Category: contentment

Flawless Grace

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The woods is shining this morning.
Red, gold and green, the leaves
lie on the ground, or fall,
or hang full of light in the air still.
Perfect in its rise and in its fall, it takes
the place it has been coming to forever.
It has not hastened here, or lagged.
See how surely it has sought itself,
its roots passing lordly through the earth.
See how without confusion it is
all that it is, and how flawless
its grace is. Running or walking, the way
is the same. Be still. Be still.
“He moves your bones, and the way is clear.”
~Wendell Berry “Grace”

If I’m confused (as I often am)
about where I’ve been,
where I am, where I’m going,
I look to the cycles of the seasons to be reminded
all things (and I) come round

what is barren will warm to the sun and bud,
what buds will open up in blossom,
what blossoms will grow lush and fruit,
what flourishes will feed, fade and fall,
come to rest and be still.

All things come round,
making the way clear.
Grace forges a path
my bones must follow.

To shine in His stillness.
How flawless His grace.

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The Flickering Shadow

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Be comforted; the world is very old,
  And generations pass, as they have passed,
  A troop of shadows moving with the sun;
Thousands of times has the old tale been told;
  The world belongs to those who come the last,
  They will find hope and strength as we have done.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow “A Shadow”

The shadow’s the thing. 
If I no longer see shadows as “dark marks,” 
as do the newly sighted,
then I see them as making some sort of sense of the light.
They give the light distance;
they put it in its place.
They inform my eyes of my location here, here O Israel,
here in the world’s flawed sculpture,
here in the flickering shade of the nothingness
between me and the light.
~Annie Dillard from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

A shadow is hard to seize by the throat and dash to the ground.
~Victor Hugo from Les Miserables

In faith there is enough light for those who want to believe and enough shadows to blind those who don’t.
~Blaise Pascal

These days I find myself seeking safety hiding in the shadows under a rock where “not-really-conservative and not-really-liberal” moderates like me tend to gather to seek safety and commiserate together.

Extremist views predominate simply for the sake of differentiating one’s political turf from the opposition. There is barely any discussion of compromise, negotiation or collaboration as that would be perceived as a sign of weakness.

Instead it is “my way or the wrong way.”

I say “no way,” as both sides act intolerably intolerant of the other.

The chasm particularly gapes wider in any discussion of faith issues. Religion and politics have become angry neighbors constantly arguing over how high to build the fence between them, what it should be made out of, what color it should be, should there be peek holes, should it be electrified with barbed wire to prevent moving back and forth, should there be a gate with or without a lock, who pays for the labor and whether an immigrant with a work permit is available to do the labor. In a country founded on the principle of freedom of religion and the pursuit of happiness, far more people now believe our forefathers’ blood was shed for freedom from religion in order to be happy.

Give us the right to believe in nothing whatsoever or give us death. Perhaps both go together.

And so it goes. We bring out the worst in potential leaders as facts are distorted, ethics abandoned, the truth stretched or completely abandoned, unseemly pandering abounds and curried favors are served for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Enough already.

In the midst of this morass, we who want to believe will still choose to believe and our next challenge is for believers to actually get along with one another. This is no longer a given. We have chosen to reside in the shadows of conflict, argument, and abuse of our fellow believers.

Still, there is Light for those who seek it out. No need to remain hiding in the shadowlands.

I’ll come out from under my rock to face the onslaught, if you do.

In fact…I think I just did.

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Breathing on the Window

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Dark mornings staying dark
longer, another autumn

come, and the body one
day poorer yet,

from restless sleep I wake
early now to note

how the pale disk of moon
caves to its own defeat,

cold as yesterday’s fish
left over in the pan,

or miserly as a sliver
of dried soap in a dish.

Oh for a sparkling froth
of cloud, a little heat

from the sun! I shiver
at the window where I plant

one perfect moon-round breath,
as I liked to do as a girl

against the filthy glass
of the yellow school bus

laboring up the hill,
not thinking what I meant

but passionate, as if
I were kissing my own life.
~Mary Jo Salter “Moon-Breath” from The Surveyors

At times, I’m amazed at the heat of my own breath.
Forming a cloudy mist on a cold day,
a round fog on the mirror or window,
a warming of ungloved fingers.

