Tag: Light

We Are No Longer Alone: The Light Stays On

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When everyone had gone
I sat in the library
With the small silent tree,
She and I alone.
How softly she shone!

And for the first time then
For the first time this year,
I felt reborn again,
I knew love’s presence near.

Love distant, love detached
And strangely without weight,
Was with me in the night
When everyone had gone
And the garland of pure light
Stayed on, stayed on.
~ May Sarton “Christmas Light” from Collected Poems

That afternoon, the air’s large hand
took hold of their backyard
apricot tree, the one that
had fruited, bountifully, a lush yield
in late summer, caught it in a downdraft
of chill, shook it lightly, again, again,
loosening each leaf from its
thumb of stem.
For two days I watched
the leaves’ pale, ground-ward drift,
each leaf singly, in its
gentle shedding, among all
the glints of gold,
each crumpled flick of fiber
from its stem’s thumb
a departure, a declaration.
An announcement, God saying,
gently, Thank You for
a lovely job. Now,
time to let go.
~Luci Shaw “Loewy’s Apricot Tree, Fall 2022”

The child wonders at the Christmas Tree:
Let him continue in the spirit of wonder…

The accumulated memories of annual emotion
May be concentrated into a great joy
Which shall be also a great fear, as on the occasion
When fear came upon every soul:
Because the beginning shall remind us of the end
And the first coming of the second coming.
~T.S. Eliot from “The Cultivation of Christmas Trees”

…the Lord will be your everlasting light,
    and your God will be your glory
Isaiah 60:19

I watch the eastern sky from the moment I get up each day. This time of year, most mornings remain dark, rainy and gray but there are some dawns that start with a low simmer around the base of the Cascade peaks. The light crawls up the slopes and climbs to illuminate the summits, then explodes into the skies.

Christ started small and lowly, then slowly crawled, then He walked beside us. He climbed up willingly to sacrifice Himself – to let go for our sake.

Once risen, He returned to the brilliance of the heavens.

Look east, good people,
Love is on its way again,
and again
and again.

This year’s Advent theme is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s sermon on the First Sunday in Advent, December 2, 1928:

The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come. For these, it is enough to wait in humble fear until the Holy One himself comes down to us, God in the child in the manager.

God comes.

He is, and always will be now, with us in our sin, in our suffering, and at our death. We are no longer alone. God is with us and we are no longer homeless.
~Dietrich Bonhoeffer – from Christmas Sermons

The tree of life my soul hath seen,
Laden with fruit, and always green;
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the apple tree.
This beauty doth all things excel;
By faith I know, but ne’er can tell
The glory which I now can see
In Jesus Christ the apple tree.
The tree of life . . .
For happiness I long have sought,
And pleasure dearly I have bought;
I missed for all, but now I see
’Tis found in Christ the apple tree.
2
I’m wearied with my former toil,
Here I shall sit and rest awhile;
Under the shadow I will be
Of Jesus Christ the apple tree.
The tree of life . . .
This fruit doth make my soul to thrive,
It keeps my dying faith alive;
Which makes my soul in haste to be
With Jesus Christ the apple tree.
The tree of life . . .
(from the collection of Joshua Smith,
New Hampshire, 1784)

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We Are No Longer Alone: Welcoming the Light

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Sure on this shining night
Of star made shadows round,
Kindness must watch for me
This side the ground. 
The late year lies down the north.
All is healed, all is health.
High summer holds the earth. 
Hearts all whole.
Sure on this shining night
I weep for wonder wand’ring far alone
Of shadows on the stars.
~James Agee

Gloomy night embraced the place
Where the Noble Infant lay;
The Babe looked up and showed his face,
In spite of darkness, it was day.
It was thy day, Sweet! and did rise
Not from the east, but from thine eyes.

Welcome, all wonders in one sight!
Eternity shut in a span;
Summer in winter; day in night;
Heaven in earth, and God in man.
Great little one, whose all-embracing birth
Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heaven to earth.
~Richard Crashaw from “In the Holy Nativity of Our Lord” 

For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.
2 Corinthians 4:6

This first day of winter
means disappearance of the familiar world,
of all that grows and thrives,
of color and freshness,
of hope for light and life.

