"at present,
mortals progress slowly
for fear of being thought ridiculous..."
- M. B. Eddy
ridculous
I can handle...
I like ridiculous...
silly,
fun,
a bit quirky,
but what about
just
plain
wrong...
immoral,
arrogant,
the son of Beelzebub,
a cultural outlaw,
this I do not
think that
I can do
dear Father...
why would
You ask me
to
heal the sick
on the Sabbath day,
preach Your message
of hope and
salvation to Samaritans and
strangers...
eat with sinners,
let a women "with an
issue of blood" touch me
in a crowd...
raise the dead
celebrate the tears of a
harlot,
turn aside from
raising the Pharisee's daughter to
help a Centurion's servant
feed five thousand men,
as well as the
women and children
beside them
save the adulteress
from being stoned
step onto the sea,
rebuke church leaders...
welcome Greeks and Romans
to the passover feast...
flip tables in the temple
and disobey my
parents,
deny my mother,
wash the feet of my followers,
kiss my betrayer,
forgive...
“...be it unto me
according to Thy will...”
― Luke
"brood oer' us
with thy sheltering wing,
neath which our spirits blend..."
- M. B. Eddy
spring came early
this year...
warm sunlight
bathed the porch in
liquid gold,
pooling against the
clapboards,
and lingering in
dappled waves of
summer's promise,
tucked softly
under the
eaves...
before I could
strip the window boxes
of December's pine boughs and
holly,
she came and
feathered
a secret cache...
last year's
brittle grass
and bits of
ribbon...
strands of silver
and the raffia she'd
unlaced from
a wreath
made in
november when the
air was filled with
burning leaves
and
overripe fruit
dripped from
branches
heavy with the
scent of
something already
sleeping
before the snow...
but,
she
was eager to
prepare for their arrival...
our window boxes
now
her
manger
claimed before the
first crocuses of spring
reached
slender
arms above the
loamy
earth
to touch a
daystar
as it coursed across
the sky
back and forth
she flew
with tiny flecks of
lint and
wool
to soften a
cradle
made of
straw
will a
star
rise in the
east
the day that
they are
born...
who can know
the form
of Love
when eagles
bow
to
a sparrow's
child...
and
women
bring gifts
to crown
the
daughters
of a
morning
dove...
“...fed by Thy love, divine,
we live,
for love alone is Life...”
― M. B. Eddy
"One should lie empty, open,
choiceless as a beach --
waiting for a gift from the sea."
- A. M. Lindbergh
choiceless
as a beach...
i wait
for You to
fill my
heart with
small treasures...
I am not picky
in fact,
i have lost the will
to choose for
myself...
it has always left me
empty-handed,
fragile hope-shells crushed
between fingers too
tightly curled,
always
grasping for
something that
eventually
falls through the cracks,
like grains of sand
returning to
the sea...
reaching for the shiny shard of glass
not yet softened to
a pale hue by the pounding
waves and
salted air of a perfect storm...
ready for a child's palm
or a widow's
nightstand...
the wind has blown me
free of wanting
what I cannot see...
I will wait
and wait...and
wait until
from the depths
of the unseen
a single word
teases itself
onto my waiting
shores...
a single word that
leads me forward...
one more step...
on this
journey of meaning,
I will wait
for a feeling
one that leaves me
longing,
aching for
the whisper of
Your message at
my ankles,
Your touch
upon my heart,
and when I
am almost ready
to cross the dunes and
mount the salt-weathered steps
that lead my back to
society and
schedules,
perhaps I will catch
a glimmer of
something
serendipitous upon the
sand,
surf-polished
and no longer a
discarded shard of glass,
but now
a jewell...
a simple transparent
gem of
vision,
truth,
hope....
a beautiful as
smoke in a bottle...
a secret
held in an open
hand
so,
I will stay here
open as
the beach,
willing to be taken in
and out,
in and out,
one
grain at a
time
back into the depths of
Your infinity
then
warmed,
softened,
bleached white
as snow beneath the
heat of your
purifying
Love...
where
I wait
for a gift
from the sea...within
“Patience,
must have her perfect work...”
― M. B. Eddy
“I see the sea, the utterly calm sea.
I see the coast, the utterly calm coast.
When this utterly calm sea
meets the utterly still coast,
huge breakers are suddenly thrown up.
Two sorts of stillness touch one and other
and explode into a song of roar and foam.”
― S. Lindqvist
theirs is
an unexpected
alchemy
an irrational
concrescence
there is
nothing predictable
about the
way
they touch,
and dance,
and change each other....
