Treasures From the Trail, Part 8 - From Thanks to Praise

I remember not
The exact day of our hike
Nor the area in which we sat
But a boulder - some boulder
Somewhere
Beneath us
Seating us

I remember not
Whether it was Brent
Or I who said
"Let's say
What we're grateful for"

Feet dangling over the edge
Swinging as children's
No sensible rhythm
The popcorn of thanks
Began

One from me
Two from him
Pause
A burst of
Back-and-forth
Much like the beat
Of a toddler
With two drumsticks
Experimenting

Health, strength
To climb, gear
Flashlights, flame
On which to cook
Freeze-dried food
Shelter, air mattresses
Air, vibrant blue sky, luscious clouds
Trees that tell so many stories
And speechlessly preach
Of how we long to be

Unimaginable creativity of color
In the blossoms
Water that flows
That stays still
Inviting us to rest
Beside it

God, extremely good
Having ushered us
Through difficulties
Deaths, depression, illness yet
Therein rebirthing our love
And enjoyment
Of each other
And of Him
(The pain between two
Only those two can know
Likewise the miracle
Of healing and hope)

Silence
It seems we're finished
But sort of not
The time too sacred
To yet hem shut
And be done with it

"Let's sit with our thanks awhile"
I interject

Neither of us can say just when it happened
And certainly not how
For what human could contrive this?
But the thanks
Like morning mist
Lifting one particle at a time
Became rising raucous praise
Too rich for words

Like watching the
Finale of a fireworks show
We quietly witnessed
Gratitude
Transformed
To praise
Of the quietest, loudest kind

I remember not
Who
But one of us said
"Amen"
And we departed
From the rock
That hosted us
Never quite the same

This I shall always remember.

diane mann 2013

The Exchange

to embrace, one must let go of some thing

to wear, one must take something off

to receive, one  must clear space

to love, one must forsake all other lovers

to choose a path, one must reject other paths

to worship, one must ignore idols

to focus on a thing, one must have blurred vision of other things

to win over lies, one must surrender to truth

to hear the voice so small, so still, one must become deaf to screaming messages

to turn towards, one must turn away from 

to flow with gratitude, one must be drained of comparisons

to be who one is, one must shed masquerades (as glittering as they may be)

to live, -- ah, to  live fully, to live truly

I

must

die

diane mann 2013