In response to fear: A Prayer for the Taking (along the road to Emmaus)

God,
take me
by the scruff
of my tremulous neck,
by the stuff
of this flawless soul
I am blind to,
and lay my withering feet
on the road.
Give me the bread
to break; make of me
the bread. Break me
of fear.
Lay me open
to the sight
of my own astonishment.
Give me my wings.
My power.
Unbind my eyes
to the living,
here in the lens
of all the death
that I see; the death
I believe my life
has become.
Shed me; rid me
of fear. It shatters
my bones; crumples
my spine. Raise me
up to my true height.
Pivot my eyes
to the glory
of May bursting
open with green.
Here, you say,
is Life.
Here, you say,
is Me.
Here, you say
as you settle my stance
on the Emmaus road,
is you. 

Fawn in the Grass

I have been, all my life,

so afraid.

Afraid to go out,

to go in,

to stay in,

to be gone into.

Frightened of people,

of eyes, of a gaze.

Of a mouth

open toward me,

of teeth, of jaws,

of a word.

The word is 

Fear. I have lain here,

livid with fear.

Feral, mammalian fear:

the deer. 

The dear

infant fawn

curled in the grass,

mother gone.

The dear little one

who waits

to be preyed upon

or prayed over.

What will we do,

oh my hands,

with this dear

in the grass?

(Photo: artist unknown.)

The Ten Thousand Things

Oh, Lord, we tire

of chronicity,

the same old,

same old, our ten

thousand terrors. 

But ten thousand

Buddhas

await us in the shadows

of fear, which are

light in disguise,

awaiting our hands

to wring

inevitable love

from the stones

we have piled

around our ten thousand

failures to love.

We learn again

the chronicity

of compassion,

the shock of our will

to care again,

to soften our hands

away from the stones, 

to reach for the faces

begging for light,

the first

being our own,

for a dusting

of mercy, for the alms

of tendresse

to spill 

from the boundless

bowls of our hearts.

(Art: "Metta" -- artist unknown)