15th Century Advent Poem

Last night Tyler and I felt we really did need to go to his company's Christmas party. It was anything but quiet. Yet, optimism was present, as was gratitude.  After the party we both felt we had done the right thing, even if we did get drenched returning to the car.  

This morning I thought of this poem I love so much, and I also thought of Revelations 3:20: "Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come and eat with you, and you with me." 

 May we always hear the gentle knock. May we remember to open the door.    

  

Thou shalt know Him when He comes
not by any din of drums
nor the vantages of airs
nor by anything He wears...
For His presence known shall be
by the holy harmony
that His coming makes in thee.    

           

I believe I first shared this poem in 2016.  I  have never been able to learn anything about it or who wrote it.       

        

 

 

 

image:  San Leandro from a few years ago. I call it "Welcome" 

A Child's Teaching

 I dreamt of a child - 

a baby so tender.  

The child is not mine, 

but is the daughter of a friend.  

Yet, I love this child - 

her scent, her softness. 

I sense her growing in my arms.  

In the dream I even gently change 

her diaper and clean and powder her

 as I softly spoke 

probably about nothing, 

but maybe enough of the everything 

that she might be yearning to hear.      

   

And then we three were on the street

in dusky light along with many others, 

including armoured men on war horses

who were thundering our way.

I hold the child and wonder

about the warriors' blindness,

why it is that they cannot see 

the tenderness, or hear the rhythmic stirrings 

of a tiny heart offering itself to life, 

 to be held, not in strength and might, 

but to rest in arms that hold, and tenderly care-fully in love.

  

The child is quiet. We are not afraid.  

   

 

say, November 2024

Locating

 In the dream I am looking for a new place to live.

 I have packed a few things;

I am ready to go.

I read a post by a famous writer. He mentions an apartment by a peaceful river.   

I think, "Yes, that is where I would like to go."  

I then realize that I do not know where this place is. 

 I send the famous person a note asking him for the location.  

What I received was a clear plastic gift bag, 

something like what one would receive at a conference. 

Like most conference gift bags, it held nothing of value (at least to me).  

 I set it aside and then walk through a large square building

 that is painted a sort of tan. 

Everything is a varying shade of brown or tan: outside, inside, 

even the carpet.

Not very interesting but certainly functional. 

I have dreamt of this building several times. Sometimes Tyler is with me;

Sometimes not. In this dream, he is not. 

Instead, I am walking with a young woman who with some authority, 

seems to be showing me around.

I spot an open space 

at the end of the hall by the stairs on the second floor of this multi-floor building. 

In these dreams I am always on the second floor. 

There I find a large desk. In fact, that is all this space holds.  

I sit at the desk and say, "This is perfect."

The young woman expresses concern:

"There is nothing here but a desk. Not even a door or a wall."   

Not looking at her but rather at the desk,

 I respond, "This is all I need."   

 

I then remember I have lived in this building all along.    

     

 

image:  Taken in Santa Cruz in October 2024. I think I may call it, "Vision While Pondering a Desk".

Now Is the Time

 The morning meditation is always about the permanence of impermanence.  

 To the southeast pink clouds stretch across the blue sky, 

As if an unseen calligrapher's brush left a message 

that almost, but fortunately not quite, 

began to disappear as quickly as it was created.

The relationship between sky and sun, earth and moon 

cannot be long held in the hand or the mind. 

We can only humbly come before them  

as nations plan and rant and plunder, 

trying to hoard and completely eat up at the same time.

  

Yet, there are messages that linger long enough 

to guide us a little further, messages that whisper,

  

"This is your life. Go ahead; 

please make yourself at home

 and plant some beautiful seeds." 

  

say

 November 30, 2024    

      

    

say

 November 30, 2024    

With Gratitude to Jack Kornfield

 Early this morning I read that National Geographic 

believes older women should get out in nature more.   

I would agree that modest adventure is good for some of us, 

and wild adventure is good for others, 

but yes, if possible, all of us should get up and go.

So I decided to take my rain jacket for a modest walk. 

I love my jacket.    

It keeps me dry and does not complain about doing so.

It seems to enjoy, like most of us, being asked to come along 

rather than left to hang around in a crowded dark closet. 

It kindly leaves my hands free to help my phone take pictures.

Yes,  the three of us went for a walk. 

It did rain, but not hard. Did that make us an intrepid party of four?

I was startled by a flock of birds that I heard 

take off before I saw them.   

Actually, I do not know how many creatures, including 

birds and trees and fallen leaves still in their colors, and rain, 

and the skittish grey cat, and neighbors who said hello, 

 joined me on this small adventure. 

I just knew I was not alone.   

  

Before I left, I listened to a presentation by the wise Jack Kornfield. 

As I walked I pondered the difference between 

awareness, and compassionate awareness. 

At least, I think that is what he was talking about.  

Regardless, we all know people who express 

their awareness like a pouncing lion.  

They sense weakness and have a mission  

to make themselves known just before they try to devour us. 

I confess that on occasion I, too, have jumped to make myself known.  

Yet, there is another awareness that includes compassion.   

That is very different.  A knowing that does not consume 

but makes room.  Lots of room.  

Enough for the whole world. 

Today has been a beautiful adventure.   

It is not quite noon.  

I still have time, and some room, to learn.     

      

 

 

say, November 2024

Thoughts That Come While Cooking Split Pea Soup and Washing Dishes on an Overcast Monday

 I am determined to love this earth.

No matter what, I will hold dear

all of her plants and creatures,

all of her dirt and wind and fire,

her droughts, her floods,

her wounds that keep mounting up,

the rhythm of the dying and the living.

This beautiful earth is doing her best

to tend to life. She cannot break that habit;

It is what she does because she is life itself.

I do not know what the future holds.

There are dark voices on the horizon

that seem to not respect life, even though

they are a part of it.

I hear them, but I will not take their words

into my heart.

I will stand, yes, probably afraid,

but I will stand on and for the earth

and continue to sing of my love.

God is still singing,

and so will I.

say 2024

I think I may have over salted the soup. I may need to make biscuits to compensate. I smile.

image: A neighbor's tree. No, this is not a great photograph. I took it last week through one of our living room windows that overlooks my neighbor's backyard. I did not want to open the window or go outside because I knew the birds would hear me and fly away. This tree is a favorite for the neighborhood finches and sparrows so it is a favorite of mine. These particular birds are forest or wood pigeons. They are larger than city pigeons, and they have yellow legs and yellow rims around their eyes. It seems they prefer wooded areas, but have a weakness for tasty morsels found in neighborhood bird feeders. They make me smile. As does the idea of biscuits.

Resurrection

 

     

       

This photograph is one that I took a few years ago. I cannot remember where. I love it, because despite its wounds, the tree appears to be praying and even dancing. In that spirit, I want to share a meditation by the Native American writer N. Scott Momaday. This is from Earth Keeper, Reflections on the American Land.

"The force of life is very great...Some years ago the prayer tree at Rainy Mountain was struck by lightning. It burned and turned black. The tree seemed to be dead. But a long time afterward there appeared a tiny sprig of green on a charred limb, and the hidden life of the tree burst out in a hundred leaves. It was a wondrous sight, and I wept to see it. I believe that the earth gave of its irresistible life to the tree. How can we not give thanks in return?"

Friends, spend some time outside today if you can, and give thanks for the blessings that you discover there. Take good care of your beautiful souls. The work of love will continue.