… this is one of those moments when the strange and beautiful reality of the human condition rises in the face of what would deny it. – Kristi Tippett.
Below the loud and clamoring voices Beyond the angry fury Even beneath the clubs and pepper spray And bullets Runs the urgent Wistful Steadfast Song of community.
It is not about me. It is not about you. It is about us.
When I cower alone I find myself bereft Of courage, strength And hope
I am not enough Alone.
I cannot be me Without you. I cannot hold to hope Without your candle.
And yet I can see its flickering light. In Minnesota, In Ukraine, In Gaza.
This little light of yours. You let it shine. I dip my fragile wick Toward your flame.
You don’t ever know where a sentence will take you, depending on its roll and fold. -Mary Oliver
I’m truly surprised That I can surprise myself.
My fingers on the keyboard, My eyes closed, In that safe space I can let myself go.
I usually start with some word or phrase or image. I take a moment to embrace that kernel And then I drop it to the earth And let the soil blow over. The soft rains come. The sun’s warm cuddle Holds it close.
And I wait. It takes time. It takes release. (Ok, it takes time to release it.)
But, after a bit, It starts to grow. It pushes tiny leaves Above the earth’s crumble. They lift and expand Searching for the light That will touch The life within themselves.
That tiny seedling Grows within the soil Of who I am. It seeks a light To lift my life And connect it all: The earth, the sun, The tiny leaves of hope.
And so, it is surprising To find my thoughts Have gone somewhere unexpected And discovered Also, a surprise, That they are back Where they started But somehow richer Fuller, more complete.
I follow my words Down the path of my imagination And find myself At the end of the loop Smiling in surprise At a tiny seedling Growing Here Within.
Quotation from Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver (p. 257). Kindle Edition.
I receive the blessings of September
• The giggles of little girls tumbling together in play
• The wonder of growing bodies, growing bones, growing minds, growing hearts pulled by the sheer exuberance of life – full and free
• The first sight of the ocean, a brisk walk, visiting with friends in Maine
• Glimpses of wildlife – turkey, deer, fox, eagle – anchoring me to a world more grounded than the insistent call of the news
I offer this blessing in response
• May you hear the whisper – or the shout – of life within you, joyfully calling you forward into this day, this very day
When I see kindness,
When I see beauty,
And my soul sighs …
Then, I know that
I am saying, ‘Yes, please,’
To the whisper of reality
That is more deeply true
Than all the pain along the path.
Whatever else is true,
You have won my heart, again.
[photo by Stanley Zimney per cc 2.0 on flickr]
Suddenly I realize I am lost in the woods.
I have followed one of those disappearing paths
The ones that seem, perhaps, to be the way
And, yet, lead only into a bramble.
I stand there, looking one way and another.
The fear begins to prickle at my neck
And I know that I am lost
Unable to find my way home
My panic casts around for guidance
I wonder if I can orient myself by finding the sun,
By marking a shadow,
By listening for the stream.
I imagine that I can think the lostness away
That I can retrace my steps
Or just expand the field of my vision
Far enough to find my place.
But none of this works.
Indeed, it threatens to deepen my panic
And lead me further astray.
I am helpless … I cannot save myself.
I sit down upon a nearby boulder
And my soul collapses within me
I put my head in my hands and weep.
This, this, is the lonely, helpless truth.
I must wait
And hope
For rescue.
The stone beneath me is cold.
The sky is threatening dark.
My heart is screaming so loudly within me
That I almost mistake your voice for my own.
And yet, my panic is a scream
And your assurance is a whisper.
It rises from somewhere deep within.
Not from within me, but from within reality itself.
I try to quiet myself
To move myself aside, if that is possible,
When it is me that must do the moving.
How can I use my power to relinquish that very power?
It is an ongoing mystery,
This process of un-doing.
This gritting of my teeth
In order to let go.
It is as if the deepest part of me
Is not me at all, but part of something larger.
As if, in the center of my very essence,
There is a subterranean tunnel to the ALL.
Can that be?
Are you deep within the ALL?
Within us all?
Me, too?
[image by jane cornwell per cc 2.0 from Flickr. The quotation is from Dante's Inferno ]
Don’t you know, my beloved, That you can no longer live under that law? The way the world used to work, Works no longer – even for you. You have begun to see the cracks in that system. And what you fear has begun to happen. It cannot hold together for much longer.
The privilege that protected you – That put you first in line, Or led those in authority To look the other way When you stole what was not yours – That privilege hangs in tatters round your frame. And you are naked beneath it.
You cannot re-arrange it enough To cover your shame.
Nor should you.
Give it up. Give it to me. Now that you realize that you are naked, You can also see that the fig leaves Are not working. They will never work.
Hide from me no longer. The ‘fall’ you fear is not a fall from me, But from the false version of yourself That dared to claim completeness Apart from me, Apart from everyone, from everything, else.
It is that very delusion of separateness, That keeps you lonely. That idea that you must somehow be enough By yourself, in yourself, That idea is what keeps you keeps you stuck In the empty, hollow place within your soul.
But You are not alone. And there is nothing you can do to change that. It is not your fig leaves that will keep you safe. See, I have clothed you in my love. It fits you like your very skin.
And nothing can separate you from that love – Not death, Not life, Not elections, Not the hate another spews at you, Nor the despising you paint upon yourself, Not your worry, nor your abject fear, Not a pandemic, nor economic crash, Neither angels nor demons, Neither the present nor the future, Not any power … high or low, Nor anything else in all creation, Can separate you from the love of God.
Nothing can separate you. You are no longer separate. That delusion has been shattered. And, in its place, the very vision Of the beloved community. You, me, and all. All together. All wrapped in the love of God.
When I remember
To give you the first fruits of my morning,
When I turn my mind, my heart,
First to your call,
Silencing the pull of other voices,
That is when my heart finds home.
Why, then, do I neglect this turning?
Who knows?
Who needs to know?
These questions just delay the turning.
It’s not about fixing me.
It’s about finding you.
So … I tilt my head,
I tilt my heart,
To listen.
And there you are.
I hear what I cannot quite hear.
I know what I cannot really know.
I find, despite my fears,
That I do believe in you.
I believe just enough to cuddle my soul
Within your whisper.
I believe just enough to breathe with you.
In and out,
We exchange the thread of life.
In and out,
You cleanse my heart of dread,
And seed my hope.
And so these three arrive with my turning
Faith, hope, and love.
Your love, of course, is what evokes my own.
And mine must follow, once I turn and see.
Oh Holy One,
I turn my heart to you.
I tune my ears,
Seeking the frequency of your heart.
I close my eyes,
So I might see beyond distractions.
This moment of turning
Turns the world.
Until, at last, I glimpse a different story.
It is a story more true than
The one that shouts to me from the TV,
Working to stir my fears.
Your whispered presence
Tells a deeper story.
Not about distance,
Not about disease,
Not about death.
Your story holds a secret melody
That sings of hope,
Of healing, and of resurrection.
You placed yourself within the struggle
To bear, with us, its pain and loss
And walk us through to promise.
Slowly I begin to understand.
Stories are life incarnate:
Life held at a distance,
So that I might better see.
The stories I listen to,
The stories I tell,
Shape me.
So, help me hear your story
The one you speak within my heart
The one that holds the world with love
The one that makes me one with you.
Oh Holy One,
Help me to pray.
Help me to hear your voice amid the storm.
Help me to walk with confidence upon the waves,
Looking only on your face.
Quiet Hope 