Spirit, like water,
find your way to my lowest mark.
Flood and carry away
what is not bolted to the Rock of Love.
Cleanse and make-new the surfaces and sides
so that from all views and perspectives
my thinking might be made fresh.
Spirit, like clouds,
shade me from too soon or too bright
an illumination of my failings.
Let me trust your wind that positions
these cumulus shapes of droplets and ice
like umbrellas between the God of all knowing
and my impatience to know all.
Shield and protect me by your merciful mystery,
the cloud of unknowing.
Spirit, like shadows,
reveal what shade is cast
when I block your Light from another
in my careless attention to where I am,
and where I selfishly, sleepily assume another should be.
But if it be your will,
let me lie in the drying warmth of you,
where the last standing puddles recede and disappear
from imitations of stone made of ground glass
and powdered remains of original earth.
Let me rest a spell between the baptismal rains
and tumultuous floods that raise sunken treasures of awareness;
cut and reshape riverbanks of repentance,
reconciliation and renewal.
And by your mercy,
let me not by greed or negligence
brook your rains,
run from cover of clouds,
or turn away from these shadows of self.
hold me fast and gently so
that I might more fully trust the weather of seasons,
and surety of change as the Nature of God,
and way of peace.
Inspired by morning time reading of Luke 1:78-79,
and entering a new year’s personal inventory.