Tag Archives: Advent

Undercurrent

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undercurrentphoto

Even as early winter ice petrifies,
glazing what is open to outlying sovereignty,
an undercurrent flows unceasingly.

When moon is dark, geese yet adhere to flight,
their path laid out by pricks of light,
an endless artery towards journey’s end.

As my head is cradled in night’s dream
I feel your eternal breathsound within,
your whispered comfort that I am Love.

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Author’s Note:

In this Advent season as we move towards Winter Solstice and new birth of Light…
In this time of political uncertainty and fear…
In these days of lengthening darkness…

May you flow through your days, not fighting against,
but moving to the song of our Truth.

May you fly through the depths trusting
our Light will lead us on our journey.

May you be held up in the breath of our Holy One
and fill your lungs with the certainty of compassion.

Munay,
Lex

Unfolding, An Advent Meditation

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Announcing the publication of my new book of poetry and prayers.BookCoverImage

I know it is a bit early to announce. But if you would like to share this with your community, below is a sample page.

 

Tuesday
For Our Earth
Luke 21: 25-28


Breathe

Unfolding
The earth declares your Wonder,
winds roaring over plains,
snows laden heavy on our land,
waters in contempt of their barriers.

It is in your delicate disclosure
I still myself to hear
the bleat of the infant voice,
the One who will bear us home to you.

Selah
Nature moves with force, but also in whispers. Can you make time today to slow down and notice the world around you to allow yourself to enjoy a bit of nature?

Mantram
Immerse me in your promise.            

Blessing
In praise of sleeping roots wintering
underground, may I take time to rest.
In praise of darkened nights,
may I find peace enough to slumber.
In praise of water icebound,
may I make time for transformation.                                          


Breathe

Unfolding is a daily devotional for the season of Advent. Beginning with the first Sunday in Advent, Lexanne Leonard brings a gentleness to the days through her offering of scripture, poetry, and prayer, ending on Christmas morning. It is a breath and pause to reconnect with the Divine in these busy days of Advent.

Each meditation was written through lectio divina from the lectionary readings for each Sunday of Advent, Cycle C. Every day a piece of the Sunday scripture is expressed through poetry, prayer, and reflection. Also, each day of the week is dedicated to bringing to the forefront compassionate concerns for our world.

Through Lexanne’s own practice of Passage Meditation, she presents a “mantram,” a short phrase, for each week. It can be said throughout the day to bring one back to the present and to draw strength from the scripture passages, poems, and prayers offered in the daily meditation.

“Here, within her words is the rhythm we all may be seeking. Instead of clamor, there is quiet. Rather than over spending in order to give, there is the offering of gift which no money can buy. We will not faint under the pressure to get things checked off a list, but instead simplicity is called upon with bible, candle, silence, and reflection.” – Scott Jenkins, Director, Celtic Way

It is now available at Amazon.com or your local independent bookseller.

 

My Feast Day

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In gentle light of fading sun,
when I know deep stillness
will soon shroud my being,
I slow myself to pause in the
flush of day’s end, and ready
myself to plunge with audacity
into the unknown.

It is my feast day, a remembrance
day of my birth, the beginning
from depth into light, from
assurance into bold awakening.

I’ve traveled far since my advent,
crossroads in the distance call for
negotiation. But this night gives
me joys to savor.

In gratitude I hold you dear,
my friend, my love. My heart
is extravagant with your presence.
I am brave in your goodwill. I
am boundless in my journey
with you at my side.

Advent Geese, A Solstice Consecration

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They were there.

In the silent sky early on my daily
drives, wings flapped. Although they
were too far away to see motion’s grace
or hear wind rush over and under
hollow-boned arms, I saw them.
A patterned V placed their purpose.

There were geese this fall with each
journey outside. It must be true
of this time of year, a thing
I never noticed.

Seldom did they make their voices known,
but they were always there. Gliding in front
of a full moon, a photo unable to impress
upon an iPhone screen.

They were there in afternoon walks, in
sun and grey filled skies. At night when
words flowed from my fingers in depths
of darkness. Then I could hear the cry,
in midnight still, their cry to me.

On this morning of Winter’s Solstice, four
times an Advent celebration, a new moon
soon to birth her smile, they were there.

Fireballs falling from a sky kissed by a
rising sun. A fairytale vision. Golden-winged
snitches raced across the blue, soared
over rooftops. The end of a fireworks
display, that last brave spark to shower earth
when all color has spent itself and drops only
burning embers to please the eye.

They were there. Not alien ships as misunderstood
by more fantastic eyes, but geese reflecting an
ascending light, pointing to a new beginning,
a path to take, a voice now heard, a song in
tandem harmony.

I stepped once again into this morning one last
time, three flew as one. In a moment’s breath
one departed on a path laid down only for a sole
navigator. Alone, and yet, eternally Three In One.

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Author’s Note:

I had quite an interesting experience this morning and wanted to capture it. However, I think the explanation below will help with understanding my words above.

