In Ephesians 2:10 human beings are described as the “handiwork” of God. The Greek root of this word “handiwork” is actually “poetry”, which in those times also meant “to be made”. In a more literal translation, we are, as human beings, the poems of God.

In Christianity we have the Holy Trinity, which is comprised of: God as the Ultimate Truth; the Son of God, Jesus Christ, as the ultimate Truth formed (in a human body), and; the Holy Spirit, which is essentially that which breathed us into life, and moves through as spirit, to in-spirit us – it is the love and compassion, in action.

To inspire comes from the word in-spirit; and so we inspire, and are inspired, through something beyond us, and then leave our spirit into everything we do and touch and speak.

Love is the Ultimate Truth. It is a consciousness yet it is not like air; it is like bread, it needs to be made, and remade, eahc morning, each day, made anew. Love needs to be embodied through our lips, hands, and gestures; otherwise it only stays like a beautiful idea in the sky.

So we are poems. The word came first, to shape things, form things. Words are mini Gods. In esoteric texts it says angels speak the language of love – and they can only understand that which comes from the love of one’s heart. So if I say apples, but don’t love them, this cannot be understood. When the Virgin Mary went to the monastery as a child, it was written “she was fed from the hands of angels”. She was fed love. Yet she could only understand, and be fed by love, because she already had love, or the capacity of love, within her. And this love then was built even more and more within her.

We can only perceive through what we’ve opened already within us; we can only see the spiritually pure through the eyes of the heart. The spiritually impure cannot perceive the spiritually pure; they think they can and do, but they can’t and they don’t. This is why there are no secrets – it is all out there – but we need to be able to perceive it to see it; and this is why you should not throw away old books, because perhaps now you can’t see it, but later you will see its insight. Literalism has no space within the esoteric and spiritual; we can’t translate nor understand the spiritual through literalism, so it just takes time, but the way, the portal, is through the heart.

First came the word, God’s word. Poetry, sonds, lyrics, language – it is the word that came embodied on a piece of heavenly paper, ink shaping and forming the poetry and poems, and our human bodies. A poem that was breathed life through the I love you.

God willed us to be, as love willed us to be. The I love you breathed you into life. God breathed life into you, so that you are alive.

And isn’t this a miracle? All your cells came together in a mutual decision to say yes to you, yes to life, so that you are alive. So that you can have hands with which to hold another’s hand; to have a nose with which to smell a cooked meal; to have ears with which to hear the laughter of your family. To have a heart, that beat in perfect unison with your mother in her belly. To be the embodiment, the formed manifestation of your parent’s and grand-parents’ prayer – and God too said I love you to you, and here you are. A poem. A making.

“we are god’s workmanship, created in christ jesus to do good works, which he has prepared in advance for us to do.” Ephesians 2:10

So what poem would you like to make, to dance? What beauty do you choose to see, and continue making, writing, speaking, feeling?


Compassion, kindness, grace are all like a fragrance that scents and continues to scent. When our hands touch someone else’s hands with compassion, they may choose to touch another’s hands with it also. Through you God breathes, life breathes, love breathes and shapes itself and lives, expanding in its chest like your own breath.

Poems are stories without all the details of the narrative. They are feelings moving through us, an inner experience, juts like God is an inner experience. And it isn’t about “knowing exactly all the details” because we were never meant to know it all anyway. It is about the moving, and what then moves us; and we keep shaping, making, and being made, and yet nothing was made that wasn’t already made.

When God decided to write his poems, became from heaven to earth, as heaven became a pen, and he creates us all and everything, he moved his pen and all was made. But through our noticing of it, through our willingness to appreciate it, it breathes and we see it even more. It is a sea, an ocean, of inspirations – in-spirits – and we take on the shapes, and forms, and we breathe new life into them, and we show them to others. We dance them for others.

This is why it is said that our gifts and talents are to be danced for others. We are given them to be of service to others for their betterment. They are blessings and gifts given to us to be given back to the people, for a poem keeps writing itself, in the poetry book of God that is. Love. Then, now, always.

Perhaps you know what and how it feels to be loved, supported because this is how your family was to you – this is your blessing; and it is your turn now to help someone else have that same blessing of growing up in, and feeling, that sense of love, support and belonging, to show them how a warm, stable and loving family feels like. Perhaps you are blessed with the ability to see the little wild flowers on the sidewalks, even when walking through the fastness and business of life – so you pause, and show them to your daughter. 

This is what Jesus Christ did in his human form – he showed humanity what love looks like, moves like, feels like; he was and is a storyteller of the heart, and he still writes with his pen when we act, and when we move, from the gentleness, purity and love of our heart. With a patience and kindness of rhythm, a moving. His poems still are and breathe through us; and we can touch them, see them, dance them, speak them also, every time we notice them – and we notice them, by learning the language of the heart,

when the poet becomes the poem, and the dancer the dance, and the dreamer the dream, that God dreamed us to be. Lonvingly. Respectfully. Making love. Then, now, always.

Cover photograph by me, of me and of our beautiful wild roses. When hand touches fragrance, and poems happen in the moving of us.

For more of my writings, browse through my Art of Love.

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