Joy (III)

“The joy of the risen Lord is the sunshine of our Father’s love. The joy of Jesus is the hope of eternal happiness. The joy of Jesus is the flame of burning love. Easter is this joy. However, you cannot have joy without sacrifice. That is why Good Friday comes before Easter.” ~Blessed Teresa of Calcutta

I will move the dishes

I will move the dishes
sparkling from one spot to another

while more collect wet and crumby
in the basin, brought by little hands

I toss the ones that fall and crack
in time and space

knowing the shards and soothing assurances
collect beyond our watery universe

we wait for storms to pass overhead
and underfoot we find buried grace

the water cannot touch,
flames burning inside

innumerable tombs with heavy stones
sealed and lost days ago, years ago

opening now, shrouds of holiness,
smiles behind the mess of broken cups

we build mosaics of hope and joy
with all that glass for restoration day

knowing each time our work is washed away
in time and space we are built up better than before

we wait for miracles of light
everlasting joy we choose again

and again moving
the sparkling dishes from one spot to another

we find the shroud of holiness
the everlasting flame of burning love

beneath the wet and crumby plates, cups, bowls,
shards in our mosaic

we are monks watching mandalas

our work swept up into the mystery
of light,

life, love,
and the undulating tide of time and space.

Joy (I)

“A joyful heart is the normal result of a heart burning with love. Joy is not simply a matter of temperament, it is always hard to remain joyful — all the more reason why we should try to acquire it and make it grow in our hearts.” ~Blessed Teresa of Calcutta


I will dig in the clothes

I will dig in the clothes
making a hole where the whites used to be

and before I step away
more will fill it in falling from the chute

the little hills and mountains
forming and eroding on the basement floor

sand castles and moats on the beach
I dig through the onsies, t-shirts, shorts

looking for the shells and sparkling jewels
of holiness searching

remembering that sometimes it takes a good walk
along the shore before stumbling upon

the most precious pieces of secrets
and, too, upon turning,

and walking back,
the treasure pops right out of the ground

under our feet –
service –

that kind of sand and those pounding waves
polish any dull and rough rock

on the basement floor –
toys thrown down the chute

decorating the dirty laundry like shells
on the seaweed-strewn beach

left by life, love,
and the undulating tide.