Because
reconciling day by day the broken and profane with the breath of any given season
Picture courtesy of: Words of Light Omraam Mikhael Aivanhov book
Secret Pain
Life lived slow mid thorns of fear, wounded weighted low,
Memories lost of journeys free before this path, this NO.
Gone the days of wonder’s laugh choked out by touching hurt.
Yet undeceived can eyes still see such beauty bright unthroned?
Yes! seize and strain the light until with hope you can release
the tears flow down like rain
and grow the heart beyond this place.
For there the quiet secret pain remains embraced and thus refined,
breathed within a lover’s kiss, a holy space divine.
Photography: eternitysphotography/wordpress.
Love’s silence
What I hear is an option. Even in choosing silence- I can hear. I listen….
Sound is a space of being
Sound is a link to a moment in time.
It is tangible, functional, inviting.
As I separate the tones and attend to one over the other I learn and feel and know a new old something.
As the layers stream into my consciousness
I am reminded
I am comforted
I am loved.
Gesture
What gesture best describes your greeting? Is it a simple head nod, a hearty “hello” with brief eye contact or a phrase expressing your view of the day and the encounter “good day to you” or “don’t you love the weather?”
I’m a head nod type of person– reflecting my focus to get on with chance moments and attack the day’s true calling. This stingy gesture says something important about my reluctance to be whole.
I miss the spiritual potential of gesture.
I miss the moment of life ordained for that encounter. I am instead attached to an agenda – one that splits me from reality and the wonder of chance and change.
I don’t really believe church people do this better– though many practice it at least once a week. I am learning that the uninvested spirit of God in the ritual of a handshake and a caring hello harbors more grace than a sermon or ritualized amen.
My soul has wondered from stoned faced worship to see God in gestures meant to connect us on a journey –without an agenda but with a liturgy of embrace. My soul sees God in the moments I break free from form and risk greeting with the breath of a holy now.
Sweet spot
“bittersweet” courtesy of Phillip Schwarz
A journey to stay connected and embraced leaves you vulnerable and obvious.
You will not be strong all the time.
A journey to be present even among shame and pain leaves you broken.
You will not win.
A journey with the sun leaving for winter and then back again leaves you tired.
You will change.
A journey to find your place with strangers at the table will leave you hungry.
You will know–bittersweet.
~memories..
Photo post by @PoetNbJ.
Source: ~memories..
On the pin
Living daily on the edge, the point of change and even chaos requires an ability to perceive and interpret beginnings. Can you see something new happening from something old? Can you hear the key change and move to an altered beat?
To do this every day is not sustainable without love and hope. Love creates the net that will catch you when you fall from the pinnacle and hope promises to set you back upright and in a new place.
So on the head of a pin angels dance, moving to the beat of a love song — hopeful you will see them orchestrating your part in new spaces of beginning.
Tales in Time
Holidays always carry an energy of remembering. This season included table talk with my mother, the heroine, of many sad and ugly tales…her memories of life from a darker side of life. I know few whose life embodies “survival” as hers does.
The tales, however, have left me grieving a heritage of pain. I am most sickened by tales of my middle name. I learned I am the name sake of a Jane who guised humiliation and murder with postures of rescue and embrace. I am that Jane who battled for a baby not mine by stealing from a mother in a court of law, that Jane who arranged a drowning at birth to hide the shame of a holy seed in a less holy womb, that Jane who welcomed only to the basement the lesser ones in the unsanctioned family tree.
I have asked myself this new year, “who am I really?” What does the power of my name speak in the circles of life? What part of this heritage have I carried to daughters and granddaughters? How can I redeem time in my life as Jane?
I will start by saying I prefer the name Lolly.
No Place like Home
The walk of life requires some places of surety and sound footing. There needs some protection, some cover in the walk through the hurt and fear layering the everyday path.
It’s all about the shoes.
You need to make your own.
You cannot wear another’s shoes- even if they seem to fit and look more fresh. They will blister the soul… you will die with them on. Your shoes belong to your journey.
Such shoes are crafted by the pain of a specific life, in how one survives the losses, walks through harsh words and even self judgements. The fabric is rich in the blood of sacrificed wants and dreams- the binding and seams, though, sewn with Love, God-breathed and polished. This is what makes them strong enough to make the climb and last the dance.
Like Dorothy who trusted her shoes to take her home, there is a trust in the walk home, finding the ways and places of self knowing and healing– standing in your own shoes.
Women Who Run With the Wolves; “The Red Shoes” C.Estes. 1992.
The Wizard of Oz; L.Frank Baum. 1900.
honestlylolly.com 