This breath that I was given at my beginning
is a gift I rarely think about,
a gift I take for granted.

Nightly, as the moon honors the sun,
reflecting its glory like a faint echo,
I treasure the heat and heart
of that first gift of breath so long ago.

Soli deo Gloria.

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The Dew Looks Up

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Now in the blessed days of more and less
when the news about time is that each day
there is less of it I know none of that
as I walk out through the early garden
only the day and I are here with no
before or after and the dew looks up
without a number or a present age
~W.S. Merwin “Dew Light” from The Moon Before Morning

A walk around our farm in October is
more or less, before or after, now and then,
a timelessness of shifting seasons and fading days.

A prayer becomes like dew from above,
me looking up to the God
who was, is and ever will be,
who already knows what I am about to say.
He knows I don’t tend to say anything new.

He blesses me with the light of His dew.

I write every day to explain myself to people I will never meet. Perhaps, every day, I am trying to explain myself to God.

God is,
(if I stop to look and listen),
yesterday, today, tomorrow –
more or less, before or after, now and then,
but most especially
forever and ever.

Amen.

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The Month of Departure

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October is nature’s funeral month.
Nature glories in death more than in life.
The month of departure is more beautiful
than the month of coming –
October than May.

Every green thing
loves to die in bright colors.
~Henry Ward Beecher

I don’t know…
I myself feel pretty drab these days, gray and fading,
with ripples and wrinkles,
more fluff than firm.
I’m reminded to hang on to an October state of mind:
go for raucous color rather than somber funereal attire,
so when it is time to take my leave, and I want to take my time –
I go brightly, in joyous celebration of what has been~~
and knowing, without any doubt, the colors are stunning
where I’m heading when I wander down the road a piece.

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Singing in the Leaves

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Now constantly there is the sound,
quieter than rain,
of the leaves falling.

Under their loosening bright
gold, the sycamore limbs
bleach whiter.

Now the only flowers
are beeweed and aster, spray
of their white and lavender
over the brown leaves.

The calling of a crow sounds
Loud — landmark — now
that the life of summer falls
silent, and the nights grow.
~Wendell Berry “October 10” from New Collected Poems.

If I were a color, I would be green, turning to gold,
turning to bronze, turning to dust.
If I were a sound, I would patter like raindrops and children’s feet.
If I were a smell, I would be dry earth soaking up a shower.
If I were a touch, I would be a leaf landing softly.
If I were a taste, I would be a bit sweet and a bit sour.
If I were a season, I would be the wistful goodbye hug of autumn.
But I am none of these, being enough for now.
Singing in the leaves,
I will come rejoicing,
Singing in the leaves.

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Everything Happening At Once

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photo by Nate Gibson

Remember that meadow up above the ridge
where the dog ran around in circles
and we were tired from the climb up
and everything was tilted sideways
including the running in circles
of the ecstatic dog his bright tongue
lapping at the air and we were
leaning into the heart of the field
where no battle ever took place
where no farmer ever bothered
to turn the soil yet everything
seemed to have happened there everything
seemed to be happening at once enough
so we’ve never forgotten how full the field
was and how we were there too and full
~Tim Nolan “The Field” from The Field.

The hill on our farm is
for running,
for sunning,
for lolling,
for rolling,
for lapping,
for napping,
for pondering,
for wandering.

Walking the field
with two dogs so willing,
life is full,
and always fulfilling.

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Wouldn’t It Be Cheaper?

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Every year we have been
witness to it: how the
world descends

into a rich mash, in order that
it may resume.
And therefore
who would cry out

to the petals on the ground
to stay,
knowing as we must,
how the vivacity of what was is married

to the vitality of what will be?
I don’t say
it’s easy, but
what else will do

if the love one claims to have for the world
be true?

