The Obscure Sense of the Presence of God

Walking down a street, sweeping a floor, washing dishes, hoeing beans, reading a book, taking a stroll in the woods-all can be enriched with contemplation and with the obscure sense of the presence of God.    Thomas Merton. The Inner Experience: Notes on Contemplation.


I see how the evening sun lights
the high grass, trees shift in the gentle wind
and small brown birds flit between
outdoor tables as young women
reach for coffee cups
drop sweet crumbs to the rough sidewalk,
to the birds.  Intent on home-work,
office-work, they never look up
to see how the sky
deepens to darker hue;
how day will fade soon
and vermilion night set fire
to the seaward hills.

The west wind will finally drive them in,
and the grateful birds will all fly away.

I see how Your love lurks even in the weeds
that grow on the edge of the most
tended garden; hides in the cries of
the grieving mourning dove;
falls like rain in the tender,
moonless night.

(30 July 2013)

The Russian Army Gathers at the Ukrainian Border

armies in the night, steel

wheels scrape

the sacred earth.

Gogol once rode here, troika

flying over drifts, wind

blistering his open lips

as laughing he drew in

the Russian cold.

So many dead souls,

to be bought and sold . . .

fodder

for Russian tanks.

Suisunes Woman

when waters were clear

and elk foraged, fearless on 

high bluffs, she waited

for her husband

flowing swiftly 

with catch of salmon

he rode the western wind 

as her eyes guided him

while high above 

gathered the feathery 

souls of the old ones,

returned from sea, 

honored guests,

to the evening feast.

The People of the West Wind

Suisunes once lived

beneath the Twin Sisters.

Ascending beyond the vineyards and twisted oaks,

they still drift through morning mist,

and walk the sacred paths

of their fathers.

Guardian oaks still embrace the People.

Meandering branches lean low,

give clambering children

an easy climb

high to where acorns

fall in the western wind

to feed

their hungry

souls.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: 

The Suisunes people, called The People of the West Wind, lived for over 10,000 years in the area where I now live... but they nearly died out within a generation of exposure to European missionaries seeking to save their souls. They would have eluded the attention of the Spanish longer had they not given refuge to escaped mission Indians.  In 1810 several dozen of these gentle people committed  suicide rather than submit to the Spanish.

If you listen carefully in the morning breeze you can still hear their laughter.

Flow

It flows

over highways
dripping down
lamp-posts
through gutters,
pounding
storm drains,
filling
narrow lanes,
past dark houses,
past high-tension
wires, driving
through
constraining fence,
unfettered
it fills
the green hills
and rolls
through folding slough, past
low bridge and causeway,
ever lower
down to Suisun Bay,
unstoppable
like a swimmer’s blood
pulsing through throbbing vein,
reaching for Gate of Gold
to break free,
to become
one with
One.

(19 April 2011)