I have often written of compassion and mercy in the quiet hours before dawn as I journal my thoughts. I reflect on these qualities knowing that they are crucial for healing my life, the lives of others and the life of our planet. Yet as I sit to write about these now, I am lost for words because I am not ‘fully there’. I am
on the journey to embody these qualities in my Spirit and to consistently come from the place within that would extend these to others in all situations. Yet I find
that when I look upon another with eyes of compassion and hands ready to help, that I am made more whole, more human and that I receive much more than I give.
My hands are meant to heal, but what
have my hands done?
So many hours idle, so many years at
work for others.
There are multitudes in such need
and my hands could help, as tools for
the work of Spirit.
My Spirit, collective Spirit.
What dreams have I not dreamed?
What yearning has my heart locked
If my hands were mine again, maybe I
could build a Shelter, maybe a
sanctuary, where mercy could be
found, and forgiveness in abundance.
My hands would caress the aged face
of a man full of regrets and shame.
I would smooth his creased brow
and whisper words of love in his ear
and some small piece of his heart
My hands used to be good strong
Now they shake and open and close
and are restless to hold tenderly
the searching hands of another.