The Gift of Not Seeing

The gift of not seeing — it hides

beneath a gray sweater and makes

rainbow colors. It paints my eyes

a deeper shade of green. It is a

novice at all things true, and

tells with loyal honesty. It never

masks its feelings behind a sleek

charade.

The gift in glassy blue has

wide, thin strips of gentle beamings.

Its color turns orange to blue to

green, and a thousand different leanings.

The shades of the shadow produce

pure light.

One Thing to Which I Hold

Yeshua has told me to hold on to the story of the Prodigal Son.

Not because my adult child (no proper terminology exists) is expected to come back to me on her hands and knees begging to be called a man again.

No, it is about those who are already home, fixing up their bedrooms just so, and holding themselves enamored with their chosen existence.

It is about those who feel they have more of a right to exist in their own spiritual space and to keep others out based on their idea of what it takes to be worthy. They place appearances and their ability to discipline themselves over and above others’ sense of honesty. They weigh themselves on the scale of life and find others wanting. It is as if they were on a see-saw, holding the weightier worth in their being; they keep the others forever down and helpless as they suspend them in the air.

Don’t be surprised if they stop playing with you, children.

We won’t be surprised when we visit, imperfect, and you don’t want to let us in.