Driver or Passenger?

Prior to the right turn toward Dayton,

a full stop and careful left check for oncoming traffic

Snow - a quick rear view glance, a break tap re slippery ice

easy negotiation of the smooth curve ahead - attention to oncoming vehicles

Then the highway smoothes and all the view is straight ahead 

Prior to the right turn toward Dayton,

a full stop and careful left check for oncoming traffic

Conditions not one's worry, 

negotiations - out of one's hand

Oncoming traffic of little interest in comparison to

the Blue Mountains topped with snow

Sun barely rising,  pinking the sky with a kiss

Or the damp, ruffled feathers of a hawk atop light pole and/or bare tree

surveying the land for tasty morsels of vole and field mice

 Image by NDomer73 via Flickr

A thought can stray to where the birds spent the night

- certainly not out in the cold

Maybe a barn left thoughtfully vulnerable by a farmer or his wife

Driver or passenger  

keep or give up the control 

whose ride will be remembered, reflected upon, cherished

*Photo Image by NDOMER 73 via Flickr

Waiting for creation

Does the creative womb

stop in time

stand still.....

Or is it ever active

nourishing the gift

even as the artist waits impatiently for the birthing

God's season of darkness,

of patience, of wombs,

of nevertheless prolific stirring

The womb of holiness 

does not cease to nurture

even in the silence

It works with the whole of creation,

awaiting the birth

ready or not, it will come

Waiting in Silence

This a.m. in stillness and reflection I was prompted by my online participation in Birthing the Holy "to move to the edges of what we know, to grow less comfortable and stretch ourselves into new places."  In general to be alert, awake, and faithful for the coming of that which we can only imagine.  As I attempted to clear my mind of external distraction, a poem that I wrote last year regarding faith and the willingness to wait in silence for the coming of our Lord, came to my mind.  I share here again that poetry......

Faith from the dirt

The ground - such faith lives in the dirt
It prays that the seed will take to its bed
That the soil can once more quickly envelop its teeny charges, with few escaping to death
It begins to pray for water

How can the soil expect its prayers to be answered again
Year after year, it prays for water and the water comes
In a cloudburst from heaven or the steady misting from a man made device
It continues to pray for water

The soil is patient as a parable
Always sure of its purpose
Most assuredly aware of the pathway to harvest
But probably never aware of its power and strength to feed the world

Unknowingly the seeds nestle into the soil and nurse from the rain's benevolence
Swelling into abundance and bursting into the glory of green life
The soil is hidden now, a lowly shade of dirt brown next to the brilliant green crop
But its job goes on, supporting, bolstering, strengthening the sheaves

Now praying for the warmth of the sun
The scarcity of feeding deer and trampling elk
The sun hears and responds with glorious scorching warmth
Baking the wheat to a golden field of dancing abundance

The soil gives its life to the harvest
And mourns the wheat's departure with fine layers of dry, airborne dust
The soil will miss this crop and resign itself to waiting and praying
Praying for the strength and opportunity to sustain a new harvest of tiny, unknowing seeds

SS poetry inspired by the golden wheat fields of the Walla Walla Valley

INVICTUS

Image via Wikipedia/Nelson Mandela

INVICTUS

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Having just watched the movie INVICTUS starring Morgan Freeman as Nelson Mandela, I was curious about the poetry that is referred to throughout the movie.  Wikipedia, as usual, was of help, although I give Freeman more credit for his performance and betrayal than the movie reviewer in the article from Zemanta quoted below.  The poem, written by William Ernest Henley (1849-1903), is said to have been written on a small scrap of paper and kept by Mandela during his imprisonment.

For me the movie was a portrayal of greatness, of forgiveness and for the beginnings of the end of apartheid in South Africa.  Mandela's integral part in teaching forgiveness is astoundingly portrayed in the film.  The greatness in the movie for me was not the actors' performances but the message of hope around which the story was constructed.

.....and a thought regarding the actual poem.....are we the captains of our souls, am I?  .....are you?

Related articles by Zemanta

• DVD: Invictus (12) (independent.co.uk)
• Gordon Brown's last letter: a salute to Nelson Mandela (telegraph.co.uk)
• DVD Review: Invictus (writer.fitzhome.com)

Fire, Furnace and Fears

Fire was the element of reflection this week in my Easter E-Course, so herewith - more fire -

See, I have refined you, but not like silver;

I have tested you in the furnace of adversity.

Isaiah 48:10

So what of the fire, the refinement, the fears, the furnace

Step in and die

Step in and live

What fears will become ashes

That of failure

Of being judged by one's friends and foe

Fear of non-creativity

Of everything

Rather, why not the crucible

Taking on courage with the fire

Taking on confidence with the purification

Taking on the badge of honor and creativity

Taking only the shield of God's perfect judgement of his creation

The Wind Calls

Where will God's breath take me today

Will it be a breeze, a brisk wind

Chilling or warming my soul

Will the breeze court me

Will I follow as entreated

Will I shiver or will I warm to its call

Resting in the current or refusing to fly

Is it in my power to affect my 

own temperature, my own sail's call

Will I feel the air and arrogantly ignore its invitation

Its invitation to turn, to be redeemed

To be lifted

To experience Resurrection

SS Poetry/Photo, Inspiration - Abbey of the Arts E-Course, Landscape and View by God

In the Breath

In the blink of my eyes

In the breath that I've drawn

What have I missed

Each sacred second

Too numerous to comprehend

But too regular to be denied

In God's time, the moments remain

Uncounted in my memory

But present nevertheless

-SS-

This a.m. beginning an Easter Season E-Course, presented by Abbey of the Arts , with reading of the wind, the breath, etc. I resurrected this poem I wrote in my journal last week....

