On the Threshold II

On the Threshold II
By: Joylyn Ortiz

To the One who waits in the rain,
To I Am, the great Something,
The Someone who seeks,
Come.
Too long I have closed
My window,
Filling the room,
Leaving no space
For your glory.
Too busy,
Afraid?
No.
Not afraid.
Just trying to be
My own Something,
To prove I can.
Fierce and
Proud
  all
     by
        Myself.
Believing the lie:
I must stand alone,
Independent,
Worthy of
Praise.
Like
You.
Oh, that's where
I become God
Instead of
A temple.
Filling myself
With my own spirit
Instead of yours.
Filling my ears
With my own
Praise.
Hanging my
Accomplishments
On the wall
Like I did everything
  all
    by
      Myself.
No, no, no, no.
I remember.
Tender moments,
Childlike seeking,
Abba, help me
Find the way.
Step by step
Revealed,
Doors
Opened,
Prayers
Choked out
Through tears
Falling on homework,
School bills
Washed away
By timely aid.
You made
My way.
You lead me still
When I listen.
So I open
My window.
Come.

On the Threshold I

On the Threshold I
By: Joylyn Ortiz

On a rainy morning I find myself.
I seek myself.
I seek God.
Whoever or whatever God is:
The One who wants to be found,
Who seeks me,
Who finds me.
I seek myself, yes,
The deeper part, the hidden core
Lying buried most days
Beneath layers of work,
Entertainment,
Relationships,
Ambition,
Duty.
The rain reminds me:
When surface layers wash away,
Underneath lies a shiny, clean
Something.
The something I seek.
What lies beneath
These days?
Am I the same
When the layers wash away?
When I seek me,
When I find me,
Has time and experience
Altered something?
Am I wiser?
Kinder?
Less selfish?
More disciplined?
Am I pure?
And is God the fire
In my heart,
The song on my lips,
The One who opens
My eyes in wonder?
At my truest,
Washed naked,
Shiny and clean,
Will I find him?

Solitude

Solitude
By: Joylyn Ortiz

Speak in the quiet, in the dark.
Call out hidden beauty.
What purpose have I,
Small and alone?
You know. You know.

The Tomato Seed

The Tomato Seed

By: Joy Ortiz

            A tomato seed, resilient and small,

Charted a course through unforgiving circumstances.

            Through unspeakable muck she traveled,

Carried by the unseen current, the cycle, the mess.

            Where was she going? She knew not.

Covered in residual sludge, she journeyed on

            Till time brought an unexpected question:

Could waste become life? Redemption?

            Into the process the tomato seed went, trusting.

Chemical treatment, separation, settling, and drying

            Took her through what felt like dying.

Crying out to the one who sees all, who holds all,

            She clung to the hope of life, as life

Crumbled around her. Lifted once more by the unseen,

            She rose, then fell again into a heap…of what?

Compost, organic waste, a fertile bed.

            What once was waste had turned to soil.

Clouds rolled across the sky, thunder announcing

            Life-giving rain. She soaked it in, softening.

Could it be? Could she grow? Tentatively, she reached

            A root, spearing downward, a shoot, pressing up,

Coaxed toward the sunshine warmth above.

            She broke ground. Up and up, the tomato plant

Climbed into the light and air, into the world.

            She spread her leaves wide,

Catching the sun’s rays as she sent yet more roots

            Down into the nourishing earth,

Caressing the soil which had borne her here.

            Her arms grew heavy with fruit,

Carrying the burden of flourishing.

            Ripe with fullness of purpose, she rejoiced.

Creator who sees, Creator who knows,

            All praise to the one who, in mercy,

Causes seeds to grow.

The Resentment Tree

The Resentment Tree

By: Joy Ortiz

I dig deep 

To chop the bitter root

Tendril by tendril,

Hacking away,

Loosening its hold

On my heart. 

How obvious,

Tall and gangly,

Springing from my center,

The interloper:

Neglected garbage seed

Full grown. 

Pull it out?

No. 

Thicker than an arm

It stands

Testament. 

Unforgiven. 

Sucking life from my soil,

Ugly and obvious. 

What now?

To cut and dig,

Pour salt into wounds,

Sweat and labor,

To remove

The resentment tree

Before it overshadows me

Completely. 

Dogs on Training

Dogs on Training
By: Joy Ortiz

You never taught us
To heel and walk.
When we pulled relentlessly,
Keeling sideways,
Nails raking pavement,
Eyes rolling,
Tongues lolling,
You gritted your teeth,
Clutching the leash.
We panted in the shade
Beneath a parked car,
Refusing to stir.
Angry, you carried us home.
Our walks were over.

You never taught us
To sit and stay.
When company came,
We rushed to the door,
Joyfully barking,
Leaping and howling,
Scratching bare legs,
Knocking down children.
You angrily struck us,
Kicked us and grabbed us.
We yelped in surprise,
Angry, you locked us up.
Our greeting was over.

You never taught us
To give you space.
Whenever you sat,
We were lap dogs
Jumping on couches,
Begging for treats,
Licking your faces
And anything we could reach.
At night in bed
We prodded you,
Stretching, squirming,
Sticking our feet
Into your back.
Angry, you kicked us out.
Our snuggling was over.

You never taught us
To keep the house clean.
Every rug was a restroom.
Muddy paws
Never paused at the door,
But ran right in,
Leaving tracks
Yard-filth brown.
Long, clicking nails
Scarred sofa and floors.
Loose hair softly drifted,
Clinging and coating
All that you owned.
Dreadlocks grew thick,
And we stank.
Angry, you cursed us,
Cleaning the house.

You never taught us
Not to beg.
We hounded you
Relentlessly,
Whining and pleading
For leftovers, scraps,
Fighting, barking, growling
Over each fallen bite.
We stole food
At every opportunity
From tabletops,
Plates, bowls,
And out of the hands
Of small children.
Nothing was sacred.
Angry, you locked us up.
Our feast was over.

Here's the thing:
We're excited.
We greet.
We snuggle.
We live.
We eat.
We love.
...in our own way.
We do.
Nothing personal.
We never try
To be bad.
We're just dogs.
So maybe try
To snuggle more,
To play more,
To bathe us,
To greet us,
To feed us treats,
To love us.
Maybe
You can learn
To be less
Angry.

Hungry and Small

Hungry and Small

By: Joy Ortiz

I spin my life

With gossamer thread

Strong enough

To trap a meal or two,

Yet beaten down

By a lazy hand. 

Never mind. 

Remaking,

Clinging to doorways,

Leaping from heights,

An aerial frame

I weave.

Here at my center,

I breathe

And begin again. 

Spiraling out,

Wider, further

To distant corners

I fling my net

And hope to catch

Something,

Anything 

For today. 

After all,

I must live

Somehow. 

Silver dream,

Sustain me

For I am small

And so hungry. 

Let not your shaking

Be only

The wind.