So, here I am again: no blame now just stepping back to rest and let go before re-engaging next week. A wee bit of self-care with silence and preparing our garden seeds for planting. This poem posted on the Friends of Silence newsletter spoke to me and I share it with you.
Welcome to the 4am Club.
It's well-attended.
People come and go freely.
There are no membership fees.
Drop-ins are always welcome.
Some people bring their physical pain:
headaches, back aches, restless legs.
Some bring their soul pain.
The language of tears is spoken.
Emotions circulate around the room:
fear, sadness, shame –
all the ones that crawl under the bed
when daylight comes.
Often prayers are whispered.
Blessings are blown across the miles
to loved ones.
Healing incantations are said
for those who suffer.
Peace is yearned for.
Thanksgivings echo through the night.
In the generosity of darkness and silence,
dreams are remembered:
nighttime dreams, childhood dreams,
daydreams awaken forgotten pathways.
From time to time, joy pops in for a visit.
So do the cats. Lured by magic,
they find their way to a warm lap
and doze off.
Visions of beauty show up,
And creative weavers
wander around, aimlessly.
Sometimes a mysterious focus grabs hold.
Then, a light appears in the darkness,
revealing the unfathomable love
that holds everything together.
~ Jackie Sabath
After signing out of a few online commitments, I could breathe again. And sleep almost the whole night, too. I was able to throw out at least half of what I had written for my Small is Holy live stream as well and reorder my thinking about Jesus, Mary Magdalene, and Wendell Berry. In the rewrite, this poem jumped up saying: pay attention to ME! So, I did.
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light.
For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Maybe there will come a day before my race is run when I won't get knocked down before stepping back. Hope springs eternal, but my hunch is I will only get a little better at it in the time that remains. Pope Francis says that one of the gifts of aging is a "spiritual sensitivity." In his meditation on the aging saints of the Temple in Jerusalem, Anna and Simeon, Francis writes:
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