My Child, A Lament for Peace

My child,
Never forget you are
a child of the Beloved,
rocked in her gracious arms,
held safe under his gaze.
You are a child of the Beloved.
Not one of you turned away.
Not one of you held closer
than the other.

My child,
You are sisters and brothers of
one another, one family in the Beloved.
The earth does not belong to you,
its land and fruits, all gifts to be shared,
gifts to be tended,
just as the Beloved nurses you.

My child,
you are a child of the Beloved.
Not one of you more precious,
not one of you more cherished
than the other.
Mother and terrorist,
teacher and gunman,
oppressed and the oppressor,
rest in the lap of the Beloved
swathed in forgiveness,
all made whole.

My child,
do not forget you are a child
of the Beloved, compassion
and grace rain down upon you
with boundless, unselfish passion.

My child,
Child of the Beloved,
in gratitude,
be a mirror of your Beloved.

.

.

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Author’s Note:

I struggled for a long time with how to write this poem. What form it should take? What exactly did I want to say?

I am a first grade teacher. Sandy Hook.

I live in Aurora. The Aurora Movie Theatre Shooting.

I live in Colorado. Columbine.

I am a United States citizen. 911.

The rest of the world has experienced terrorism for millennia, much longer and more intimately than I have. These current killings – Gaza and Ukraine – brought me back to the empty page.

I don’t know if it is due to my recent study of the Gospel of John with Fr. Scott Jenkins at my church. If it is the Celtic kirtan chant project I am involved in, with Macushla introducing me to the Irish lament. My recent immersion into Mary Magadlene, giving voice to her story in a monologue I wrote and will be performing later this year. Or my satsang friend, a mother, with a daughter in Israel and another friend, a mother, whose mother and father live in Palestine. It must be combination of all of these events and people that kept me from sleep this evening, muses that finally led me to this poem.

The insanity of killing one another must stop. I don’t know how, but I think it is summed up in a quote I read earlier this night from an Israeli. In response to a call for prayer from the Book of Isaiah, he said rather eloquently and simply:

“AMEN to Shalom over ego.”

I wish you peace this night and a blessing of surrender of ego.

 

 

Here is one of Macushla’s songs, “We Are Beloved of God.”

 

Change

In the late night of the day after the
Fourth of July, I sit on the deck in the
dark waiting for the next day to arrive.

I am content having finished a few
new written words, taking my story a
little further than I thought it could go.

A calm resides in me. The firecrackers
have been mostly silenced to the late hour,
smoke cleared. Bremen sleeps at my feet.

A smile curves gently across my face.
There is a peace that settles in when
I think of you and your light.

When we realize who we are and the
gifts we have been given, your light
shines enduringly to light our way.

It is not a boldness that takes over,
but a faith that holds our hands and
reminds us to trust ourselves, you.

And your light shines brighter.
Change is good. It’s not what we
thought it was going to be, but more.

A Garden Balanced

I wander through my little plot of land,
know what’s needed for growth. I nurture

your beauty to share with the world, choose
each of you for your elegance of color or scent,

hardiness to sun and snow, cold and dry.
I allow you room to grow, but know you

need more than just yourself to bounce your
radiance against, each of you splendid in your

charms but more resplendent and robust
together. Stepping away I allow your existence

to thrive. With wonder I realize how grand you
are alone, yet together, a fanfare of perfection.

With wonder I puzzle why I am still not welcomed
with such grace to grow, rise equally in kinship

uprooting fractional descant. Inside my passion
is aflame. I am a voice to complete Wisdom and Light.

I long to rise hand in hand with you, partnered in
journey. In parity we can grow, a garden balanced.

Together we can perfect harmony, not one above
the other, but side by side secure in Mystery.

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Author’s Note:

I write this for those of us marginalized – women in the church, those in poverty, those is relationships not allowed, anyone whose light is diminished.

We are not in harmony for many reasons. If we could see how desperately we need to be hand in hand with each other despite our differences, we would realize how much we need one another, and we could heal.

A special and heartfelt sigh to Meggan Watterson and her incredible book I just fell into, REVEAL. It is changing my life. I am dropping the veils and looking to complete the whole.

And, as always, I am glad to have found A Church of the Holy Family and the Ecumenical Catholic Communion where all are welcome. Of course, there is always more work to be done and growth to be made, such as more inclusive language. But we are working on that.

Easter Vigil, Sirius

I stand outside under the blackened skiesnapo2014button1
with winks of light looking down on me.

I wonder if these are the same stars she
saw as she walked alone through the streets
early that morn on her way to the hills?

The orange glow of Arcturus,
red hot Mars, the icy blue chill of
Sirius, and the white glare of Jupiter,
eyes looking back from the heavens.

Did they see her walking the road
to a place where they laid Him
behind the stone, inside
even blacker than the night?

Did they see her tears fall across her
cheeks as she gazed up to the heavens
cursing Yahweh for her loss?

Could they look into her emptiness,
her fear of being left alone having
lost one so dear?

I stand under these same stars and
wonder if they see me too?

.

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Author’s Notes:

Holy Saturday and the Easter Vigil.

John 20:1 (NIV)

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance.