What is real? I don’t think it’s any secret.I search for the true.For too long, this truth I sought came from outside my body.I was trained to believe the experts.Those who study harder, know better and have the answers.They are above me — or so I believe.Blindly, I ingest their words as “what is real”. As a young mom, I sit in a doctor’s office. With trepidation, I admit I may be in a state of mild depression. The wise doctor looks at me and says, “No you don’t. I know depression and you don’t have it.” He babbles on….
A poem about the rhythm of solitude and community.
As people who love Jesus, who desire to live into Christ consciousness as best as we humanly can, there comes a call after Easter to live into the risen life. Each year, I wonder, what does the risen life actually look like? Really. What does it look like fleshed out? LIVED. I mean, let’s be honest, if there is a risen life to be lived, I want to be living THAT life, not some dreary, woe is me life. I started to think about waking up to the risen life, a zesty existence that urges me to be fully me….
This season of Lent, I am focusing on the monastic practice of seven daily pauses. Each week, I offer you a poem and piece of gradually changing art for each pause. Last week, we rested at the Hour of Wisdom (3pm). This week, we break at 6pm, the Twilight Hour. A wonderful book greatly aiding me through this series is Seven Sacred Pauses by Macrina Wiederkehr. You’ve touched ribbons of sunlight with your fingertips. Now, the shimmer of moonbeam awaits your presence. You’ve arrived, to the edge of the day, where the sun kisses the moon. The verge of rest…