Then there comes a moment of softness in the chill,
a gift of grace and beauty,
a glance of sunlight on a snowy hillside,
a covering of low cloud puffs in the valley,
a moon lit landscape,
and I know the known world is still within my grasp
because you have been here, walking in winter,
and you never let go of even one of us.

This year’s Advent theme is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s sermon on the First Sunday in Advent, December 2, 1928:

The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come. For these, it is enough to wait in humble fear until the Holy One himself comes down to us, God in the child in the manager.

God comes.

He is, and always will be now, with us in our sin, in our suffering, and at our death. We are no longer alone. God is with us and we are no longer homeless.
~Dietrich Bonhoeffer – from Christmas Sermons

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We Are No Longer Alone: Acquainted with Grief

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And now, as the night of this world folds you in
its brutal frost (the barnyard smell strong as sin),
and as Joseph, weary with unwelcome and relief, his hands
bloody from your birth, spreads his thin cloak
around you both, we doubly bless you, Baby,
as you are acquainted, for the first time, with our grief.
~Luci Shaw from “A Blessing for the New Baby”

Grief like a cross
she will bear to her own dying—
she pauses under its gravity
before turning the corner
where she will see his tomb
and now wonders
at this sudden intimation
of something about to be born.
~Franchot Ballinger “Advent” from Crossings

The winds were scornful,
Passing by;
And gathering Angels
Wondered why

A burdened Mother
Did not mind
That only animals
Were kind.

For who in all the world
Could guess
That God would search out
Loneliness.
~Sr. M. Chrysostom, O.S.B. “The Stable” from Mary Immaculate: God’s Mother and Mine 

Shut out suffering, and you see only one side of this strange and fearful thing, the life of man. Christ saw both sides. He could be glad, he could rejoice with them that rejoice; and yet the settled tone of his disposition was a peculiar and subdued sadness. That gave the calm depth to the character of Christ; he had got the true view of life by acquainting himself with grief.
~Frederick Robertson from a 1846 sermon entitled Typified by the Man of Sorrows, the Human Race

The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places.
But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater.
— J. R. R. Tolkien from The Fellowship of the Ring

A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief
Isaiah 53:3

Our sorrows fill a chasm so deep and dark that it is a fearsome thing to even peer from the edge. We join the helplessness of countless people in human history who have lived through times which appeared unendurable.

We don’t understand why inexplicable tragedy befalls good and gracious people, taking them when they are not yet finished with their work on earth.

From quakes that topple buildings burying people,
to waves that wipe out whole cities sweeping away thousands,
to a pathogen too swift and mean for modern medicine, 
to unconscionable shootings of innocents,
we are reminded every day: we live on perilous ground and our time here has always been finite.

We don’t have control over the amount of time, but we do have control over how extensively our love for others is heard and spread.

There is assurance in knowing we do not weep alone;
our Lord is acquainted with grief. 

Our grieving is so familiar to a suffering God who too wept at the death of a beloved friend, when He faced a city about to condemn Him to death and He was tasked with enduring the unendurable.

There is comfort in knowing
He too peered into the chasm of darkness;
He willingly entered its depths to come to our rescue.

His is an incomparable capacity for Light and Love that is heard and spread for an eternity.

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This year’s Advent theme is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s sermon on the First Sunday in Advent, December 2, 1928:

The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come. For these, it is enough to wait in humble fear until the Holy One himself comes down to us, God in the child in the manager.

God comes.

He is, and always will be now, with us in our sin, in our suffering, and at our death. We are no longer alone. God is with us and we are no longer homeless.
~Dietrich Bonhoeffer – from Christmas Sermons

Angels, where you soar
Up to God’s own light
Take my own lost bird
On your hearts tonight;
And as grief once more
Mounts to heaven and sings
Let my love be heard
Whispering in your wings
~Alfred Noyes

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We Are No Longer Alone: Illuminated

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Why do I resist calling it a miracle, this light
that in eight minutes and twenty seconds
has travelled ninety-three million miles

through solar wind particles and radiation
and countless numbers of solar neutrinos
to land here on my living room floor?

As if because it can be measured
and tracked it is any less divine.
As if, just because it’s been happening

for four point five billion years
it is any less extraordinary,
this journey of warmth and radiance.

I let the light-loving animal of my being
curl into the spaces of the room
where the sunlight pools in bright welcome,

and I soften, soften into the wonder
of being alive in this very moment
in this very body with this very heart

meeting with very gentle amazement, this:
even as the heart breaks and burns,
bliss.
~Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer “Smack Dab in the Middle of a Thursday” from The Unfolding

Down he came from up,
and in from out,
and here from there.
A long leap,
an incandescent fall
from magnificent
to naked, frail, small,
through space,
between stars,
into our chill night air,
shrunk, in infant grace,
to our damp, cramped
earthy place
among all
the shivering sheep.

And now, after all,
there he lies,
fast asleep.
~Luci Shaw “Descent” from Accompanied By Angels

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.
Isaiah 9:2

photo by Nate Gibson
photo by Nate Gibson

Then Jesus told them: You are going to have the light just a little while longer. Walk while you have the light, before darkness overtakes you. The man who walks in the dark does not know where he is going. While you have the light, believe in the light, that you may become sons of light.
~John 12:35

One’s mind runs back up the sunbeam to the sun…
~C.S. Lewis from Letters to Malcolm

I want to be the sun
that gives and gives until it burns out,

the sea that kisses the shore
and only moves away so that
it might rush up to kiss it again.
~ Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, “And Again” from Hush

God illuminates through His Word,
not once but twice. 

In the beginning, He created
the sun and the moon to shine
within hearts and souls. 

Then, He came to light the world
from below as well as from above
so we could be saved from darkness.

By His descent to us,
because He leaves heaven’s light
to be in our arms and by our sides-
He illuminates us
so we reflect the light He brings:
loved
saved
despite all our efforts
to remain in the dark.

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This year’s Advent theme is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s sermon on the First Sunday in Advent, December 2, 1928:

The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come. For these, it is enough to wait in humble fear until the Holy One himself comes down to us, God in the child in the manager.

God comes.

He is, and always will be now, with us in our sin, in our suffering, and at our death. We are no longer alone. God is with us and we are no longer homeless.
~Dietrich Bonhoeffer – from Christmas Sermons

Lyrics:
What if instead of more violence
We let our weapons fall silent?
No more revenge or retribution
No more war or persecution.

It could be beautiful.

What if instead of our judgment
We soften our hearts that have hardened?
Instead of certainty and pride
We love and sacrifice.

It could be beautiful.

Can we see the other as our brother?
Can we sing the darkness to light?
Sounding chords of compassion and grace
Set the swords of judgement aside

Let mercy’s eyes
See the other human face.
~Kyle Pederson

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We Are No Longer Alone: Awakened

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Unexpected God, 
your advent alarms us. 
Wake us from drowsy worship, 
from the sleep that neglects love, 
and the sedative of misdirected frenzy. 
Awaken us now to your coming, 
and bend our angers into your peace. 
Amen.
~Revised Common Lectionary First Sunday of Advent

So every trace of light begins a grace
In me, a beckoning. The smallest gleam
Is somehow a beginning and a calling;
“Sleeper awake, the darkness was a dream
For you will see the Dayspring at your waking,
Beyond your long last line the dawn is breaking”
~Malcolm Guite from “Sleeper, Awake!”

If we want Advent to transform us
– our homes and hearts, and even nations –
then the great question for us is whether
we will come out of the convulsions of our time with this determination:
Yes, arise!
It is time to awaken from sleep.
A waking up must begin somewhere.
It is time to put things back where God intended them.
~Alfred Delp from When the Time Was Fulfilled

And that is just the point…
how the world, moist and beautiful,
calls to each of us to make a new and serious response.

