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

The Eyes Have It

Some months ago we replaced the deteriorating fence  

between our house and a neighbor's. 

His side now has a board near the top

that runs the entire length. 

It has been turned 

into a squirrel highway 

and is run with 

great intention.

  

Yesterday, I looked out our south window 

that overlooks this highway 

and spotted a squirrel with a 

green walnut in its mouth. 

It paused and turned toward me.  

I stared; our beady eyes locked. 

Forgetting that a closed double paned window 

separated us, I said in my sternest voice, 

intent on showing that I was experienced in 

the wily way of squirrels,  

"Don't plant that in my yard."   

   

The squirrel continued to stare, 

walnut in mouth, 

I do not think  

my land claim was believed.    

I, too, continued to stare with my 

biggest squirrel sized eyes, 

and repeated myself, again forgetting 

I probably could not be heard. Then again 

I am not certain words really touch 

the minds of squirrels, but words were 

pretty much all that I had at the moment, 

(Well, pretty much in any given moment). 

I had already spent some time in the front yard 

and noticed there had been a fair amount of digging.

I stood resolute. 

With a flick of the tail, the highway squirrel turned 

and briskly continued on 

a journey that refused to be deterred.      

 

I thought nothing more about it 

until I went to the backyard 

sometime later.  

There, on the stairs, on the second step, 

a green walnut had been placed.  

Laughing, I brought the offering in.  

The biggest surprise? 

Its sweet scent, like flowers.  

This morning, the scent is gone. 

The smile remains, 

as does the highway, though 

the traffic has not started.

   

 A wily squirrel indeed.

Maybe it was my eyes.   

Forbearance

 I recently awakened with an image of a door that had been forced open. As I cautiously peered in, I could only see darkness.  Being a somewhat practical person, and given the fact that the door face now had exposed and protruding nails, I placed a light in the doorway. However, the light was too big. I could not walk past it. This poem reminds me that I still need to explore this dream. I have not yet removed that light in order to step into the unknown.  

Tyler, Jack, and I spent a few days over Thanksgiving with friends in northern Arizona. The night sky was beautifully illuminated by the moon and stars; the air was clear and cold. Silence was both everywhere, and nowhere; its exact location could not be located. Eternity felt like a friend. 

   

My gratitude to the author of this poem, and to the person who shared it with me. "Bearing the truth." Such a potent phrase; such an important lesson.  

Allow

There is no controlling life.
Try corralling a lightning bolt,
containing a tornado. Dam a
stream and it will create a new
channel. Resist, and the tide
will sweep you off your feet.
Allow, and grace will carry
you to higher ground. The only
safety lies in letting it all in –
the wild and the weak; fear,
fantasies, failures and success.
When loss rips off the doors of
the heart, or sadness veils your
vision with despair, practice
becomes simply bearing the truth.
In the choice to let go of your
known way of being, the whole
world is revealed to your new eyes.   

 

Danna Faulds   

  

image: Sunol, February 2016. I love this tree.   

    

Meditation in the Christian Tradition, every Wednesday, 4:00 p.m. via Zoom

Being Led

Last night I continued to ponder 

what to talk to the children about 

in worship this morning.   

I have been doing that 

pondering all week 

with no ideas coming. 

As I prepared for rest, 

I wondered if prayer might 

be a good subject.     

These young boys and I 

pray to Jesus.  I have come 

to love those tender moments 

and it is true that children 

can lead us just like Jesus said. 

  

Later I dream of my father, 

who passed many years ago.

He is intently stitching

a place in my mouth, 

like tending to a wound.  

For some reason

I am between the seats of 

a car, and I find myself 

slipping more and more 

into a space that feels

much too small.   

I fear I am stuck. 

I finally cry out, 

"Daddy!  Help me!"    

He extends a hand 

and easily lifts me.  

I think of the phrase, 

"sets me right."    

   

This morning I think 

such a fervent cry is seldom 

the tone of my prayers, 

but many have cried 

out to Jesus 

in full panic 

and the hand has always been there 

to set them right.   

   

Maybe we will talk about prayer 

and pray this morning.   

I know that is always ok with Jesus.      

