Entering unexplored, dangerous territory
I once saw a documentary
about underwater cave diving,
the most dangerous exploration.
The divers do not go alone.
Each diver, bright headlamp
shining forth, is tethered
to a companion who cares
if they make it out
to the sun and air again.
As a diver moves
into a cramped vestibule
within a deeply submerged cave,
miles from the surface,
old debris is stirred up,
a thick blizzard in the water
A sense of direction is lost,
they are blinded
by the detritus of years
with water pressing
from all sides.
The companions prepare for disorientation.
They lay a long, sturdy line of string
as they go, punctuating its
long, run-on sentence
with tactile markers
shaped like arrows,
Gretel’s bread crumbs
pointing toward the way out. …
On January 1, 2020, I awoke early and went outside to walk the length of my street in fresh snow as the dawn broke. I was glad that 2019 was done. It had been a difficult year for me as the only child of two very sick parents in a deeply fractured family. I made some significant and ultimately positive changes in my life that had created stress and upheaval in many ways. I often felt crushingly inadequate in meeting some of these challenges and I was navigating depression at a depth that I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
After my dawn walk, I wrote in my journal, “The New Dawn this morning was cold, but not frigid, and painted with a gentle dusting of snow that was peppered with the heart-shaped tracks of deer. May 2020 offer the clear sight its numbers seem to point toward.” …
Restoration
Clouds cruise above dark branches;
small, lacy mandalas
slowly come to meet you
and melt upon your tongue.
In the clearing, moonlight
is grace’s touch beneath
an open zenith of night sky
punctuated with stars.
Come home, kindle the fire,
brew fragrant tea, and pour it,
steaming, into your waiting cup
rest your feet, eyes closed: sip.
Deep within, you are borderless.
There are mysteries
not meant to be solved,
only felt, and received
in the gifts that
sing your being well.
*******************************************************
As 2020 draws to a close, many are almost afraid to hope for a better year. Interior restoration can be found regardless of the challenges of the world. Simply noticing beauty in the moment, or engaging in small acts of self-care are practices that help me to turn from despair and remind me of a wholeness that exists despite all the fracturing that has been so prevalent. …
In the snowless, winter woods
all but the hardiest green is gone.
It gathers at the ground,
the vibrant moss
around knuckled roots
of gray-brown trees,
lining crevices in old bark,
on the bodies of fallen comrades.
Here and there
it graces the air
shining gossamer
in high conifer branches.
Gratitude rises in me
for the blessing
of these green pines and firs
standing tall and slim
between bare and bony limbs
of maple, oak and hickory,
leaves long gone
to the earth.
You left your sandals behind for the short walk
To the well with your earthen pitcher,
Small billows of dust with every step
A song arose as you returned
Lovely whole notes; you sang,
Filling the wide dome of air around you
Water dampening the ground
The vessel, spilling over,
You are incandescent
With your heart song
You step over
The threshold’s pounded earth,
Pass into soft light within,
Set your pitcher on the table,
Turn toward the window,
Near the cool brown of the wall,
A shimmering flame,
An utterance of light saying:
Do not be afraid . . .
Full of Grace . . …
A few days ago, in the early hours,
I lifted the crucifix from this little altar
And gently placed it on the bookshelf next to me,
One that holds the words of poets.
Yes. Suffering and Rising.
We often pray that these two
Movements in our own lives,
Like pans of a scale, be balanced
When, truly, we might find that
The pan that rises, rises well,
Lifts up away from the counter weight
As another mass drops in.
But now is a time of waiting
In dimming light
For the gift of new infant breath,
Sweet in the hay
Little hand, the impossibly
Tiny bones of those fingers
Articulating to grasp
Mother’s warm flesh. …
Solstice Prayer
Lay me out,
Open and empty of expectations;
What comes, will come.
In a season of growing welcome,
New light kindles within the darkness.
Roots rest in their promise of green.
Sweep the ash from your hearth,
Set the wood with tinder,
So that it may catch the fire.
Warm and loosen the heart
In a time of cold
Gather within. Make room.
We are steeped
In gratitude,
May we give ourselves away.
************************************
In December 2020, the dark of winter may feel particularly cold and empty for many. If we orient ourselves toward gratitude and find ways to warm and to offer love it may help. If we remember that the light will grow again, the days will warm and life continues on even when we cannot be with others we love, we may find comfort. …
Today
I woke up and stood
At the window,
Palms open,
And saw
The red fire of dawn
Slowly spreading,
The warmth seeped in
And I knew
Wholeness
In that moment
And now,
The sky’s brilliant flames
Are extinguished
By thick western clouds
(One of those red skies:
A warning)
That early,
Radiant glimpse
Clarified me
Before this
Dark weather
Sometimes we can get so caught up in difficulties that we begin to feel fragmented and diminished. I find that being present for the sunrise has been a very helpful orientation for me at such times. It is a time when we may be overcome by beauty that has nothing to do with all of the things that are happening in our lives. The sky might also express our challenges, as this one did, when a short time later heavy, dark clouds rolled in. That day, my brief encounter with the flames of this dawn was something I carried with me, reminding me that my life was much more than the challenges that I might face. …
Moments when bodies line up perfectly: sun earth moon
In syzygy, we see the shape of our own roundness moving
Over that dry and cratered surface, the sun at our back
A reminder that our planet, carrying all its passengers,
Really does spin in vastness
Dancing on its track around the light.
During an eclipse, the full moon becomes dim.
It reddens in refracted light as earth’s shade
Slowly creeps across the bright face.
Some call this a “blood moon.” They say it foretells
Death or some other kind of grief.
We might see the ruddy shadow
Cast by this coalescence of dirt and stone
With the stems and bones of breathing things
As a vision of evident…