There is a weave of love and instruction
You have placed upon my life.
Your Son said His yoke was easy and His
burden was light.
Light as in ‘light and heavy’
Or light as in rays of spiritual light?
What is your yoke like? Like light.
I shall try to explain it like this:
Your lady weave
is the color of new milk and bright gold.
It is soft like the fur of a new born bunny
and it is strong like a million strands
of silk washed with rain a million times.
I experience it
first like a veil hovering
about 3 feet over my head.
I catch glimpses of it as I am running
From thing to thing.
Praying hurriedly between things.
Whoosh. It is gone.
I know it is woven of grace and beauty.
Then one day, a long time after I have
called on you
and yet not so long at all,
I notice the veil is just
Shimmering like a great bird
glistening in the sun.
A silken cloud.
bits of sky blue filter through the weave.
The veil is at once everywhere present
and invisible at the same time.
From time to time I see it
feel it know it desire it am grateful for it
Your lady weave is illusive
and as real as light is real in the morning
and sometimes, it feels like it is gone
and I feel alone and I wonder,
did I do something to take it away?
Then I remember I am beyond the place
where love is conditional for me.
Writing this is like trying to capture a cloud.
And it makes me think of that writing, Footprints.
Where the woman is looking back on her life
who in her memory is walking along
seeing two sets of footprints in the sand
and feeling Jesus is with her.
Then during the hardest times,
She sees only one set of footprints
and she asks Jesus why she was left alone
during those hardest of times.
Jesus replies that it was at those times
that He carried her.
I think of that story now –
and I think about your veil
and the times I don’t see it. Feel it. Know it.
It is then you have placed it on my shoulders.
From coming into this dimension,
the lady weave turns crimson,
the color you wear in our paintings of you,
and you place it upon my shoulders.
The red threads of your lady weave
wrap me in warmth. In love. In hope.
In humanity and divinity.
And I think of you often,
weaving the veil of the temple
with a red thread in hand
when the Angel came with tidings:
HAIL. Highly favored one.
How surprised you must have been!
Lady, when I write to you,
I need a language I do not know
and images I have never seen.
My poet’s heart and artist’s eye
are a particle of dust when I wish
them to be a symphony in your honor.
Being a Mother though –
and knowing how good mothers are,
since I have one on earth too
you accept my offerings as more
lovely than they are
and send me the spirit of peace.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
I am nutured by grace.