That’s the big question,
the one the world throws at you every morning.
“Here you are, alive.
Would you like to make a comment?”
~Mary Oliver

Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD rises upon you. See, darkness covers the earth and thick darkness is over the peoples, but the LORD rises upon you and his glory appears over you.
Isaiah 60:1

Light interrupting the darkness is an interwoven tapestry of Advent. 

We are awakened.

We stumble in our sleepiness, groping for a foot and hand hold to keep ourselves from falling off the abyss.

Then His glory lifts us, illuminates, covers and surrounds us so we get up, find our path and walk with confidence.

Startling, wondrous magnificence beyond imagination.
Grace that brings us to our knees, especially when we are mired in trouble.

Drink deeply of this.

Hold it, savor it and know that to witness His Light is to see the face of God. Our Light has come, unexpectedly shining in an infant’s smile, from the depths of the dark manger.

This year’s Advent theme is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s sermon on the First Sunday in Advent, December 2, 1928:

The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come. For these, it is enough to wait in humble fear until the Holy One himself comes down to us, God in the child in the manager.

God comes.

He is, and always will be now, with us in our sin, in our suffering, and at our death. We are no longer alone. God is with us and we are no longer homeless.
~Dietrich Bonhoeffer – from Christmas Sermons

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Wake, Awake for Night is Flying
Let the shadows be forsaken,
The time has come for us to waken,
And to the Day our lives entrust.
Search the sky for heaven’s portal:
The clouds shall rain the Light Immortal,
And earth will soon bud forth the Just.

Of one pearl each shining portal,
where, dwelling with the choir immortal,
we gather ’round Your dazzling light.
No eye has seen, no ear
has yet been trained to hear
what joy is ours!
~Philipp Nicolai

Latin: O Oriens,
splendor lucis aeternae, et sol justitiae:
veni, et illumina sedentes in tenebris, et umbra mortis.

English: O Morning Star,
splendor of light eternal and sun of righteousness:
Come and enlighten those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.

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We Are Not Alone: Forgiven

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He who is devoid of the power to forgive
is devoid of the power of love. . . .
We can never say, ‘I will forgive you,
but I won’t have anything further to do with you.’
Forgiveness means reconciliation, and coming together again.
~Martin Luther King from The Gift of Love

I was your rebellious son,
do you remember? Sometimes
I wonder if you do remember,
so complete has your forgiveness been.

So complete has your forgiveness been
I wonder sometimes if it did not
precede my wrong, and I erred,
safe found, within your love,

prepared ahead of me, the way home,
or my bed at night, so that almost
I should forgive you, who perhaps
foresaw the worst that I might do,

and forgave before I could act,
causing me to smile now, looking back,
to see how paltry was my worst,
compared to your forgiveness of it

already given. And this, then,
is the vision of that Heaven of which
we have heard, where those who love
each other have forgiven each other,

where, for that, the leaves are green,
the light a music in the air,
and all is unentangled,
and all is undismayed.
-Wendell Berry “To My Mother”

It’s no wonder that this culture quickly becomes littered with enormous numbers of broken and now irreparable relationships. Politics itself becomes a new kind of religion, one without any means of acquiring redemption or forgiveness. Rather then seeing some people as right and others as mistaken, they are now regarded as the good and the evil, as true believers or heretics.
~Tim Keller from The Fading of Forgiveness

The heart’s reasons
seen clearly,
even the hardest
will carry
its whip-marks and sadness
and must be forgiven.

So few grains of happiness
measured against all the dark
and still the scales balance.

The world asks of us
only the strength we have and we give it.
Then it asks more, and we give it.
~Jane Hirschfield from “The Weighing”

photo by Bob Tjoelker

Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Luke 23:34

To think of the love God shares through His forgiveness,
granting infinite grace that knows no bounds:
this is a heaven where even mere reflected moonlight heals
the tangles and knots we make of our lives.

His Light rises to illuminate and soothe our sorrows and regrets,
as our sins are unraveled, smoothed, forgiven, and forgotten.

This year’s Advent theme is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s sermon on the First Sunday in Advent, December 2, 1928:

The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come. For these, it is enough to wait in humble fear until the Holy One himself comes down to us, God in the child in the manager.

God comes.

