Holy Tuesday

"Tuesday is perhaps the most unremarkable day of the week. Today, however, is Holy Tuesday because it belongs to Holy Week. Perhaps we would do well to ponder on this truth: If God can make Tuesday holy, what might be done with us?"   

Rev. Dr. Michael Piazza     

 

As  I continue to ponder my post dated April 15, I am coming to understand that there is a difference between unraveling and dissolving.  When things unravel, they can be knitted back together.  When they dissolve, they are  returned completely into the essence of God, and are literally out of our hands.  We can weep and wail all we want, but we would be better served to bow in wonder and awe at this elemental change. 

      

    

         

photograph:  San Leandro, 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   

  

This Is Not a Poem

Last night I woke from a dream with such certainty, that I had to get up and write at least a snippet of it:   

 

"Last night I saw heaven. 

Shiny dark dark birds 

with sparkling pink chests 

rising and falling, 

flying with one another, 

never running into one one another, 

against a blue sky."     

   

I then returned to bed, fell asleep, and actually dreamed the dream again.  I woke this morning, and felt I did not have a photograph to go with the dream.  I also had several emails to write, a dog to walk, plus other work to tend to.  I just did not know what to do with this dream.  However, later today, I came across this image from a post from the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts.  Unfortunately, I do not know who the artist is.  However, it is so much like what I saw in the both dreams that I decided to share.   If you know the artist, do let me know.   If you know anything more about heaven, would appreciate your letting me know that as well.   

 

For those of us in the Bay Area, the colors of land, sea, and sky are beautiful right now, aren't they?  Such contrasts of blue, grey, and green.  Truly a beautiful dance.

        

   

Home

In the dream 

I am standing in a small house 

whose walls, without a doubt 

need some paint.  

The drapes need cleaning; 

There is patching 

that needs to be done. 

But it has lovely arched 

doorways, 

some crosses here and there 

and windows that let in 

a gentle light. 

In the dream 

Tyler is there and 

I sense we could 

 paint those walls 

and tend to  

what needs 

tending.  

 

There is another man 

in the house who tells 

me whom to call so 

I can begin painting. 

As the phone is ringing 

I realize I do not know 

where I am.  That is, 

I do not know where the 

house is.

  

He seems unconcerned 

even when I hurredly 

give an  address

only to  realize that 

is where I lived 

years ago. 

I think that I 

cannot be there now.   

 He laughs 

and tells me it is okay. 

  

The certainty 

that you are home 

even when you 

do not know exactly 

where that is.  

 

This morning I smile. 

   

say, April 2019 

the pastel was done maybe a couple of years ago.

  

    

    

Day 2 The Brink of Not Death

Last night we sat and talked 

of heaven and hell 

but mostly of life in between.

We laughed because 

we were together  

with stories to be shared.

  

I wondered if perhaps 

we were sitting at Julian's window, 

a small place 

dedicated only to love.  

I shall hold this reminder   

that we are always  

on the brink of not death, 

learning and daring to love.   

say, april 2, 2019

photograph, Palo Alto April 2019   

This dark window is not  how I envision Julian's window, but I do love the flowers.  I am reminded of a recent dream where I saw a friend standing at a window that was not clear.  I have a sense that there is more to be revealed.