    

Images of children at the border surface.  May our nation hear and be lead into a new time of responding to the cries of children who are hungry, lost, and afraid. Jesus, we are failing to be stirred by their plight.  This morning I weep. Perhaps my wailing should be louder?  

Morning Questions

I dreamed of a fish 

covered with expertly 

placed glinty scales. 

With bright eyes wide open 

it moved silently through  

the glittery waters.

Light was everywhere. 

  

I woke thinking of 

 Apostle Paul's 

knowing  we are  

clothed in Christ. 

Can I really move so freely, 

donned in such light, 

breathing in and breathing out, 

going only where the river 

takes me , 

trusting in that great flow?    

 

Really, where and how else 

could I possibly go?     

   

say,  June 2019   

  

"... for in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ."   

Galatians 3:26-27

Repair Work

Last night I dreamed 

that a friend gave me a typewriter. 

I had forgotten about it. 

I found it lying in a dusty corner 

of a  ramschackle house I did not live in. 

Lots of things had been left in the house, 

I think about three floors worth. 

It had taken awhile to reach 

the house 

but the gentle path was beautiful 

lined green with shady trees and plants.  

Walking back (to where?) 

from it was so pleasant. 

I had to apologize to my friend 

for forgetting about the typewriter

as I wondered how to use it.  

  

I then dreamed of being underwater. 

Not scary, but so free and blue. 

I felt no temperature 

surely like an unborn child would know

no temperature other than perfect. 

Other people were in this sea, 

we were all having fun 

minding our own sea-business, 

even swimming upside down 

looking like pencils.    

 

A smiling man  

drove up in his large truck.  

He said not to worry; 

He would repair the house.   

But first, he, too, went swimming, 

diving so deep that I did worry.     

 

He arose laughing,

just like Jesus.   

  

say, May 31, 2019

Stirrings of the Primal

On a humble street 

where there are no 

sidewalks 

and the pavement 

needs attention,   

 roses thrive 

in small gardens 

filled with perfectly 

acceptable colors 

like yellow, 

mauve, and white. 

 

Yet, it was  

 the red that  

called me 

to stand at full attention

 in the sun. 

For once I listened,  

and there in that perfect warmth and brightness, 

I felt the stirrings of a primal yearning  

to unfurl my many layers,

letting my soul be revealed 

in daring color and light.    

    

say, May 2019 

Sightings

I moved from flu land to allergy land pretty quickly.  Some of that is my own fault.  Can't stay out of the neighbors' front gardens.  I call this picture "The Beast among the Roses."  Don't you think he has fine ears and a good looking tail?  My thanks to Panhala for sending this poem today.   I fell somewhat short of my poem a day goal in April, but that happens.  At least for now, the world of poetry, and surprises can still be found among the flowers.   What a relief.     

Starting with Little Things

 

Love the earth like a mole,
fur-near. Nearsighted,
hold close the clods,
their fine-print headlines.
Pat them with soft hands --

 

Like spades, but pink and loving; they
break rock, nudge giants aside,
affable plow.
Fields are to touch;
each day nuzzle your way.

 

Tomorrow the world.

 

~ William Stafford ~  

Listening to the Thistles

Tyler and I both have had the flu, and neither of us has fully recovered. Yet, this morning, I finally felt alert enough to look at some of my recent photographs, and as usual, most I discarded.  Yet, this photograph I shall keep, not because it is a remarkable piece of art. It is not even a good picture of thistles. At best, it is a snapshot taken as I was returning to my car after one of my worship services. I paused here simply because I could stand in one spot and see a glimpse of open space.  

 

I certainly cannot call this land untamed. It is a fairly small patch that is indeed surrounded by buildings.  The inhospitable thistle  in the foreground seems to be saying, "Do not tread here." I bow to that request to simply let some land be.

 

The clamor for housing here in the Bay Area is loud, and I really do understand that people need to be able to both afford a place to live that is at least somewhat close to where they work, and to be able to find such a place.  Yet, the cost of the tech industry growth is  high as more of our open space is given over to high density housing and roadways.  At what point do we say that we simply have no more room for building?   When do we acknowledge that we really do not have enough water to sustain unlimited growth?    