He is, and always will be now, with us in our sin, in our suffering, and at our death. We are no longer alone. God is with us and we are no longer homeless.
~Dietrich Bonhoeffer – from Christmas Sermons

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We Are No Longer Alone: Unfolding

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If God is adding to our spiritual stature,
unfolding the new nature within us,
it is a mistake to keep twitching at the petals
with our coarse fingers.
We must seek to let the Creative Hand alone.
~Henry Drummond from Beautiful Thoughts

photo by Josh Scholten

The unfolding of your words gives light;
it gives understanding to the simple.
Psalm 119:130

…they soon forgot what he had done
    and did not wait for his plan to unfold.
 In the desert they gave in to their craving;
    in the wilderness they put God to the test.
Psalm 106:13-14

I look for the forms
things want to come as

from what black wells of possibility,
how a thing will
unfold:

not the shape on paper, though
that, too, but the
uninterfering means on paper:

not so much looking for the shape
as being available
to any shape that may be
summoning itself
through me
from the self not mine but ours.
~A. R. Ammons, from “Poetics” from  A Coast of Trees

In the infinite wisdom of the Lord of all the earth,
each event falls with exact precision
into its proper place in the unfolding of His divine plan.
Nothing, however small, however strange,
occurs without His ordering,
or without its particular fitness for its place
in the working out of His purpose;
and the end of all shall be the manifestation of His glory,
and the accumulation of His praise.
B.B. Warfield

What is revealed by the unfolding of our faith
is the depth and width and height and completeness inside.

Unfolding means no longer staying hidden and unknown,
but opening ourselves up for all to see.

We become the page upon which God writes,
the palette upon which God paints,
the instrument that God plays,
the song that God composes.

We become beautiful unfolding,
each one of us, slowly, surely, gently,
in the Hands of our Creator God.

He knows how each of us began
as He was there from the beginning.
He remains the center of our unfolding forever.

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This year’s Advent theme is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s sermon on the First Sunday in Advent, December 2, 1928:

The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come. For these, it is enough to wait in humble fear until the Holy One himself comes down to us, God in the child in the manager.

God comes.

He is, and always will be now, with us in our sin, in our suffering, and at our death. We are no longer alone. God is with us and we are no longer homeless.
~Dietrich Bonhoeffer – from Christmas Sermons

Alleluia! Alleluia!

A spotless rose is blowing,
Sprung from a tender root,
Of ancient seers foreshowing,
Of Jesse promised fruit;
Its fairest bud unfolds to light
Amid the cold, cold winder,
And in the dark midnight.

The rose which I am singing,
Whereof Isaiah said,
Is from its sweet root springing
In Mary purest maid;
For through our God’s great love and might,|
The Blessed Babe she bare us
In a cold, cold winter’s night.
Alleluia!

How do I grieve what I can’t let go?
It’s got a hold, it’s got a hold on me
How do I mourn what I cannot know?
It’s got a hold, it’s got a hold on me
Jesus Christ, I don’t know what I am
Am I a lost little lamb or a wolf in sheep’s clothing?
Oh, my God, I don’t know what this was
Am I the child of Your love or just chaos unfolding?
How do I keep what I cannot find?
I’m letting go, I’m letting go of You
I’m letting go How do I love what I left behind?
I’m letting go, I’m letting go of You I’m letting go
Am I just chaos unfolding? Am I just chaos unfolding?
Unknowing!

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A Fragile Light

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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

And who has seen the moon, who has not seen
Her rise from out the chamber of the deep,
Flushed and grand and naked, as from the chamber
Of finished bridegroom, seen her rise and throw
Confession of delight upon the wave,
Littering the waves with her own superscription
Of bliss, till all her lambent beauty shakes towards us
Spread out and known at last, and we are sure
That beauty is a thing beyond the grave,
That perfect, bright experience never falls
To nothingness, and time will dim the moon
Sooner than our full consummation here
In this odd life will tarnish or pass away.
~D.H. Lawrence “Moonrise”

the moon looked into my window
it touched me with its small hands
and with curling infantile
fingers it understood my eyes cheeks mouth
its hands(slipping)felt of my necktie wandered
against my shirt and into my body the
sharp things fingered tinily my heart life

the little hands withdrew, jerkily, themselves
quietly they began playing with a button
the moon smiled she
let go my vest and crept
through the window
she did not fall
she went creeping along the air
                        over houses
                                roofs

And out of the east toward
her a fragile light bent gatheringly
~e.e. cummings “the moon looked into my window”

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 my ungloved fingers.

