The Doormat

The proverbial doormat
sits outside the door.
Same place. Always there.
Every boat needs to moor.

She doesn't ask to be let in,
into your beautiful home,
happy outside with the dirt, herself -
her solace, her home.

You shake off your dirt,
you rub it all into her,
while she takes it all;
even arrows need a quiver;

You'll find her at your door,
whether it's open or closed,
for the world needs doormats,
who live their lives by the door.

Come Home!

Come home -
the door
is always open,
even when it seems closed.
Can you see
a little fence around,
and a path that leads up
to the door?

Come home
to the sacred space,
where a bleeding heart
lives and thrives;
that finds most joy
when it can give,
no holding back,
and nothing to hide.

Come home
through the little fence,
that makes this heart
a loving home;
cross over it
if you please,
if you can live in and love,
a bleeding home.

For you'll have to
take off your shoes,
and walk barefoot
through the door,
you'll have to lay
your clothes upon the grass,
and bare yourself
to your core;

There's no other way
you can come in, my friend,
when you cross the fence,
and walk in through the door;
when our hearts are tender,
and wide, wide open,
even fences become
open doors.

Come home!

The Arrival

the door is open -
I sit by it and wait...
for nothing,
and everything;
for the coming
and going;
there is darkness
and there's light, sometimes;
there is despair
and there's hope, sometimes;
strangers, friends,
love and hate;
and in the silent space
between,
I wait...

As you walk through the door...

as you walk through the door...
let me make room,
welcome you home,
listen with my core;
as you walk through the door...
let me let the light in,
to see you shine,
setting shadows aglow!