Beach Breakfast; a meditation poem for Easter Friday

 Meditation poem for Easter Friday:

Beach Breakfast.

This morning,

at the 

turning 

of the 

tide of night

into the 

blue 

of the

new 

day,

we sat with 

God.

Not doing 

anything.

Not saying 

anything.

Just sitting

on the beach

of being,

while all around 

us

darkness dissolved

into dawn,

and the 

waking birds 

sang

their psalms

of daily

astonishment

at the gift

of 

beginning,

again.

Then,

we ate and drank

God

for 

breakfast.

For what 

else 

would you 

call

the first meal 

of 

the day?

Breakfast

or

Eucharist;

whatever you 

call it,

it happened,

happens,

will happen,

every 

morning.

We gather.

We sit.

We offer.

We receive,

and we are 

received.

We consume

and,

slowly,

over a lifetime 

of 

mornings,

we are

consumed,

until only

God

is seen,

and we see

only

God.

For

we become

what

we eat.

Don't we?

Then,

after breakfast,

we tumble

into the day

touching

both 

its order

and 

its chaos

and

knowing both 

as gift,

as blessing,

as beloved,

as grace.

Beholding 

above the 

head of each

and all

we meet,

a flame,

a spark,

of burning bush

beauty,

perhaps forgotten,

or even

unnoticed,

by inner eyes

long used to

downcast

distraction.

So we,

food fueled

and breakfast

blessed,

will

touch

a passing 

shoulder,

or elbow

and 

in the moment 

of their startled

stillness,

smile at their

old young

heart

waking to its

reflected

beauty

as we offer 

His 

ancient

invitation

to the beach

of being:

"Come 

and have 

breakfast."

(Written 2019)