The Pen, the Paper, the Gift

The pen, the paper, the bounty,
the magical trick
The pen - the wand in motion, consummating the word

Planted, pregnant, bursting
Feast or famine, the mind issues the fruit of its labor

The pen, the paper - the Benevolent or the magical -
 your wrist and pen dancing, scratching,
exposing your meek or plentiful harvest

Teach Me

Psalm 25:4 Make me to know your ways, O Lord:

teach me your paths.

(The New Oxford Annotated Bible)

Teach Me - Let Me Know

As oft as the hour, the minutes, the seconds

As number the pebbles under my feet

 As the sun sparks the warmth of the past spring day 

As the spring warm breeze summons my senses

As many times as the beat of my heart

Teach me, show me, let me know

Psalm 25:4  Show me how you work, God; 

School me in your ways. 

 (The Message/Eugene Peterson)

Silly song of birdhouses in the wind

Image by Јerry via Flickr

We have two birdhouses in our yard - one can be viewed from the kitchen side and one from the study side.  Unlike the picture at right, our houses hang from a little length of chain which seemed like a good idea until the heavy wind this week...funny thoughts came into my noggin -

She watches nervously from the shrubs

Wondering how whirling will affect the eggs

Like a merry-go-round in there now

Or a small, whirling, bumpy tornado

Oh dear, what were they thinking with a hook and a chain

A tilt-a-whirl, the perfect storm

Residence with my neighbors in the eaves may be the 

next best nesting place - I'll need to get started on that right away

Oh well, if they fly in circles I guess it won't matter

and certainly they'll be born with a toe up on vertigo

Oh dear, oh dear, I've never sat on scrambled eggs before!

Surprise

My reading for this week, so far, has involved scripture, a book about labyrinth journeys,  authors - Thomas Merton, John Baillie, Annie Dillard, Christine Valters Paintner, favorite bloggers, and 4 books currently on my Kindle. Chapters and quotes from these sources send my mind off smiling and pondering at the selections that, excuse the pun, seem to kindle my spirit's fire and bring my pen straight to journal pages. This popped onto the page this a.m.

Waiting, praying, hoping,wondering

When will I see, truly see

When will I know in my heart

and all my fragile being that your

Holy Spirit is present

Practicing, striving, yearning

for the revelation

for the wind on my skin

for the whisper in my ear

Continuing, questioning as a child-like disciple

Where's the evidence

Prove it to me

Or is this all just a waste of my time and energy

Oh God - I am so dense
Good morning
and must you always surprise me?!

Pray for the Words

Quote from Thomas Merton/A Book of Hours*

"Contemplation is the response to a call: a call from Him Who has no voice, and yet Who speaks in everything that is and Who, most of all, speaks in the depths of our own being: for we ourselves are words of His.  But we are words that are meant to respond to Him, to answer to Him, to echo Him, and even in some way to contain Him and signify Him."

Our lives - words of our Creator

What do we say then each day to others around us 

Are we an echo of God's love

Or do we act out that which is unthinkable mocking the act of love

Let us, the words, speak honestly

Consciously representing only that which God would have us be

And do in his name

Amen

*edited by Kathleen Deignan
  Collage and prayer SS

Capture

Still, silent in the moment as in anticipation of the prey

Feeling the breath - the in between time

Emptiness, expectation

Hope for capturing the moment

Living into the hush of the already past

Will I ever capture the silence

The meaning of the in-between

Will I ever capture myself

Painting - "Acrylic Quilt" by Dianna S. Woolley

Words from my Lenten journey

"Pilgrims are persons in motion - passing through territories not their own - seeking something we might call completion, or perhaps clarity will do as well, a goal which only the spirit's compass points the way."  - Richard Niebuhr, Pilgrims and Pioneers

Today as I sat quietly to pray and ponder, I read a couple of pages in *Eve Eschner Hogan's small book, entitled Way of the Winding Path: A Map for the Labyrinth of Life; it's where I came across the Niebuhr quote that stopped me to think about his words -

 

 Person in Motion

Person in motion, spirit-filled and joyful with the gift of creativity

 Knowing that what one thinks or creates matters in and of itself

Not necessarily of what others think or project on to one's art that matters  

Unique empowering feeling that thought brings

Even if one only tends to summon it upon occasion   

The Spirit's Compass

Where will the spirit's compass take me

To mingle with whom - perhaps angels or ancestors

Eager to show me the life-giving, well-trodden path

To wholeness of my own spirit mingled with that of the Holy

Where will the essence of the two spirits join

In prayer, in a stranger's eyes, at the easel

Where will I catch my breath

and know that my essence, my wholeness is Yours?

