Long-ish Form

Ocean waves,  Smiles that dress up dead eyes,  Oak trees in their death knell at autumn's core,  Bellyaching laughter born of yearning and desire:  Here are only a few of her ten-thousand faces. Grief is a beauty, dressed in steel and lace, oleander bedecking her hair. Her cheeks are full, her arms are strong and supple, her legs corded but soft; she is a master of disguise. Grief wears many faces, for she is the many faced god. We westerners get Grief all wrong.

Gratitude has the strangest effect on the soul.

Our Mother Who is among us Holy is your name We are your kingdom  You writhe within, awakening us May we make a heaven of this earth.  May we share the love-made bread Of your table,  This day.  Heal our sickly hearts Even as we attend to the  Wounds of those beside us.  Lead us, Warrior Priestess,  Into battle. For our good, Deliver to our hands  New ways of being. For this world is yours And we are its people;  We are Your kingdom, we are Your glory. Now, then, and forever