The silence is like silk.

And I love the flow
of your presence
running through my life.

Softly.

It's enough.
I am enough.
And so I let it go,
watching as your rivers burst forth with truth.

In you my heart trusts
and it hurts and heals,
opening out towards the path
before which I bow.

It's time.

In the midst of the turmoil
I sense the trace of something forming,
slowly, decidely, redeemed.

The glimmer of breezes
blowing transparent through my life,
bringing wholeness, daring trust.

Yes. Daring to trust the unfolding
of our great desires,
running thick with hope for what will be
in the coming times.

The beginning again.

Wrapped in your love,
like a cloak.
You warm me
from the inside out.

I follow the drift
of your presence,
amidst the rush of tussled tubes and trains.
I feel your tug
tender to the touch.

Mend me.

Cenacle is not a place for the timid.

The fire within
burns.
The gathering
costs.
The labouring
tires.

But deep in the hidden heart of the meeting
I find love and it will not let me go.

It is this unbidden passion that sends me forth to you.

The space inbetween the floods
is crying out for attention.

When, oh when!

When,
will you listen?

Uncurl your toes,
stretch out your longing,
step into the seeping newness
of your broken life.
It sings.

'By day the Lord will send
his loving kindness;
by night I will sing to him,
praise the God of my life.'

Psalm 42

May I welcome your kindness,

open out my thinking.

Receive from you,

by night,

by day.

And who knows what song will emerge?

It will be for you.