...and All Things Shine

TURNED AROUND

Because I have been less than inches
from the thin edge of unbeing,
and have been afraid that, having
nowhere else to go, I would
on purpose, accidentally,
fall in, and simply fall and fall
forever, since unbeing has
no floor; and have been rescued,
and been certain of my rescuer,
and have again felt almost-solid
earth beneath my feet; when I
had given up on earth and sky
and sun and rain and comfortable
shoes and friends and weddings; having
been as good as dead, there in that
purgatory of unbreathing,
and then being turned around,
embraced, and liberated — I
believe in miracles. For everything
is living once you have been almost
dead; and all things shine, as if their
only purpose is to serve as
a reminder of that free and
infinite dependence on
the spirit who exhaled to give me
breath again.

Two poems of the East

Venus at dawn over the Pacific Ocean, by Brocken Inagloryon Wikipedia

THE ONLY WAY

I am not afraid of dying. I’ve already died at least a thousand times and come out, maybe chastened, maybe childlike, on the other side. I might have said, if I had words for it, I hate it here. I want my old life back. But there’s no future in that, is there? “Onward,” says my wise friend, pointing easterly. 

Without a more appealing prospect, I obey and turn and see a light, a brighter one than shone before, and hear a softer, sweeter voice than what was shrill and screaming in the pain of yesterday, the dream I’d just awakened from. 

And so it is (as if it were a choice I’d made – my will instead of, in the end, the only way to bliss), toward that new star, benign in April’s misty dawn, above new streams and gently rising hills, that I begin.

For Rod Colvin, April 2014

KRISHNAMURTI’S SECRET

I don’t mind what happens,

Krishnamurti said. I nod.

I know exactly what he means,

and yet I can’t help wondering

if Krishnamurti ever loved

a rugby team

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Faith in the Grand Scheme of Things

National Geographic

Forgive It First

I've looked every which way at this gift I'm 

giving you, in different modes, from many
vantage points, to find its wrinkles and to iron
them away, repair its flaws and make it
exquisite. And just when it looks smooth and
fine and irreproachable, the light shifts just a
little and it seems an ugly, injured thing, and I
begin again to try to become new.

I cultivate a ... garden ... in a light and sunny
corner....  crazy-frankenstein.com

The wind sweeps over the plains and blows

away the chaff and the brittle weeds and
lingering wisps of dry snow, and for a moment
it is peeled clean of all but new life starting
over. I cultivate a small but fruitful garden. I
plant it in a light and sunny corner and do my
best to keep it lovely and immaculate. It is my
pledge of faith in the grand scheme of things. I
dig and fertilize and sow and place the little I
control at the mercy of a force I can invoke
but not manipulate or modify. I must not even
try. Be the planter and the harvester, so says
the earth. Let God be God.

I create nothing, only express the multitude of
combinations of Creation, summoned,
gathered, surrendered into structure. I'll
never seal the gift; its flaws are invitations to
experience, and they are raw material for unearthly transformation.

What it is right now, I give with my whole
heart, not waiting for perfection; I haven't got
the time or tools to fix it right. Accept, forgive it
first, then sweep away the chaff. Plant fresher
seed and love it into life.

                     ~ Mary Campbell

g

Published on the Fellowship in Faith Winter 2012 Website. 

Fellowship in Prayer is a non-profit private operating foundation. We publishSACRED JOURNEY, a multi-faith journal through which readers can explore the spiritual insights and experiences of religious leaders and practitioners around the world. We sponsor and support programs for adults and youth that promote prayer, meditation and service to foster a more just and peaceful world community. We connect people to pray together, exchange ideas and lend each other spiritual support through a global network via the internet.

Last Call of the Night Watchman

Last Call of the Night Watchman
 

Sundog (also parhelion), the
appearance of bright spots
 of light on either side of the sun


Morning bounds out of the black shade... all but taps me on the shoulder... Hey, lady! Big round yellow circle here! I watch it with my back. I like to see what it does more than how it looks. The universe calls out importantly Born again! You there! Her! Him! Everything’s new and everyone has do-overs or at the very least another chance to get it right. All’s well. Night was blasted prettily; it’s skittered off to lick its wounds. A light breeze makes
teasing eddies on a small lake prodding
it awake and petulant it slaps the shore
not fully lucid yet, its lazy waves
like fingers tipped with jewels


It’s not a subtle thing, this exotic transformation, but it’s gotten ordinary to us: night day dark light, a hushed percussion that doesn’t skip a beat but marches evenly, troops on through the seasons year by year. My father never missed a day of work but knew the miracle
of dawn. He was both earth and sky and
then the time came when he couldn’t soldier
on and went where I can’t find him. Ever
since, I’ve felt a bit at sea... adrift like
the small child lost in the department store.
Daddy always found me then. But when he went
away for good, when I waited gripping a stranger’s
hand and he didn’t return, I knew that daylight
wouldn’t be a sure thing any more. The
drum had stopped. I couldn't hear the
marching now

Hidden Lake, Glacier
National Park, Montana


I must have slept. How is it that the early sunlight whispers on my neck?... another chance to get it right I guess. I can’t see the lake from here; I know it’s nearby where it’s always been, the lissome willows with their graceful branches
dangling at its edge; if I were fanciful, perhaps I'd wonder if they laugh to hear it mutter and complain and watch it stumble into wakefulness... and languidly it
swats with jeweled fingertips at merry
breezes; the rhythm settles and becomes
familiar, and I am at ease

All images: vnwallpapers