Mar. 23, 2012
The curse has come upon me, though I still unbelieve,
and greatly do I fear the time when I must take your leave.
It happened, all unknowing, all unknowable it seems
to think I never will see you again--perchance in dreams.
Somehow I am left here fractioned what I was before,
a woman old and weeping over the clothes that you last wore.

Early March morning, after midnight

It would not surprise me if trees let no leaves,
if the grass would stay brown and we saw no new geese.
If no wildflowers bloomed I'd give no second thought;
I wouldn't half mind if spring completely forgot.
If I sat all summer alone in my room,
my face turned from the window into tear-filled gloom
and waited for winter to cover my days,
would the pain of remembrance be drifted away?
These signs of new life are like slap in the face,
the tip of a crocus, new kittens at play,
when one I remember will no more return.
Unfillable promise in unfurling fern.

Gazing at treetops

Of what were they speaking,
all their limbs upraised,
and their heads high lifted,
now frozen in praise?
And who the listener,
and who still sees?
Had they an answer before turning
Into a circle of trees?

March 8

Although I shout in whispers no one seems to hear.
I dial and it keeps ringing but the empty sky is clear.
I walk around in circles banging on a drum,
but for all my earnest effort I might just as well be dumb.
No answer, and there cannot be, no answer would suffice;
but just to know that someone hears my shouting would be nice.

March 7

There are threads that keep me connected.
The winds of chaos blow, so strong
I am lifted off my feet,
my hair and my limbs streaming behind me.
But sometimes amid the fear that I am swept away
I know the thread
by the slight but certain tug in some part of me.
Though I cannot hold fast by my own strength,
I am held fast.

 

No matter how frozen the heart,
there are sights that inspire awe,
that lift the spirit in stuttering amazement,
and can be a balm of healing on the severe wound.
The silent beauty of nature
is a touch of grace in my life,
and brings a profound gratitude
that I am here to see it.

 

 

 

Two things have struck me this morning.
The first is a phrase I came across on a philosophy/theology blog: God "reluctantly permitted". There is something to investigate in those words.

The second is a quotation from The Devil's Novice, by Ellis Peters: "...'A man does what he must do,' said Cadfael carefully, 'whether the duty he has taken on himself is to fight, or to salvage poor souls from the fighting, to kill, to die or to heal. There are many will claim to tell you what is due from you, but only one who can shear through the many, and reach the truth. And that is you, by what light falls for you to show the way.' "
It is the concept of how the light falls for us, and how differently for each of us, that I think unites us all, and should teach me compassion for all, as I never know what light, or lack of it, has fallen in someone's life.

God bless my wrestling.
Clear vision to see my opponent.
Sure hands to grip the foe.
The strength to face the attack
and fend off the lethal blow.
The forbearance to stand up
under landed punches.
And when I find myself pressed to the mat,
the will to fight on, to regain my feet,
to keep on facing with steadfast heart,
the challenge of my thoughts.

Feb. 18, 2 am, just falling asleep

Chaos falls like random tears
splats like acid there and here
a tidal wave that sweeps away
foundations that we thought would stay
as we gasp and reach for air
we find that it is no more there
and as the world fills to the brim
instead of breathe we learn to swim.