"oh, no"
they whisper in
the public square,
"...she is
not for him...too
quiet,
reserved,
almost as still
as a fawn in the forest...
"...not enough
of what is missing,
to bring out
his inner something,
all that's
hidden,
and buried
beneath the
surface
"...don't you
see,
they are too
much alike...
"...both seeking silence
over society,
solitude
before all else,
such introverts.
"...he needs someone
more outgoing,
funny,
quick on her feet...
"...opposites
attract...right?"
what what they do not
know
is that in the
edge foam of their
shared quiet,
there is laughter,
joy,
something richer,
deeper,
a song much sweeter
than either of them
could have
known
from the sweet
silence of their
separateness
her calm giving
context to
the texture of his
unruffled
poise...and on the
sands of
her windswept,
linen-colored soul,
the beauty
of his alabaster
heart
shines...
the shapes and shades of
their
days are punctuated,
not by
a vast color pallet,
but by the
soft shadows cast in
the changing light of another
changeless day...
their shared solitude
breaking, like
waves upon
a colorless
shore...
and in the
surf,
there is
laughter...and
a rich
love
only
dreamed of...
a sea song
that
draws
us
in
“Kindred tastes,
motives, and aspirations.
are necessary to the formation of
and permanent companionship”
― M. B. Eddy
“I do not hope to bind the wind,
or set a fetter on the sea --
It is enough to feel His love
blow by, like music, over me.”
― Sara Teasdale
a million
stars
a billion
grains of sand
more drops of water
in the sea
than
can be counted
by the gods
of men,
drops
that
rise,
and fall, and
rise again,
as Love
to form the cloud,
then drop
a blessing on each
arid desert place,
to send a prayer
into
the waiting
lips of
a thirsty
child...
an errant dream,
a
strong desire,
more impulses than
a priest could
hold
at bay,
mere human will
can never
chase
the winds of passion
to the
four corners
of
the globe,
or
take the reins of
uncertainty...
however strong...
to hold
one crime in check...
Who then?
Who takes
control when
chaos
screams and bitterness
urges anger's unrestraint
to the surface of
a seething
sea,
a roiling
ocean of mistrust and
hurt
it is Love...
it rises like
the strong
arching spine of
an ancient
creature....
it slices through the
crashing of the surf,
and penetrates the
pounding pulse of pain's relentless
voice...
it quiets
all that
cannot be stilled by
skilled hands
or well-meaning words...
it is Love that
carves a path of moonlight
for the wayward,
lonely
mariner...
it is Love that
brings the
mermaid home to rest
beneath a
poet's
pier...
it is Love,
simply Love
that breathes a song
through
the throat of
an empty nautilus,
the sun-soaked
conch,
each blade of sea grass
and calls
us
gently
home...
stills our
sorrow...
and
dries the
heavy
tear...
“And may Thy Word,
enrich the affections
of all mankind,
and govern them.”
― M. B. Eddy
“...but only great,
as I am good..."
― Shakespeare
great...
there was a time
when "great" was the goal...
good wasn't enough
a day,
a poem,
a me....
was only as
good,
as it was
great....
"have a great day"
"that was a great meal"
"you're a great...."
but I wasn't
i wasn't great,
no matter how hard
i tried
and then I stopped
trying to be
great
I discovered the
joy of being
me,
and me
was
"just good"
right away,
my days were
filled with
peace
I was filled with
peace
"today was good."
it was enough
"you are a good mom..."
I am enough
something shifted and
the hours were
sweeter
somehow
every day
good,
not great,
just good...
it doesn't get
any better
than
good,
just good...
“And God
saw everything that He had made,
and behold,
it was very good.”
― Genesis
“If thou could'st empty
all thyself
of self,
like to a shell dishabited,
then might He find thee
on the ocean shelf,
and say, "This is not dead..."
and fill thee with Himself instead."
― Madeleine L'Engle
an empty shell
bleached by
the salt and sun of
a storm-tossed
sea
He finds you
tossed upon the vastness of
a windswept
beach
all the half truths,
every compromise,
each word that spilled from
lips afraid to speak
the truth....
are washed to sea...
and with it,
the small frightened
creature that
hid within the
darkness of her
shiny shell
she was never you..
she was not the real substance,
she was not the beating heart,
she was not the being who would
turn that shell into
something
chosen,
precious,
treasured...
something sought out and
cherished,
held like a jewel,
used to illustrated His
sacred plan,
a metaphor of humility,
surrender,
grace...