So let us go on, cheerfully enough,
this and every crisping day,

though the sun be swinging east,
and the ponds be cold and black,
and the sweets of the year be doomed.
~Mary Oliver “Lines Written in the Days of Growing Darkness” from A Thousand Mornings

Nature is, above all, profligate.  Don’t believe them when they tell you how economical and thrifty nature is, whose leaves return to the soil. Wouldn’t it be cheaper to leave them on the tree in the first place?
~Annie Dillard from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

It is a good thing I wasn’t assigned the role of Designer of the Universe because all would have gone awry in my dedication to resource management, efficiency and creating less waste. To avoid having to blow around, rake, pick up and compost all those fallen autumn leaves, my trees would keep their leaves forever, just like evergreens keep needles. I also would decide there should be fewer insect species, namely wasps, fleas, chiggers, bed bugs, mosquitoes and fruit flies. In addition, fewer rodents, viruses, toxic bacteria and pesky parasites. 

The list is endless: things would be different in my Thrifty Design Of All Things Natural.

But of course the balance of living and dying things would then be disturbed and off kilter.

Rather than worry about the wastefulness,  I should revel in the abundance as I watch death recreate itself to life again. Nature has built-in redundancy, teems with remarkable inefficiency and overwhelms with extravagance. 

As I too am just another collection of cells with similar profligacy, I can’t say much. I better not complain. Thank goodness for the redundancy and extravagance found in my own body, from the constant shedding of my skin covering to my over supply of nasal mucus during a upper respiratory infection helping me shed viral particles, to the pairing of many organs and parts allowing me a usable spare in case of system failure.

Sometimes cheaper costs more. Sometimes extravagance is intentional and rational, making cheap look … well, cheap.

Clearly things are meant to be as they are, thanks to a very wise Designer.

If I am ever in doubt, I simply look out at the leaf-carpeted front yard…or in the mirror.

Then it all makes sense.

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The Quivering Air of October

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I remember it
as October days are always remembered,
cloudless, maple-flavored,
the air gold and so clean it quivers.
~Leif Enger in Peace Like a River

I’m not someone who switches to pumpkin-spice-flavored anything in October.

No need, no need.
The air itself tastes like autumn, quivering on my tongue.

Instead I revel in the gold and bronze tint to the sky,
the cinnamon nutmeg dusting of the trees,
the heavy sprinkling of hanging dew drops,
the crisp and shivery breezes.

Soon the ground will be frost instead of dust
and leaves a crunchy carpet rather than shady veil.

October is a much-needed change,
keeping us fresh,
reminding us to breathe deeply when life feels shallow,
and remembering we have been immersed
in the pumpkin-spice of a new day we have never lived before.

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With a Glint of Bronze

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When you are already here
you appear to be only
a name that tells of you
whether you are present or not

and for now it seems as though
you are still summer
still the high familiar
endless summer
yet with a glint
of bronze in the chill mornings
and the late yellow petals
of the mullein fluttering
on the stalks that lean
over their broken
shadows across the cracked ground

but they all know
that you have come
the seed heads of the sage
the whispering birds
with nowhere to hide you
to keep you for later

you
who fly with them

you who are neither
before nor after
you who arrive
with blue plums
that have fallen through the night

perfect in the dew
~W.S. Merwin “To the Light of September”

The light of September is a filtered, more gentle illumination than we have experienced for the past several months of high summer glare.

Now the light is lambent: a soft radiance that simply glows at certain times of the day when the angle of the sun is just right, and the clouds are in position to soften and cushion the luminence.

It is also liminal: it is neither before or after; we are on the threshold between seasons when there is both promise and caution in the air.

Sometimes I think I can breathe in light like this, if not through my lungs, then through my eyes. It is a temptation to bottle it up with a stopper somehow, stow it away hidden in a back cupboard. Then I can bring it out, pour a bit into a glass on the darkest days and imbibe.

But for now, I fill myself full to the brim. And my only means of preservation is with a camera and a few carefully chosen words.

So I share it now with all of you to tuck away for a future day when you too are hungry for lambent light.

Just label it “September” – open carefully and breathe deeply…

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