Nature
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The Wonder-Filled Life
The spiritual lifeis lived in wonder. Faith calls us to amazement,to awe: waves pound; babies burble; cicadas buzz; ferns unfurl; hearts crack; wounds heal; truth wins; love endures. Open,you,to the… Continue reading
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Voice of the Mountain
"It's the wind," he told me,"nothing more." But I'd heard the voice,deep and resonant and beckoning.I could not make out all the words… "Wind," he repeated. …but could tell–just by the tone–it's old, wise, weary. "The mountain has no voice,and… Continue reading
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The Pier
I stand at the end of the pier,face to the dark and the wind.Waves roll toward me,each one another tomorrow–identical tomorrows,endless.I feel chilled;the wind, the waves, the lonelinessempty me. Text and image © 2014 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved. Continue reading
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Photography 10
I finally understand. I photographstillness. And when I do,I receivestillness. Text and image © 2014 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved. Continue reading
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Photography 3
Today,let a good photobe your textfor prayer. Text and image © 2014 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved. Continue reading
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Invitation 3
TodayI invite youto meet Wisdomin silenceand discoverhow extraordinary she is. Text and image © 2014 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved. Continue reading
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Dismissal
Give me a balcony(somewhere on the East coast of Mexico),air scented with hidden hyacinth(sweet, exotic, sensual),a waning moon and the evening's first star(just freed from the hazy horizon),and a fresh-pressed volume of poetry(Rumi? Oliver? Collins?). You may leave now. Text… Continue reading
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Winter Meal
Beyond these windows,just two feet from me,the temperature is five below. Incidental flakes sift downunenthusiastically;this meager snow's merely the side dish,lightly tossed. The cold's the main thing,the entree:a big slab of frigid, served raw,biting back. And for dessert?A slice of… Continue reading
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Pines
This was my stand of pines,my sanctuary,my refuge from adolescent angst.Here I kneltand inhaled stability. Now they are stumps. Do slaughtered trees leave ghosts?I am haunted by the stickiness of pitchand the scent of sun-warmed needles. Text and image ©… Continue reading