Why are we cast down
From the heights of heaven
Wherein we’ve come
To painful, confusing places?


Life, when you are ready to tell us
Or perhaps when we are ready
To hear your answer
There will no longer be just opposites
Just far apart realms
Of attraction and aversion;
And we will understand
That all is really One.


Perhaps by then we might glimpse
To understand
That all these scenes
Are part of a vast inner self
Looking like this and that, for awhile.


-Wendy Wolters-