"i feel like
an empty shell"
she whispers
in a voice more true than
who she thought she was, and
what now speaks
is free
of all she once filled with
names,
and roles,
offices and addresses,
titles and
accomplishments...
in the whispered
voice of her
sea-washed
emptiness
she sings a song
so sweet,
and
in a tone so true,
that
volume
seems
grotesque and
clumsy
coming from the
perfect
emptiness of
her
singular
truth,
her whole truth,
and
nothing
more..
she is singing
to Him,
with Him,
for Him,
sne is
singing out
from Him,
from where He
lives at the core
of her
outward
curving...
the
reaching,
growing.
expanding
chambers of
her
purest self...
and because He is
so infinitely
near...
so close...
at the very
center of what is
left...
a whisper
is
enough...
more than
enough...
for an
empty shell
to sing...
and
be chosen
by One
who
hears...
“All of it,
filling her up
like the first breath she'd ever taken.
And never had she loved life more.”
― V. Rossi
“Love one another,
but make not a bond of love...
Let it rather be a moving sea
between the shores of your souls.”
― Kahlil Gibran
there is a sea
that shifts and moves
between us
it ebbs and
flows like a living,
moving,
breathing
being that draws its
strength from
the sound of the moon
and the
silence of the
sun....
what fills the
heavy waters,
what stretches between
the shores of
our souls...
are there memories
that sound their echoes
back and forth
like sonar
voices
only we can
hear...
are there dreams filled with
the phosphorous
promise of "someday when" and
"one day soon"
memories
that swim in silence
along the
currents of the ordinary,
the day-to-day,
the
one-foot-in-front-of-the-other
moments
where
nothing changes and
still the sea
dances
singing its song of
love
and what about the
shifting sands of sorrows
felt and
shared,
the tears that fill this
ocean of hopes
we might
drown in
if we give up...
but
we
won't
there is a sea
between us
a constancy that buoys, and
crashes, and sighs
to
shape the
hardest heart, to
hone the
sharpest glass...
softening edges, and carving a
hollow place
we've fill with
tears,
and stillness,
and laughter...
a pool for
bathing
baptizing,
blessing
the
love
that
moves between
us...
a living thing...
“The breaking of a wave
cannot explain the whole sea.”
― Vladimir Nabokov
“There is no greater agony
than bearing an untold story inside you.”
― Maya Angelou
i didn't know it
would be this hard...
or this freeing.
managing other people's
perceptions,
impressions,
their "take aways"
about me
had become
a full time job,
with full
time
anxiety...
what do they
think,
what do they know,
what do they think
they know,
what do I think
I know
about what
they think
about me,
based on what
I think they know...or
don't know...
like i said
full-time terror
no trust in a merciful
God,
or a kind universe...
just fear,
all the time
fear of rejection,
fear of judgment,
fear of being seen for
what I'd done
the mistakes I'd made,
attached to past deeds,
rather than the
good I could be doing...
but what I was doing
as I hid behind the false face of
perfectionism,
was not trusting,
being afraid,
tippy toeing around
on eggshells
of pretense,
an impression of
"never better" that was only
a misstep
away from
shattering...
and then it
happened...
and I was the one
to crush
that fragile shell of false
impressions,
of
how I thought
I wanted to
be seen
i did it..
I was the one to
rend the veil of anonymity,
and walk into the
light
no one else...
just me.
I said it
I told my story
in all its messiness and
sharp edges,
with every blemish
and mistake
uncovered,
exposed,
free of spin,
embellishment
or
touch up
just the truth
just my truth...
"The spiritual sense of
truth must be gained, before
Truth can be understood."
- M. B. Eddy
And oh,
how I wanted to understand
the Truth
of my truth...
so I stood,
and I told
the
untold...
I'd been afraid,
I'd doubted,
wondered, fallen
gotten up,
fallen again,
cried,
failed,
prayed,
hoped,
begged,
bargained,
pleaded,
fallen apart,
tried again,
and again,
and again...
found a thread of faith,
clung to a glimmer of hope,
glimpse a shred of light,
lost it,
held on,
given up,
given in,
given Him all
and
felt His
love...
ransomed,
healed,
restored,
forgiven...
it was my story
no,
it was His story....
telling His story
was like giving birth to
the babe of
Life within me
rending the veil of
mortality and
walking into the arms
of The
Beloved..
He is my only
Author
and His story is
the only version of my
being...
bearing His story is
pure freedom,
pure joy...
