Monday, December 30, 2013

Leaves of grass that dried in pleasing and unusual patterns on the bank of our nearby creek.
Isaiah 40 7 Withered hath grass, faded the flower, For the Spirit of Jehovah blew upon it, Surely the people [is] grass; 8 Withered hath grass, faded the flower, But a word of our God riseth for ever. -Young's Literal Translation

Even knowing I am grass
I want to be the leaf twisting pleasingly as I curl and dry
hanging gracefully as the wind blows by
falling lightly as dust motes down
to the mother, the welcoming ground.
And my spirit to spiral away
on return flight to who can say.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Christmas Eve morning, early, the house asleep, with some of my family home. I awaken and listen for stirring, wanting to join whoever wakes first for a quiet breakfast while others sleep.
I get up for a walk to the bathroom and a drink of water, not turning on lights but picking up my cell phone from the kitchen counter to use it for a light. Compulsively I check my email and this is the quote for the day in my inbox:

"Lo, in the silent night
A child to God is born
And all is brought again
That ere was lost or lorn.
Could but thy soul, O man
Become a silent night!
God would be born in thee
And set all things aright."
Source: 15th Century verse

I take the butter out of the fridge to soften for the soon-to-be toast, and go back to bed. Thoughts become words, and I sneak my iPad under the blanket to grasp them before I forget:

Make me a silent night.
Empty of noise. Expectant.
In darkness let me be still,
with folded hands, feet resting.
Unmoving let me wait,
letting the wind blow around me,
under moon and stars, all cloudless,
a sky  for an angel's announcement.
Then let me see what comes.
Of my silence, my darkness. My trust.

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Sundogs. A favourite phenomenon.
I wasn't
Then I was
Then I used to be

Life is for holding on to
Life is for letting go

Learn to see God in the beauty
Feel the comfort of God in the no

Taste the fear of our fragile existence
Hear the emptiness speak of may be

You are all alone in the cosmos?
You are loved You are precious You are me

I used to be
Then I wasn't
Then I used to be

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

At night the wind blew on this field of snow

And now it's time for everyone home for Christmas
Except the one who will never come home again.
The emptiness, the voice that each one misses:
the sadness overpowers goodwill to men.
A permanent absence is a foreign presence,
that no one wants to speak to or address;
an unattractive stranger holding weapons
(avert your eyes, speak loud false cheerfulness).
The celebrations will ring on around us;
we will try to hide the truth that we now know.
For all men's sharp mortality has found us;
we will not be unkind and let it show.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

{Morning interlude of contentment}
No, this is nice
this is nice
this is nice
1. On the windowseat, stretched on stomach.
2. Reading, and there is poetry.
3. iPad playing soothing classical music.
4. Soft snowflakes falling softly beside my head.
I will get up and brush my teeth
Which are fuzzy because I wasn't allowed to go to sleep
until really late, and then I just ate an apple instead of brushing.
Maybe after that I will do yesterday's dishes.
If stacked with skill, there is room on my kitchen counter.
There is a demon knocking
but I will keep my mind
this is nice
this is nice
this is nice

Saturday, December 14, 2013

So I do the pray.
Hallowed name, kingdom of love.
Then like a rude and untaught child
An interrupting voice in me:
"Why why why, God?"
Too loud. I try to shush.
But the child has noticed the presence
And will not be made to whisper.
My worship disturbed,
I apologetically turn my mind to
Give, forgive, lead us not,
But the child is right here disrupting,
"But why why why?"
I can only cling to
Thine is the kingdom and power
As I try to console
The restless child I hold in my breast.