Category Archives: Celtic

Fathom

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When she finally took the step
she thought nothing of it. No bridge DSCN4862
to keep her aloft. There was no
rope or hand to hold her tight.

She had to take the step. The climb
was arduous. Dark nights, cold.
Voices echoing behind in the canyon,
taunting, losing their hold over her.

Up top silence was as wide as the sky
while noise slumbered deep inside.
Not to awaken it, she softly breathed in
the beryl blue stillness enfolding her.

She searched. She lifted each layer,
peeled back one after another,
trails of faded petals marked her
journey, but she wouldn’t let go.

When the layers were no more,
no petals left to drop, it was there
she was forced in the nothingness
to divine the Antiphon left bare.

She braved the step, undressed
her fear, found more than her
counterfeit view exposed.
She surrendered.

She surrendered from hurtling
voices and pain. From stuff she
built to keep her safe, explain
rules, make sense, find answers.

She surrendered to the deep calm
Peace that awaited her. Acquiescing
she could rest, be swathed in His care,
unravel all would be well…

I let go. I step from frenzy wrapping
my days. I trust and surrender to You
who are there. You who love me with
abandon. You who have always been.

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Author’s Note:

Understanding can come sometimes so quickly, it takes your breath away. The challenge was simple. If I am truly honest with myself and really look deeply, will I allow myself to see that tiny, small bit of insecurity I’ve held onto of what I fear as God? Or will I surrender to our Precious One and accept how much I am loved without condition?

Thank you, Fr. Scott Jenkins for continuing to gently challenge us with your vision on the Feast of Corpus Christi. You bring your family at a Church of the Holy Family, ECC into the light of our Beloved.

Kintsugi

by

It was a small crack that ran
up the side of the cup. It no
longer held matter completely,
it was no longer perfect.

The beauty of the cup was not
tarnished though. No. The
treasure was transformed.
You understood.

The crack was there to let in
light, you said. To illumine
splendor deep inside. You
could see it.

In Japan they fill cracks with gold.
Once damage is done, history is
fashioned. Filled with tenderness
it becomes precious anew.

You fill my brokenness with Your
grace mending it with Your light.
More beautiful than before I am
made whole once again.
.

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Author’s Notes:

I wrote this last evening and didn’t get it posted. I was off to a Celtic retreat today. Sometimes Spirit shows up before you expect it.

Lament/Deluge

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I sat in the rain. It was a pouring cold rain
that was much too cold for this June day.

I wanted to feel this June’s deluge so I lifted
my face and tears from the sky poured over

my despair. I wanted to feel the pouring cold
rain, June’s deluge washing me of my sin.

Thunder rolled by and over my bearing. It filled
my ears. I cried out in tandem. I released my pain

to the pouring cold deluge, much to cold for
this June day. My tears were diluted with fresh

new water as I sat on a step under trees bowing,
unable to balance, not one extra drop, no longer.

My breath almost drowned, flowed out and down
until the lawn could hold no more. So I walked with

the deluge along bulging gutters, feet submerged
in June’s cold rain. I kicked at rain waters and

stomped on the waves rushing into the deep black
gash. The day’s deluge gulped down by the sewers

took my crimes and washed them away on this
cold June day. The deluge slowed. Streams turned

into drops. Then droplets. Then nothing at all. I raised
my face up to June’s grey day in gratitude of its

cleansing. I know that from rain green grows lush
and glorious, blooms arise with colors to adorn.

The deluge always cleanses. Pouring cold rain,
much too cold for this June day.

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Author’s Note:

I was recently introduced to the lament. In a Celtic Spirituality retreat with Stefan Andre Waligur, I experienced the call and response of the lament. He spoke of how in our Western culture are afraid to let go of our emotions, especially in community.  And subsequently we do not heal. We have lost a togetherness that only this opening of oneself, this free flow of emotion can offer.

Today as I sat waiting for tornado sirens to silence, listening to the relentless rain, I felt as if the world was in lament. I know this rain, once the damage from the hail heals, will bring new life to my garden. Much like a lament.

Thank you, Stefan.

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Although this is not a lament, it is a lovely example of the kind of chanting we experienced at our retreat.

Selkie

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She was vulnerable when she took off images
her coat to dance in the midnight sand.
Man and woman delighted in one another
till the sun beckoned them home once again.

Weary in her revelry she slept through
the exodus, her selkie coat well hidden above
in a shield of long straw shadowing the sun
keeping her safe, well protected from love.

She was faithful where she was led, not her
choice to be, a new place and way to serve.
She was true and devoted to word, spirit, creed,
even though she ached deeply for another.

She longed for water without knowing why
yet steadfast in her journey well run.
One day making bread, her food for the living,
from above selkie hide came undone.

A single drop, only one, oil glistened a call
to return to the shore of her yearning.
Her long slender finger lifted oil to her lips,
a recollection, a scent still languishing.

This woman of fidelity finally tasted and smelled,
remembered the raw deep sea of her beginning.
She walked to the sand without a look back and
slipped into her soul wild.

I am that woman of faith on my journey
from a life safely thatched and shielded.
I am grateful for Your grace, drop of oil,
passion in me, anointing a new life wild.

.

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Author’s Note:

This past weekend I had the pleasure of attending a retreat, Heartbeat of the Beloved: Exploring the Beauty and Power of Celtic Spirituality, by Stefan Andre Waligur, Marcy Baruch, and Steve Bross.

We sang, chanted, drummed, heard stories, and broke bread together. It was an amazing time getting to know a group of strangers pulled in by the same Spirit.

Stefan told a story of the selkies of Irish lore. And although his point for telling the story may be a bit different from what I gleaned, it was a powerfully moving story for my faith journey.

My Genesis

by

Tonight rain scented air
greeted me as I walked under your gaze

It was not an opening of the skies
downpour rushing over curbs into gutters
brimming the sewers

Nor was it a light sprinkling
glistening petals of blooms closing for the night
content with their daily engagement

It was simply rain-scented air
nudging me to think of you

Not a loud bellowing voice warning of misfortune
if rules are broken

Nor a constant tapping on my shoulder
making me second guess my labor

It was simply you showing me a bit of your soul,
your pleasure in my genesis,
blessing your beloved one.

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Author’s Note:

I am not a rule follower.

I hide it well.

I am learning that it is okay not to follow rules.

 

Green Man, A Poesy to September Storms

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Photo by Sharon Taylor

Photo by Sharon Taylor

Past midnight in wee dark hours of the half-shaded moon
our first snow fell early, unlike the late summer storms

that came as earth was cracked, pastures bare,
harvest slow, if ever, to ripen. Green Man stayed

too long on holiday while we awaited his raindrops.
He kept our hope of emerald shoots and gleanings

at bay. Green George stayed away too long from us.
But upon his return torrents announced his arrival.

Maddened currents plowed barren fields in exultation.
The deluge roared over and under our houses.

Boulders traveled down the rush until clouds departed
east and there was stillness once more as if

Green Man never left and returned too late.
Last evening’s winter chill made a hasty call and his

tender greencoaties burrowed into slumber deep.
In the penumbral hours near the first of fall,

Green George grins under flakes of silver
powder resting upon his brow.

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Author’s Note:

A friend of mine, Sharon Taylor, shared a lovely photo she took of her Green Man after our first snow. It was early this year, the snow. We usually count on snow for Halloween or a bit later. But weather patterns are different this year. Very little rain. Drought. Fires. And then came the September storms that washed much of Colorado away. I didn’t know that this is where the Green Man would take me.