The beauty of a sunset along the Appalachian gaps
reminds me that I wish no one ill
Yet then its shining point annoys
I squint
and the glare strains my soul
I shout
“go hide in the valley and die out”
no patience
no presence
and in that breath
I have struck an edge
from life to death
Bags in hand
carried out
up front with doors shut
seated for the daily performance
Invariable anxiety
among the hosted caravan
some more polite than others.
Mirrors shoulder high
from the corners reflecting
the auburn and pink rising
behind and brightly announcing
the commuting of the day.
The mountains hug forgotten ones
Souls known in gestures centuries old.
Wonderfully wild and high enough
where clouds can wet their tears and soften edges
All in breathless upward climb in rhythm find
a peaceful soul
and a memory, union sweet.
Then falling down in gasps of fear darker turns and twists
My footing gone
the mountain moves
in outward reach
– embrace.
Each awakening comes with that moment we rise to a new day.
Cicadas fading hum meets the cool morning breeze
The 18 years of suffering carried in the form and substance of a “temple woman” reimagines the practice of Sabbath in this Christ encounter. The woman embodies a broken structure, the “18 year” descriptive a known ancient code phrase for “suffering and bondage.”
The story though begs a more feminine interpretation. The imagery of being turned in on oneself yet asked by Christ to move forward intones a message not often recognized as Christian. Jesus’ humiliating argument in favor of Sabbath grace and healing referencing the need to water a thirsty ass shames the “keepers” of sabbath places. And despite the insulting reference the crowd of broken spirits- I suspect many of whom were women -respond with delight and seem energized!
Jesus further encourages with parables of yeast and mustard seeds, moving then to kitchens and gardens– home places for women. The mustard seed would stir up thoughts of healing as it was used medicinally in a paste with “new wine” and the transforming power of yeast worked into flour would be obvious to the feminine ear. The message that Sabbath is as close as your kitchen and near as your home seems obvious. These are “shaping” places for sure.
The miracle, the healing call and response, rises from a feminine space of both release and synthesis–freedom and enmeshment, sacrament and incarnation.
We reshape our brokenness mid Sabbath moments of everyday life.
