Tag Archives: revelations

Storm of Joy

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Storm of Joy
By
Joseph Anthony Petro

 

 

We all have a place
Inside where our truest self
Lives, where our truest self awaits
Manifestation through veils
And layers of years, and veils and layers
Of public opinion, old ideas, and misguided
Social constructs. For some,
Their truest self is an animal,
For others it is a lotus,
For others it is a river, a tree, or a song.
Then there are those
Whose truest self is a body
Aching to break free from years
Of dying inside someone else’s
Tired, cramped, and lonely body.
No matter who you really are,
Or where the place is you truly live—
Go there. It is not too late.
Time is not running out, time is running in, flowing
Through skin and masks,
Through hidden fissures and coves,
It is revealing you–So be ready.
Step out into the cool stream,
Astonish yourself with yourself.
Grace the world with the gift of you,
And that place inside will open, like
A storm of joy, and you will finally be able
To breathe.

 

wissahickon

 


 

 

 




Reading the Runes

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Reading the Runes
By
Joseph Anthony Petro

 

 

Scatter bits of twigs to the ground,
Look up through moon-lit branches,
Get eye-level with blades of grass,
Study the kindling before it feeds the fire,
Observe the antlers of the silent deer,
Notice the positions of sleeping loved-ones,
Stop and consider wooden fences along the roadside—
Have any of the beams fallen creating a nied or kenaz?
Trace the markings of river rocks,
Contemplate graffiti and the drawings of children,
What do you cast when you hastily arrange the silverware?
Pause and pluck a moment of time,
Give thanks to Odin swung nine nights from the windswept ash,
Then read the way lines line up and down around you anywhere—
Everywhere below and above—books on shelves,
Pencils on desks, the hair in front of your eyes–
Look at the lines in your own hand—see the myriad crisscrossing runes.
We are surrounded—yes, we are
Part of the fabric—yes, we are
Living letters in skin and bone,
Stories written in flesh and blood.
What is it our every day frenzies prophecy?
What is it we say when we dance?
What divinations do our movements betray?
What messages are we writing on the pages of the world?
What spells are we casting just by walking?
How will they position our arms when we die?
Odin—send your ravens and believe we are trying
To gather the wisdom you bestowed on our lot,
See our way through the falling forest,
And welcome us home once this chapter is done.

 

 


 

 

What If?

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What If?
By
Joseph Anthony Petro
Inspired by Father J.P. de Caussade, S.J.

What if we were being written as we speak,
As we live, as we move? What if our lives were one
Interconnected, interwoven revelation? One story,
One plot, one theme? What if our every step and breath
Were known, seen, loved, and allowed to unfold
In ways that always and ever ended with breath-taking
New beginnings, and that every new beginning
Was somehow more beautiful, unexpected, and startling
Than the last? What if every revelation, every new chapter,
Every page was part of one book of life in which the author intended,
Willed and wanted the very best for each and every character
And that every word, punctuation mark, indentation,
And sentence was composed through you with foresight and wisdom,
And that somehow, matter what it seemed like fit together perfectly,
And that when we went back and read what was written
It all made sense and we said, “Of course, that was meant to be?”
What if, despite not liking some of the twists and turns
And cliffhangers, or the sudden, unexpected
Exits of our favorite characters, or the annoying returns
Of ones we just can’t stand, that no matter how
Convoluted, distressing, painful, or tragic it all seems,
That the arc of the story is eternal and the ultimate
Storyline is a road to everlasting joy and a deeper understanding
Of who we really are? What if the more that drops away
As we go on reading, and the more the story
Simplifies, that we become lighter and lighter until one day,
On what we thought was the last word, the letters suddenly lift, like
So many birds scattering heavenwards,
And the story continues, unfettered, untangled,
Unencumbered by the confines of the language
Of time and space and expectation, and we soar, completely free
In a radiant book of thanks?