I was sitting in the family room this morning looking out the top windows when I saw this big ball of light falling from the sky. I said to Leroy, “I just saw a falling star?” He said, “Meteor.” It’s a joke from the past. (Apparently, some amateur astronomers (not my husband) have little fancy about them. I was sternly corrected when I mentioned falling stars in the presence of one of these amateurs while visiting a local star night at Gates Planetarium a few years back.)

I looked up again and saw another. It looked like it was on fire. I know I will sound crazy when I say this, but it looked like a Quidditch snitch. It was a ball of fire with wings.

He stood up and as soon as he looked out the window there was another. Spooked, we went outside and looked up to the skies. One more and then nothing. After about a half a minute of searching the skies, a flock of geese in a V pattern flew past lit by the sun.

Even though these beautiful creatures were also ablaze, they were white light, so bright they didn’t look real. The other single ones were golden fire. We watched and realized that the falling balls of fire we both saw were individual geese lit up by this Solstice sun.

What a blessing to see these balls of fire flying through the air.

Walk

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I am here to walk with you.
My heart warmed in yours
under the almost new moon.

I breathe in to feel you fill me.
When I breathe out some of
me wrapped in you surrenders.

I let chilled night rest on my lips.
Your kiss to remind me that not
all love is sweet but is always there.

I look into stars and see your eyes.
You watch me with the same wonder
as I reach to you for grace.

I hold you as you hold me.
In astonishment, that two
can walk as One in the night.

Incarnation

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Winter bright sun
throws itself reckless
across my wall
playing creator of shadows
not the real thing
but distorted views
of absolute

I hold my hand
to block its light
provoke a dialogue
become intertwined
in confusion
unable to distinguish
truth from forgery

Winter night enters quickly
more quickly than invited
blends shadow and matter
deeply into measureless space
solitude and emptiness
the same

When you come to me
Promised Light
not to reshape my tenement
not to quarrel over ordinance or creed
you come as first gleam
diamonding icicles
held in precious purchase

When you come to me
you stand in my light
bearing my shadow
I see the brilliance of
me in you
singular
not plural
incarnate both

Little Trees

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I put up four little trees, not real ones, but ones
with tiny flickering white lights. I placed two,

each one in a planter, and two side by side
in the same. I pulled down branches, fluffed them.

Sitting for a year in the basement crawlspace
waiting for purpose once more withered

their look. It was cold. An arctic chill swooped
down quickly this day. The morning was greeted

by a blazing sunrise of butter yellow melting into
neon orange, then ruby reaching it’s fingers into

royal purple. That’s the way to start a new
year, this first day of Advent, in a blaze of Light.

But icy cold haze rolled over us. Fog rarely seen
hid the park leaving only a picnic house with its

white painted beams glowing in ghostly
cover. My fingers stiffened bending the wire

branches feigning to be pine. My slippers
absentmindedly chosen not for weather

but for convenience did not keep frozen air
from numbing the tips of my toes. How do

those who don’t know this is the first day of
Advent, those on park benches and under

bridges, live in tandem with this cold? I finish
stepping back into the warm breath of my

kitchen to gaze out at my handiwork for
another season. Lights twinkle and words

from today’s homily pass my way once more.
Stay awake, be aware. My stiffened fingers

begin to curl smoothly again as I embrace a
lusty mug of coffee. I wait, aware of chill that

stiffens and the gift of light and warmth I have
been afforded this Advent, the first day of the year.

Expectation

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It came today. I knew it would,
the tracking notice told me to expect
its Saturday arrival.

But the day took over. Food prepared
to feed the stomach as well as the soul,
if done properly.

Notes written by hand and on keys fleetingly
tapped, heartfelt and true. Calls made,
clothes laundered, little time for promises.

When it arrived cold had settled with grey
day clouds shaking flakes into air so frigid
only a powder covered the walks.

I knew it would be there when time
allowed. It would wait for me tucked
safely away where no thief could reach.

But I must follow the path, do what is
needed, finish the job. In trust I worked
to complete the day.

Wrapping my neck against the wind,
gloving my hands, my coat and hat
encircled me against the chill.

A walk to the mailbox in tranquility
of winter snow. Hurried steps anticipating
the arrival slowed, then halted.

The muffled calm, snow’s offering. A quiet
accented by glistening white. Icy breath
filling blood-warmed lungs.

One can never fully conceive in expectation.
It takes trust, patience. Stillness. You never
know what gift truly awaits your arrival.

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Author’s Note:

My pastor, Fr. Scott Jenkins at A Church of the Holy Family, and I are writing prayers for a Celtic Mass. It is a once a month mass and will be themed around Advent and Mary and Elizabeth. Expectation, conceiving, trust, and birth are words we having been exploring.

Today, a new book arrived. I didn’t have time to get to the mailbox until the evening following a very busy day. I am always amazed at how the Spirit weaves through my life.