closer than my skin

a fragile
hunger supersedes
the murmur of beginnings

until the overflow from
our chalice of intimacy
is consumed

at tables of
enlightened
understanding

where nothingness
becomes ablaze in the
sweet spontaneity of
perfect Love

thoughts
i was baptized catholic in my twenties before receiving first communion. so enthralled with catholic ceremony, i put my misgivings of the religion, and my discomfort of its seemingly self-serving definitions of truth behind. i no longer remember why saint mother teresa was chosen as my baptismal/ceremonial name, i only remember that it was. i’ve studied her before and since and can affirm i am nothing like her, but if i’m honest, i would like to be an inkling of the light she left upon the despairing shadows in this world. the weeks before baptism were filled with so much ceremony and so many activities i failed to journal, but the one i remember most is the priest washing my feet. another’s humility was extremely uncomfortable to submit to, more uncomfortable than being humbled in my opinion. it was challenging to receive a physical and spiritual kindness that didn’t demand something in return. it still is, but i’m learning that such is love’s nature, our nature, our humility, our passion, and our personal sainthood in the making.

i’m no longer catholic but am forever committed to nurturing the garden of love.