Hight tide keeps quiet what lies below.
Low tide reveals known rejections …
Stolen land,
Built up by stolen, rejected, and wandering people.
Pride screams mine, no vacancy, for that which my loving heart knows.
No doubt, pride becomes proud’s undoing over time, high water has a way of wearing us down.
The blessed Ones weep, calling the contrite, those who follow Love and Peace and Justice.
When the tide goes out, need shows us the Way.
May we choose Isaiah’s compassion fast.
And may Mercy choose us.
Soul Journeys 