a candle-inspired poem

all-in-one universe

what little light
what
little

flame.
fire.

my flame
my heart
cave of your embrace
your shelter

  - love.

one little light
one
small flame
one fire
one heart
one love
one.

one.

a wonder -

Swimming the Deeps

sorry for my silence over the past 2 months, but...

I’ve been swimming the deeps

        of soul
with all the mysteries that await
        in the pressing green darkness
Enclosed and caressed
        by the surging current
Drawn down into the swirling murkiness
Reaching out-reaching in-searching
        for  -  the unnameable
                          unknowable
                          who am i how am i why am i
                          who are you
                          what is love what is God what is good
                          ?
 
Shafts of sunlight illumine the life around me
The waters churn-contract-expand
                        and me with them
        insistent in a slow soft-edged way
        demanding something more of me…
 
Yes I’ve been swimming the deeps
        captivating deeps of soul
But I must learn to use my feet again
        come up for air
And breathe into my humanness.


PS - today i took my leave of Holy Hill.  i will write a reflection on this one of these days.

an easter poem

(this poem has been gestating since it was originally conceived in February, and i think today would be an appropriate day to share it!  despite any imperfections that may remain.  critiques are welcome via email...)

lilting through an afternoon sunspell

tripping over myself with joy

i press my hands

against my breast

in fear that my heart

may else come tumbling out

if I let go...

no longer could i call my heart

"mine"...

-is that what it means

 to die of love?

-it would be annihilated

by that ultimate

ever-living

Holy Fire.

-it would disintegrate

into innumerable shining flecks

burrowing into the earth

rising on the song of a sparrow

whirling in the wind

sprinkling stardust wherever it passed

enlivening all it touched

  

and I would be

-resurrected!

but hasn't this happened 

already?

these feeble human hands

in their pathetic embrace of this

fractured human heart

            -which is even now seeping out through every pore in my body!

haven’t a self-preserving chance 

in the presence of this

infinite

ever-loving God.

risking winter

After what has been (apparently) an unseasonably warm winter in Ireland (especially compared with the previous two years!), and all sorts of exclamations and excited over the first noticeable signs of spring (lambs!, noisy birds!1 blooming snowdrops, crocuses, daffodils!), we have just experienced the three coldest days of the season - the coldest since I left 2 newly fallen feet of snow in Boston a year ago!  It was below freezing in the mornings, and the hard frost left the grass white and crunchy all day long in most places.  The rocks in the courtyard fountain are coated with a thick layer of clear ice.  The skies have been sunny and cloudless.  And the sunrises have been incredible.  Here's the second draft of a poem inspired by the weather:

Risking winter
Our winters do not want
to let us go. 

If the spring comes
before its time
it opens itself,
boldly vulnerable,
to winter's clinging
claws. 

but that is the risk we take
when we let our passionate God
love us into life.

a not-quite-poem

(upon being requested to write a reflection about action and contemplation...)

over the weekend, i kept being stopped in my tracks at the sight of the way certain leaves would catch the sunlight and seem to glow almost like lightbulbs. sitting in worship on sunday, with the light streaming in through the windows i was, as often happens, filled with such a sense of joy and life and peace and, well, fullness...and i thought, “how do i share that with others?” so i spent the day looking for a metaphor, of something (in nature) that fills with light and then transmits that light to others. it would have been easy enough to use the symbol of water, of a vessel being filled with water until it overflows, but that didn’t seem very original. plus, i was looking for light. the moon also offered itself as an image, but it seemed a rather over-used cliche as well. and not quite appropriate, because the moon itself doesn’t fill with light, it just reflects it...

and then i went to the chapel to pray,
and there was the beautiful crucifix,
and there was the window which,
from my lowly vantage point (the floor)
perfectly framed a bare tree on the hillside and i thought:
     in order to keep living, the tree must
     give up its golden jewels to make space for
     new life. it is the never-ending
     cycle of growth, death, re-birth; of
     resurrection; of
     the spiritual life
through water, soil,
photosynthesis
we are fed, we grow
we are filled with the holy spirit;
and when we come to maturity,
our leaves turn into sparking jewels
     topaz and ruby
     filled with light!
but as we revel in this new-found beauty, we must
     eventually,
     by will or by force,
     let it go
     send it forth
     die to ourselves
     in order to serve the world’s needs
     for replenishment.
and yet through that very act,
we receive back again that very same gift
which after a period of rest, of dormancy, revives us
to begin again.