"I love to tell
the story...”
― K. Hankey
"Now there stood
by the cross of Jesus
his mother...”
― John
please,
anything but this
take me
take my body
burn it,
quarter it and send it to
the four corners of the earth...
but please
not his....
i love him
i know him
i have believed in him
since before
before the cheers of
adoration
before the baptism and
annointing
before the rabbis and
lawyers thought
he was
bright,
inspired,
wiser than his
years...
before
his papa trusted him with
hammer and nails,
before he learned to speak
or walk
or even recognize my face...
before
he was in my womb
I believed
but,
I cannot do this
I cannot watch him
in pain and
do nothing
then don't
"do nothing"
he needs you
he needs you
to
see him
forward just as you did
when he moved from
your womb along a river of
water and
wine
towards a waiting purpose,
a waiting world....
see him unfurl from the
tight fetal curling
of single chapter...
thirty years that could have,
should have,
"dear God, please can't it be" more...
into the sweet freedom
of eternity,
immortality,
the infinity of Life...
lead him forward with your
eyes
eyes so filled with
that very "believing"
that spiritual understanding
which
trusted your boy to be
My promise of salvation,
fix your gaze on the
realities supernal...
he was never
only
this...and he will
always, never be that...
he is more,
so much more...
you know this,
you believe this
you watched his birth into this
chapter...
a birth that looked
no less
filled with uncertainty
and darkness,
the shaking,
breaking,
shattering of the old
womb...
you are his mother
you can
do this...
let him see your eyes,
let him know your trust in My
power to care for him...
let him feel your
belief in him
you can do this
in fact,
only you
can do
this....
just as
only you
could bring him
here...
your heart
has been prepared...
for beholding his transformation
idea into child,
boy into sage,
water into wine,
carpenter into healer,
Messiah hopes into
impartial and universal Love...
broken to whole...
wholly spiritual
wholly Mine...
wholly yours...
you can do this
even this...
open your eyes,
now
let him see that
you trust Me
to be his Father
and carry him
through
even this...
"Be it unto me,
according to Thy will...”
― Mary
"The illumination of Mary's
spiritual sense put to silence
material law and its order of generation,
and brought forth her child
by the revelation of Truth,
demonstrating God as the Father of men.”
― Mary Baker Eddy
Samuel Barber's "Adagio for Strings" always reminds me of this moment...
"Draw alongside the silence of stone
until its calmness can claim you...”
― John O'Donohue
i place the receiver back
in its cradle
and drop my hands
to my sides
I don't know how to
still the storm
within me,
but I
do know
to
leave the room,
walk out the door,
find the place
within
where nothing
hurts and
anger cannot
enter
so I slip
beyond the walls,
and windows,
and hum of a family,
refrigerator and
my own opinions
to
find the
rock of
my
salvation...
here I will
salvage my peace
here I will be claimed
by the silence of a stone
by
the changeless,
the unshattered,
the unremarkable
face
of
mica-flecked granite
and the unassuming
grays of a
storm-shot
midwestern sky
i reach for her like
a novitiate reaches for
her rosary...
but I have no words to
sing her into
wisdom,
to give her sacredness...
she is sacred in her
silence,
she is wise in the weight of
a stillness that
calms the
rashness of a
sudden storm
i let her lie
within the cupping of
my hands,
eyes closed and
face soft with
surrender...
and it comes
it comes
with all the
quiet power of
the Word...
stillness...
"don't underestimate the value
of doing nothing, of just
listening to all the things you can't hear,
and not 'bothering'.”
― a.a. milne
"Why fit in
when you were born to stand out?”
― Dr. Seuss
pigtails flying
ribbons akimbo
stripes and
spots and a crooked
smile
blues
and greens
and something new
beyond the
pale and above
a rainbow
not pastel or
garish, or ever
subdued....
neither
kitschy,
or trendy, or even
slightly
contrived...
not fitting in,
but perfectly aligned with
herself,
and never left
out
just willa
always willa
across the miles
and under the radar
in photographs and
through the mail
antidotal,
anti-establishment,
original, and
timeless
a never heard song
that stirs a
memory...
a fresh scent that
can't be captured, and
yet reminds you
of who
you want to be
when you don't
grow up,
and
finally
stop trying so hard
to be something
she is
just willa
always willa
and she reminds you
to be
you...
just you
"You'll miss the best things
if you keep your eyes shut.”
― Dr. Seuss
[photo credit: A. Paulsen/J. Rollins 2012]
