Cessation.
A road into deep wood
becomes a faltering trail
ending in beds of thick moss
under forgotten clouds
floating soft.
We are pulled
beyond memory and knowledge
into indigo blue
ferocious blackening night.
We will wake.
To what shall we wake?
Portland, Oregon – June 22, 2020
I am at a loss to describe what is happening in the world and especially in America right now. This is the best I could do, for now.
A nation may be reborn
out of flame and darkness,
broken glass, death, ignorance,
blood, beaten and broken bones.
The trial and terror of birth –
its unknown face
weak and trembling
shouts in the corridor.
Birth tears an opening
out of which it comes.
It wounds forever
what came before –
history, tradition, belief.
What comes cannot return
from whence it came.
The child of birth cries
comes, cresting before our eyes.
Scream if you must.
Healing, salve, balm –
chrism poured over a living being
beginning to stand, flex, stretch.
Let it come. Let it be.
Portland, Oregon – June 9, 2020
As I write, America is in a raging and justifiable turmoil. We do not know what will come of it. I have hope. I am given hope by what I see on the streets of America.
I do not wish for more to come than has come
piling up in thick layers, smothering
the society we have stitched from the cloth
of history, woven with strands of doubt
of error, patched with blood and care.
We wake in the morning with relief
having flailed through sleep fragments
dream chaos and thickening coughs
that push silence to the far corners,
peace into the dark and hidden closet.
“Do not come!” if what comes are more
battered days of human failure and betrayal.
“Go away!” Let us have the time we need
to repair what is breaking in us –
our beliefs, the symbols we thought
would sustain our already fragile faith.
Let racing time slow to accord
with this natural season – fallen leaves,
frozen ponds, sun’s light sliding
low and long across the wintry horizon –
the seasons’ lights, the veiled half moon.
We have time enough for this, to quiet and still.
It is enough to say, because we’ve learned
from our traditions and hold to them
as to a branch hanging over an abyss,
unknowing and feebly but from deep within: “Come!”
Portland, Oregon – December 3, 2019. The season of Advent is a Christian liturgical season which ends on December 24th, this year. It is a traditional time of waiting, of stillness – in hopeful preparation for the coming of joy – silent night, holy night, night divine. May all traditions be welcome to join in this sacred time.
In Cascadia 