through prayer, silence, and contemplation, one grows and is filled with the glory of God until it can no longer contain itself, and it spills out into active service for the world, and is restored to fullness and new growth through further reflection and contemplation...

suspended joy

in the woods outside my window 

amber jewels shimmer suspended
in the air

oh the magic of sunlight in autumn!

the trees cling to their 

      beautiful ornaments their
      golden treasures their
      shining
      dying
      treasures

they offer them out to me
      fingers aflame
            see?
            look at what God can do
            !

unable to contain such joy,
the beech tree shakes with delight
and sends showers of glistening
teardrops
onto the waiting
hungry
earth below.

little sailboat

today i am a little sailboat
  (who once upon a time set off
   across the big wide ocean
   her sail full of hopes and dreams and anticipation for
   a soul-full adventure
   into life
   and toward god...)

today i am a little sailboat
adrift.

the air still and heavy
the sail slack for lack of a breeze
and, having run out of fuel to motor my way along,
there is
   nothing
i can do to direct or propel myself onward
  (not that i would know which direction to go
  anyway, given the clouds)

   where am i?
   where am i going?
   how will i ever get there?

the only thing i can do is
wait
and rely on the ocean current to carry me
slowly
along...

(and someday
the wind will pick up again, i know)

the trees are black

(this is the first of two poems that i wrote this past week, not noticing until rereading them later how similar their themes were...must be a lot of waiting and trusting going on inside me right now!)

the trees are black

against a deep dark blue and yet
i know that they are green:
  green-and-brown-and-yellow-and-grey
...i have seen them.

the trees are black.

they stand un-self-consciously
their beautiful half-naked figures silhouetted
by the shining blue
sapphire light of early morning

waiting.
patiently

for the earth to turn (as it always does) towards
the sun; and be illumined
in all their autumnal glory.  and yet -
for now

the trees are black.

Camas Poems

some poems i wrote while at Camas:

C reative
A dventures
M eaning
A alive
S pirit

~

J ourneying to wild places
O bserving the outdoors
H iking through heather
N oticing new things

M aking meaning out of mysteries
U nearthing the undiscovered
I nner insights and inklings
R esolving to return

 (John Muir, the man who helped Teddy Roosevelt set up the National Park system in the US, was born in Scotland.  Camas is a certified provider of the John Muir Award, which involves Discovering, Exploring, Conserving and Sharing wild places.)

~

4 Haikus

flickering candles

slugs eat the pale strawberries

simple Camas life

so remote and wild

unspoilt natural beauty

sheep poo in the grass

cold and stuck inside

what shall we do with this day?

tea break time again!

islands disappear

rain beads upon my wooly

a Scottish summer

invitation

I love the place where this desk sits in my room,
in the corner between two windows facing south and east;
the way the oak-leaf-filtered light coming through the yellow-cream-edged window panes plays on the surface of the glossy white desk,
framed by the bold terracotta red of the walls.

poem: a gardener like me

i long
for god to make a garden
of my heart
to turn it into a
growing, blooming, fruitful –useful-
place

loving hands immersed in its
soft soil
massaging it, picking out
the stones – those
all-pervasive impediments to growth;
passionately carving their way
through the closed cage of my ribs and into
the secret interior of my soul
opening up long furrows upon its
too-smooth surface deep enough
to find its tender places;
expertly, carefully, planting
each seed
one by one
gently and eagerly encouraging it to
take root and rise up!

i envision this gardener
approaching my heart-bed joyfully in anticipation
each and every day
to water the seeds;
crouching closely – hoping
to witness the first sign of growth
whispering and
singing come out!
come out, my loves!
arise!
dancing and
clapping her hands in delight
at each new green sliver of
life - yes!

yes.

i want my heart to feel like this
i want my god to be like this
-a gardener like me.

moonsong

Oh mystic moon,

before we knew what you were,

you gazed on us

lovingly,

pulling us with you

into some great unknown.

