Linda L. Bielowski, Ph.D. - Daily Miracles lyrics

Here I sit a mystic in my closet under the spell of the long loneliness, a seeker of small miracles: the spectral hues each morning or evening brings. Needing to die to self, but not enough; I fall seven times daily. Knowing life would be far lonelier without the fellowship of my worldly goods: Tubular wind chimes resonant with the pitch of the Angelus bell Teal bowl of blueberries ripe with the taste of Michigan orchards rich with the absorbed color of sky-over-lake Chipped pottery mug heavy with the heat of the August midday it was given new purpose at a barn sale Black-and-white Dorothy Day poster brotherhood shouted above wicker shelves with side-by-side books Wisdom readings from Desert Mothers and Benedictine Sisters, soul mates who offer the inner anchor-hold to my floating life: The sense of Presence That carries me on…