Saturday, July 23, 2016

It Will Be in the Silence

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

Sometimes you come upon a place that
beckons you into silence: an old stone bench,
a lake shore, a certain time in your life. Nothing
small can reside there.

I’m looking for that place now, the kind of place
that puts clocks to rest because something must
come forth to reset everything. I don’t want to
follow these rules and constructs anymore -
written, not written, felt.

Something is asking me not to, and it is wise.

Reason doesn’t have roots that run deep enough
to tap the place that I am longing for, that place
where obvious things cannot be explained. That
place that is called sacred even by those who
have never used the word before.

I want you to sit and wait with me, away from the
noise and the voices of those who speak only to rob
you of your name. What most needs to be heard
hasn’t yet been said.

(c) 2016-2018/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary" (a work in progress)

Feel free to share

Saturday, July 9, 2016


Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

What it says is this:

"You are here.
Make the most of it.
I'll offer you something,
but not much.
Lovely colors. A bright form.
An idea, perhaps.
You must be brilliant about it.
Make thoughtful observations.
Commit your heart.
Do something brave.
Make it an act of love.
You won't get this day again."

(c) 2016-2017Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press 

Feel free to share

Saturday, July 2, 2016


Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser; Kris and Chris

You wonder if this world will grow kinder eventually,
if there is a piece of some yet-lingering God inside each of us
that has a desire to make something beautiful, or
something beautiful happen, even a little something.

The ponies must have known how the veil had thinned,
how they had already become meat and glue and hide in
the eyes of the auctioneer. “How much to end these
lives?” Bid. Bid high. Sold.

The slaughter truck’s gate-mouth was wide open, its belly
waiting to be filled with the sound of hooves on metal,
fear: its acrid scent, and questions about what a soul
is worth on any given day.

That’s not beautiful. For God’s sake, it is not.

Do you want to cry?  I do cry. Does your heart sink and
crumble because you struggle to live in a world
that has coined pain as currency? I struggle.

The stock yard was growing eerily quiet when they left,
the trailer gate locked behind them, no choices of their
own available. Owned.

In truth, I wasn’t actually there to see it. Someone told me
the story about a month later, on the day that I went to meet
the lovely ponies and place kisses on their soft muzzles.
There was so much life in their eyes.

You see, the Gods had conspired to get a few strangers and
a few dollars together, and something beautiful happened.

I wonder about kindness, and what else it can do.

© 2016-2018/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary" (a work in progress)

Feel free to share