Monday, December 29, 2014

Three Thoughts One Day

My prison is in a city of the living.
I was sentenced to life.
Everyone else is on the outside.
People I know go on and live lives,
have children who thrive,
and marry and achieve.
Even my family come home with their love
and I step outside my secret cell,
to greet like a free woman and smile.
When they return to their homes,
my house returns to silence;
I step back behind bars.

I hugged everybody I could.
And I hugged 'em good.
A mother can do that; a mother should.
My mother died when I was a child
so I didn't learn hugging from her.
And didn't know hugs were something I wanted
to give, so I used to demur.
Now older and wiser I don't hold back
from hugging if I feel the call.
My grandmotherly wish extends to the world,
and I say, "God hug us all."


I awoke one morning in Christmas week with such a yearning to be alone with God, my God, my protector and cherisher and sanctuary. Away from my life, alone with just God and silence. To be held, and to hold to, the First Cause and Final Rest which is surely (though I am not always sure) Love.
Was it just another escapist symptom of grief and depression? Maybe. But still, it gifted me with hope. Maybe some day or some how this union or reconciliation with the Loving Father, or the Great Mother, will be realized. Don't we all have the primal urge or instinct for protection of ourselves, for security in some final and lasting sense? Or even better, the ultimate dream, where not only do we escape our failures and losses, but they are actually resolved and restored? What a thought, and so full of hope that my failing self can hardly hold on to it. An occasional fleeting grasp is all I can expect.

Friday, December 12, 2014

Waiting For Advent
Speak gently to my wounded broken heart;
On my crushed spirit lay your healing balm.
There is in me a wailing wind of storm
That only gentle hands divine can calm.
This constant pain, this weariness always,
Need something more than this world can provide.
I yearn for rest, for peace from troubled thoughts,
Some sanctuary for my soul to hide.
Or as I walk along my life's set road,
Some sign at least that there will be a time
When pain will end, when wrongs will be made right,
Though this life be a constant labouring climb.
Speak gently, say you will gather all our tears
And heal and heal life's broken weeping years.