Joyce Pace Byrd
           Zen Mama Poetry                  
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Along the Path

      Quieter than butterfly wings,
      weighing less than a whisper,
      invisible shadow-maker,
      elusive substance,
      shifting, like light,
      between wave and particle,
      agent of the mystery -
      of bringing into being -
      the maker of kings and
      monsters, gods and lovers.

For Cheryl

It must have been so for her as well,

for the Mary that Jesus loved,

this uncertainty, as she stepped

into the center of being,

her great courage rising from within.

If only she could have seen herself -

the wave of grace that emanated from her heart -

as she placed herself in Spirit’s hands.

But she had been deprived of honor,

and could not believe herself worthy.

What joy there must have been

when she finally knew,

when the shields were set aside,

and she let the Light

kindle her own flame.

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