I suppose I am showing my age.  Well, I know I am because that eventually is what we all do.  I spent time this morning with some of Wendell Berry's poetry, a wise old Kentucky farmer who once wrote that we cannot let our hope depend on our feeling good.  This morning I must agree, so I will accept the encouragement of some prickly thistles, including Mr. Berry.  I will try not to tread where hope should be allowed to reside.  

  

     

    

Sabbath Poem VII (1982)

The clearing rests in song and shade.

It is a creature made

By old light held in soil and leaf,

By human joy and grief,

By human work,

Fidelity of sight and stroke,

By rain, by water on

The parent stone.

We join our work to Heaven's gift,

Our hope to what is left,

That field and woods at last agree

In an economy

Of widest worth.

High Heaven's Kingdom come on earth.

Imagine Paradise.

O Dust, arise!-- 

Wendell Berry (born 1934)

photograph:  Redwood City, April 2019     

Holy Week Begins

I dreamed last night of trying to find someone 

to help me re-learn how to knit.  

A friend was with me; 

she was trying to learn something else.  

The room was crowded with teachers 

of various sorts and trades.  

When I met someone I thought could teach me, 

the knitting that I had started 

dissolved in my hand. 

"I must set my face to the wind and scatter my handful of seeds. It is no big thing to scatter seeds, but I must have courage to keep facing the wind."  

 Arab proverb as quoted by Sister Joan Chittister 

 The Radical Christian Life, A Year with Saint Benedict     

  

photograph: San Leandro, April, 2019 

  

Preparations

I have  often viewed my soul 

as a large illuminated pearl 

in the center of my being. 

Julian's vision is larger. 

She viewed the 

soul as a city - a kingdom 

where Jesus sits, 

magnificantly clothed.   

   

I hear the words: 

"In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. 

If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? 

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, 

so that where I am, there you may be also. 

And you know the way to the place where I am going."*   

  

We do know the way.

"And when our soul realizes this, 

it becomes like the one it beholds 

and grace quietly unites it 

to God in peace." *        

    

  

Biblical text :John 14:2-4.  

*All Will Be Well, compiled by Richard Chilson 

photograph: San Leandro, April 2019  

   

Through the Dunes

In the dream 

I am walking 

among white dunes. 

I  sense no ocean 

but still there 

 is a vastness.

These may be   

desert dunes. 

In the dream 

I return to a building.  

People are there, 

and they tell me 

"There isn't anything 

out there." 

   

 I am smiling. 

I show them my pass 

that allows me to travel 

as far as I want.  

I note there is an 

expiration date, but 

that does not worry me.      

I have no sense 

of limitation, 

 only freedom. 

 

As I turn and 

start down a path 

through the dunes

once more, 

I tell those 

who stay close to the building

that I am learning happiness.  

I decide to travel a little 

further this time. 

    

  

say 

April, 2019    

I am purposely not attaching an image.  These dreams seem to be calling for images other than flowers, so I want try to do some artwork and see what comes up.  This dream gives me a sense of freedom that I definitely want to explore.  I also want to explore the link between poetry and dreams.      

A Confession

An old voice surfaced.

The voice that whispers, 

"I wish you were more beautiful." 

This voice has grown kinder, 

a little less frequent

and maybe even quieter, 

but it still exists 

in the archives, 

seemingly intent 

 on embarrassing me.      

  

This week I decided 

"That's it.  No more flowers.

I have nothing more to say;

I have photographed flowers 

(although it really is not 

flowers I am seeing  

but more on that later) 

for years."  

  

Yet, the beloved dog and I 

started out today  

and made it not quite  

a block and then 

I remembered the wisteria.  

"Well, maybe one photograph."

The first steps of a beauty 

filled walk.     

 

I then remembered 

a dinner last week 

with friends; 

we discussed 

beauty but could not define it.

We laughed deeply at our  

non-conclusion conclusion. 

 I was reminded  

how much I love those gathered at the table. 

  

So perhaps this old voice 

that does grow gentler 

over time 

encourages me to remember 

that where beauty reveals 

her showy head,

 love is there, 

and that maybe, 

like God and Jesus and Mary, 

 I can claim her as my own.  

      

 

say 

April 2019