We gazed back,

and were gifted with

sacred glimpses

of God.

We danced,

as the waters of the oceans,

moving to your mysterious rhythm.

Then science explained away

your incredible patterns

and we,

disenchanted,

no longer followed your lunar dance.

But oh glorious glowing globe,

you still gaze on us

lovingly,

mournfully? hopefully?

and waltz with the waters

to the music of an unending

universal

heartsong

The morning after

Even clouds need their rest.

The morning after a hard rain,
exhausted,
you can see them
taking naps
on the hillsides.
__

There's something so spirit-filled about the morning, la mañana, after a rainstorm. It's tranquila, open; the birds sing in the silence. Calm, peace, and new life, along with celebration, hope. It's the best thing about the rain.

Rain: A metaphor

It rained and poured.
And on the first day
we rejoiced!
for the water had been scarce
the tank almost empty.
We felt the Spirit
falling on us
like the rain
filling us
Our cup was filled to overflowing!

On the second day,
we appreciated the sunshine,
but our revelry was
interrupted
the rain was not finished with us yet.
But we bore with it,
glad that it was watering
the parched earth
and our new seeds.

On the third day
we woke to dark skies.
The sun was nowhere to be found.
We lost all sense of time
as the day stretched on.
The rain came back with a vengeance
pounding on the roof
lashing at the walls
begging for admission
Despair set in
(But our reservoir is full now
we can hold no more!
we have what we need,
you're job is done.)
Frustration
(Please, go away.
enough is enough!
I am tired of your endless
insistence.)
Resignation
(We'll go inside
and not come out
until you have gone.)

In the night,
we look up to the heavens
and they are filled with
stars!
The morning dawns bright,
peaceful, gentle
filled with birdsong.
The Spirit shines on us
like the sun.

It is the Sabbath.

The butterfly

Through the streaked layer of dirt
on the thick window
of the bus,
Against a wall
of green foliage
laden with dust,
There soars a butterfly.

Not even the grit
and dinginess
of its surroundings
can dull
its bright orange
radiance.

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it" (John 1:5)

the beginning of an answer

God:

You are wisdom, light, truth,
bringer of wisdom, light, truth.
You are joy, love, hope
and the bearer of joy, love, hope.
You are spirit of life,
breath of life,
source of life.
You are birther, nurturer, comforter.
You are the ancient one--a rock
You are a child--energy, wonder
You are a builder of bridgers,
and a bridge, too.
You are an infinite ocean
vaster than any mind can comprehend.
You are the sustainer of life,
the rhythm of life,
hearbeat of the universe.
You are a light on our path
you are the path.
You guide us through changes
you are change,
movement,
spinning us in circles,
through our cycles of existence.
You are the fiber of my being.
of everything.
And you call us to discover
our wholeness in you
in us.

Wandering

I am wandering
in the pre-dawn light
of a cloudy day.
for I am not in total darkness,
but I have not come into full being
or understanding.
it is grey. and dim.

But
when the sun does finally rise,
it will be all the more glorious
for the clouds.
They may obscure the light
delay the daybreak

and make the search for truth more difficult,
But the most beautiful sunrises occur
when the clouds are illuminated
in hues
of pink, orange, and purple,
yellow against steel blue
And we revel in God,
the light of life.

Swinging with God

Here's a poem I wrote in El Pino after watching a young girl on a swing:

It only takes a few pumps of the legs
and arms
and then you're off.

Sometimes,
when you're small,
a push from a parent helps.
sometimes all it takes is a friend
your same age.

Arms, legs, and body working together,
you ride higher
and begin to soar.

Then, you can relax into the rhythm
and enjoy your flight
on the wings of the spirit.

When you descend,
calmly
back to solid ground
and dismount--
perhaps with a leap of joy--
your life goes on
and the swing stays behind,
swaying
waiting to carry its next soul
to freedom.