*More about Eve Eschner Hogan may be found at: The Sacred Gardens of Maui

Cornerstone - the Christ

Home in the elements of nature - spring mosses, dashing sleet, stormy nights

Block of stone, enduring, hidden, unearthed, unturned

Discovered then as though pried from its foundation of granite, paraded heralded in honor

Choice to surrender, rage to call out

A plea for rescue 

The Stone - silently acquiescent 

Could not the Mountain have prevailed

Come down on the masons zealously selecting, then discarding, that which they considered theirs

The Mountain - silently acquiescent 

The Stone was moved yet remained unmoved 

Profound in its makeup - deceiving in its compliancy

Yielding, knowing of its power to balance the world, the universe, its destiny as Cornerstone

Matthew 21:42  Jesus said to them, "Have you never read in the scriptures; 'The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; this was the Lord's doing, and it is amazing in our eyes'?

Remembering yesterday's ashes

Even now says the Lord, return to me with your whole heart, with fasting, and weeping and mourning;

Rend your hearts, not your garments, and return to the Lord your God. 

Joel 2:12-13

So, Lord, I will return with my whole heart

But, I mean, these ashes on my forehead, can't I just clean up a little?

Is everyone going to be wearing ashes or just me?

I know I've sinned a little, some, all right, a bunch -

but what if I'm the only one that admits it and they all pretend they're perfect?

Oh, I see.  I can wash my face and everyone else can too,

You'll know whose face is dirty and why.........I guess I knew that.

Photo - Holy Innocents Church/Lahaina - Ash Wednesday 2009

Are you saved?

Image by stuant63 via Flickr

  

Flash of color amongst the rocks and sand

Tiny story teller

 Vanished, lost

Washed in waters buoyant, whole

Drifting lazily on currents

Then dashed onto rocks by roiling sea

What part of you will be found, rescued, 

cherished for what you are

Not for what or where you've been

Cherished and saved just for being you

Poetry Challenge - why not?

Cover of Outlander

Yesterday over at Seedlings in Stone, I found the following poetry prompt and decided to step up for the challenge.

Random Acts of Poetry Prompt:
Choose a character from a book-children's grownup's, matters not. Write a poem to, from, or just about the character. Post it by Thursday evening, January 28th, for links and possible feature at High Calling Blogs.

Having just completed an intriguing novel, OUTLANDER by author, Diana Gabaldon, I chose the heroine, Claire, who out of curiosity and sheer chance is drawn through time travel from her 1945 life in post-war England into the Scottish countryside of 1745. OUTLANDER's heroine and its host of characters run the gamut of human emotion and factual history. Herein lies Claire's tale in verse.

Bravery, curiosity, stupidity, chance
Did you measure those issues
As you stepped in the dance

Taunted, sucked bodily into the past
Your reality, your insanity....
In what state were you last

Did you yearn to return
To where, to whom
To your past, to your present
To true love or to doom

Was it fantasy, a dream
A year or a day
Were you happy or sad
In some disarray

Forseeing war coming
Did you warn those you loved
Were you sure you'd escape
Or be doomed by your love

You slipped from the ring
Your womb full and strong
But its 20 years hence
For what do you long

A taste of sweet kiss
A peak through the glass
A chance for your daughter
To glimpse your lost chance

Her father, your lover
A brave heart so true
He fought for your life
And he saved her life too

Do you show her the way
And invite her to fly
Is your fear for her real
Or your own death to die

I've now selected novel #2 in the OUTLANDER series entitled DRAGONFLY IN AMBER. The last couple of lines of my poetry reflect the beginnings of another great read!

Life's Canvas

Image via Wikipedia

My life the canvas, my mind the brush
With the tools at hand
How creative, surprised or disappointed will I be today

Will there be only scratches on the surface
Or canvas glued to canvas
With colors calling others to join them

Will the collage be small, compact, tight
Or will it spread, magnify, stream into
The beauty of a sunrise

Will the last strokes capture
The calming, yet exhilarating beauty of the
Sun slipping into the night horizon

Will the creation relax, quiet, slumber
Coming together in the night
In peaceful preparation for dawn's fresh surface

Photo - Matisse "Beasts of the Sea" 1950 Collage/The National Gallery

Squirrel Watching - Riley Style

It's grey, very grey
No blue sky to be seen anywhere
Damp misty fog filling the yard while
Chickadees scurry in the garden
First on the ground, then to the bush



Squirrels come down, foraging for leftovers under the feeders
Riley waiting impatiently inside the sliding door
Whining, insisting he must catch those squirrels; he MUST!



Birds hearing the dog's plaintive yelp flit away
Squirrels glancing his way, flaunting their freedom as if to say, "silly dog!"
Riley waiting, knowing, biding his time, trembling
"Shhhhh, please open the door, just a crack........"
Mad dashing and shrill barking; "Dang! Almost had 'em this time!"