Category Archives: soul stories

meditations that take a narrative journey

Wrapped in Cloud

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foggy trailI am walking the ridge of the mountain – at the very edge of the sky – and I am wrapped in cloud. I feel its pinprick coolness on my face. I watch it swirl and move around me – never quite within reach, but never far away. I can see the path in front of me – but not the end of the trail – not the depth of the valley below, nor the crest of the ridge further ahead. I am constrained to knowing the next few steps, and leaving the rest to faith. Not a bad lesson. Continue reading →

School

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schoolI come today to a schoolroom: wooden floors, old wrought-iron desks with wooden tops and inkwells, a slate black board, like a room from a museum. This room carries the echoes of an even older classroom with rows of benches, a pot of clay for tablets, and a stylus by each seat. They are quiet now, no students squirming in their seats, no teacher rapping on her desk or master tapping his foot on the floor. But there is an echo of the grand enterprise that inhabited such places – the task of wrapping minds around fact and turning it into knowledge. Continue reading →

Playing on the Beach

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small girl on the beach

I am a young girl playing on the beach. I run from shell to shell and dreg to dreg, washed up upon the shore, picking up one thing and then another.

Bending low, squatting on my haunches, the wet sand makes shiny rings around my feet. The receding waves suck at my footprints and smooth their edges.

Continue reading →

Twin Paths

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campfire and sparksI am seated back a bit from the fire. Around me are other travelers, all weary from the walk of the day, glad for a rest, glad to be together. We are an odd lot, tossed together by happenstance (if there is such a thing) and by the juncture in the roads. Now, nestled among the trees just off the roads, we sit together.

Those around me who are talkers are telling their stories and I, a listener, am listening. The stories weave in and out among each other and there are common themes and nods of understanding. We have opened our packs and bread has been shared. We nibble at the last of the crusts, for we are full but the crusts are good. Continue reading →

buzzzz … buzzzz … slap … buzzzz

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mosquito

Look at the variety of creatures on earth. That demonstrates the wonderful imagination of their creator.

– Hildegard of Bingen.

Just look at the baboon’s butt and the spindly-legged spider and the iridescent humming bird and the waterfall and the mosquito – the mosquito? Hmmm. Why would that buzz through my mind? What wonder is there in the mosquito? Continue reading →

The Dust of Prayers

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inside an old cathedral As I walk a cobbled street, I come upon the door of an old cathedral – slightly ajar. I walk up the stone steps and push it lightly and step into a cool, dark, quiet space. It is coated with the prayers of ordinary saints, the hopes of generations of work-a-day people. Continue reading →

Sister Grace

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bread lineThere are so many things that concern me. They stand in line at the back of my brain waiting their turn to pester me. They push and jostle and twiddle their thumbs. They threaten and cajole. Like folks in the bread line in the scenes of the great depression – they stand in sepia-toned sameness, tattered at the edges, always in need.

And now that I have turned to look them fully in the face, I am overwhelmed. I, too, am in the photo. I, too, have ragged edges and a gnawing need. I, too, have my hat in my hand and my eyes full of empty want. I, too, am begging on the curb. Continue reading →

April Fool

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IMG_1468“So then, lets go.”  The traveler is beside me.  He taps his staff upon the ground. I have my staff in my hand as well, and my pack upon my back.  So we strike out together, toward the wild. He is humming to himself and I am holding my heart tightly in my hand, hoping and hoping not to fear.

We walk for quite a while. We are down the hill into the bramble.  The call is before me and the traveler is striding quickly and I am doing all I can just to keep up. Continue reading →

A Snail’s Eye View

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snailI am a snail, oozing my way along a garden path,
The shell on my back gives me quick retreat
My vision is limited
I understand so very little.

But I am me. What else can I be?
There is no butterfly metamorphosis for a snail.
No hope of flight. No second life.
What good am I?

Good thing snails are not very self-reflective, huh? Continue reading →

Anna’s Blessing

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Luke 2: 36-38 There was also a prophet, Anna, the image of blessing babydaughter of Penuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was very old; she had lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, and then was a widow until she was eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. Coming up to them at that very moment, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem.

That whispered voice that speaks with deep authority
The voice that speaks to my inner ear, that warms my heart
That sense of the Almighty, shielded sufficiently so that I can bear its coming
That Presence spoke to me today when I arose from my mat.

Continue reading →