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

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

Soli deo Gloria.

photo of supermoon by Harry Rodenberger
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The Inner Tree Revealed

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I am out with lanterns looking for myself…
~Emily Dickinson from “Letters”

And is it not enough that every year
A richly laden autumn should unfold
And shimmer into being leaf by leaf,
Its scattered ochres mirrored everywhere
In hints and glints of hidden red and gold
Threaded like memory through loss and grief,

When dusk descends, when branches are unveiled,
When roots reach deeper than our minds can feel
And ready us for winter with strange calm,
That I should see the inner tree revealed
And know its beauty as the bright leaves fall
And feel its truth within me as I am?

And is it not enough that I should walk
Through low November mist along the bank,
When scents of woodsmoke summon, in some long
And melancholy undertone, the talk
Of those old poets from whose works I drank
The heady wine of an autumnal song?

It is not yet enough. So I must try,
In my poor turn, to help you see it too,
As though these leaves could be as rich as those,
That red and gold might glimmer in your eye,
That autumn might unfold again in you,
Feeling with me what falling leaves disclose.
~Malcolm Guite “And Is It Not Enough?”

For over 15 years now, I have bared my soul here at Barnstorming, looking for others’ words to help me sort through the events of my life. I particularly look for words that resonate: I can say “I’ve felt like that as well,” with the hope that others reading along with me will recognize that familiar “yes, that is the way it is for me.”

Every day, I am out looking for myself with the help of Light provided by our Creator God. I carry lanterns hither and yon, exploring paths and hidden spaces and wondering what is around the next corner.

So I want to help you see where this journey is going.

Maybe it is finding your own “inner tree” as the leaves fall,
revealing the strength of bare bones.
Maybe it is noticing beauty in the ordinary.
Maybe it is the warmth of knowing someone else feels as you do.
Maybe it is discovering a connection, mysterious and wondrous.

Often I hear from you that the Light you carry helped lead you here.
Welcome, my friend — let’s walk together…

photo by Josh Scholten
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A Rainy Dark Day

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Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.

Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.

Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgivable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes.
~Raymond Carver “Rain” from All of Us

I know what you planned, what you meant to do, teaching me
to love the world, making it impossible
to turn away completely, to shut it out completely over again–
it is everywhere; when I close my eyes,
birdsong, scent of lilac in early spring, scent of summer roses:
you mean to take it away, each flower, each connection with earth–
why would you wound me, why would you want me
desolate in the end, unless you wanted me so starved for hope
I would refuse to see that finally
nothing was left to me, and would believe instead
that you were left to me.
~Louise Glück “Vespers”

How swiftly the strained honey
of afternoon light
flows into darkness

and the closed bud shrugs off
its special mystery
in order to break into blossom

as if what exists, exists
so that it can be lost
and become precious
~Lisel Mueller “In Passing” from Alive Together: New and Selected Poems

By mid-November, we begin to lose daylight by 4PM. There is no wistful lingering with the descent of evening; the curtain is pulled closed and it is dark — just like that.

I’m having difficulty adjusting to the loss of daylight this year. This is perplexing as the change of seasons is no mystery to me. I sense a new deprivation beyond the fact that shorter days are simply a part of the annual autumnal routine.

As if –
something precious is being stolen away

as if –
I have any claim to the light to begin with

as if –
maybe I exist only to notice what ceases to exist.

So I am reminded:
I know there is more beyond feeling loss and lost.
I would do this all again, while feeling my way in the dark.
I will cling to the promise of what comes next.

I’m ready to break into blossom rather than hiding from the rain,
opening up to what light is left, instead of grumbling in the dark.

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