Dream-Boat (1/15/13)

You made a boat with your hands

And I placed all my treasures on outstretched palms.

 

The dream-boat floated out to sea with them

And I: not knowing

When the dream-boat would return with them.

And still I wait with palm-shaded eyes and an open hand

And I hope and I know and I dream for now

Of the dream-boat drifting back somehow.

 

And that you:

With arms outspread

With treasures renewed

Will come back to me:

 

Will not let me down.

MiTunes 16

Jesus Christ the Apple Tree

The tree of life my soul hath seen
Laden with fruit and always green
The tree of life my soul hath seen
Laden with fruit and always green
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the apple tree.

His beauty doth all things excel
By faith I know but ne'er can tell
His beauty doth all things excel
By faith I know but ne'er can tell
The glory which I now can see
In Jesus Christ the apple tree.

For happiness I long have sought
And pleasure dearly I have bought
For happiness I long have sought
And pleasure dearly I have bought
I missed of all but now I see
'Tis found in Christ the apple tree.

I'm weary with my former toil
Here I will sit and rest a while
I'm weary with my former toil
Here I will sit and rest a while
Under the shadow I will be
Of Jesus Christ the apple tree.

This fruit does make my soul to thrive
It keeps my dying faith alive
This fruit does make my soul to thrive
It keeps my dying faith alive
Which makes my soul in haste to be
With Jesus Christ the apple tree.

Scruple the Fifth

The Window

What a gift it would be to be a window.

  To allow both the letting in and the keeping out.

The two-way looking glass by which the world sees in and one sees out.

The panes through which sunlight pours in and candlelight peeks out.

 

 The glass upon which flakes and fingers make prints that mingle in the silent exchange: what it is to be a thing and to make a mark in the first place.

The window stands sentry for these moments: seeing things as they are and what they might be.

What a gift it would be to be a window.

Pre-Weekend Pampering

1 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 tablespoon honey

Combine oil, extract, and honey.  Add brown sugar.  Rinse with hot water in the shower.  Turn off the water and rub in scrub.  Rinse off.

Don’t mind if I do!

Cinemoment - LOTR

Apparently I’m a woman of many Blog post strings:  Scruples, MiTunes, and introducing - the Cinemoment.  It’s probably evident by the name that these posts are snapshots from my favorite films.  And that said, I suppose it’s only proper to inaugurate the Cinemoment string with a scene from the most captivating epic (book) and movie trilogy ever made: The Lord of the Rings.

Enjoy.

And, because it’s Friday, here’s an added bonus.  Fast-forward to 4:40.

Gabriel's Hymn: A postcard's narrative (12/4/11)

I prophesy

From the dusty wilderness of
The corkboard square she pinned me to:
Next to and off the map
Which tracks
In white string and orange tacks
The route
A yellow star paperclip
Settling above
Each port
Announcing his arrival.

I: the harbinger from Cape Town.

It was like Advent,
Sitting in her tiny campus mailbox,
Waiting for the seraphic chorus
Of key's teeth chattering into keyhole.

I could’ve glowed
In her smooth hands:
Nail-bitten more than usual
For reasons obvious and unknown.

How blessed to be a herald of the
Good News!,
Gabriel’s hymn:

“Everything is beautiful here:
You’d fit right in.”

MiTunes 15

MiTunes 14

Tempted and tried, I wondered why
The good man died, the bad man thrives
And Jesus cries because he loves em’ both
We’re all cast-aways in need of ropes
Hangin’ on by the last threads of our hope
In a house of mirrors full of smoke
Confusing illusions I’ve seen

Where did I go wrong, I sang along
To every chorus of the song
That the devil wrote like a piper at the gates
Leading mice and men down to their fates
But some will courageously escape
The seductive voice with a heart of faith
While walkin’ that line back home

So much more to life than we’ve been told
It’s full of beauty that will unfold
And shine like you struck gold my wayward son
That deadweight burden weighs a ton
Go down into the river and let it run
And wash away all the things you’ve done
Forgiveness alright

A Sojourner's Song

.....For the Traveler.....

Every time you leave home,
Another road takes you
Into a world you were never in.

New strangers on other paths await.
New places that have never seen you
Will startle a little at your entry.
Old places that know you well
Will pretend nothing
Changed since your last visit.

When you travel, you find yourself
Alone in a different way,
More attentive now
To the self you bring along,
Your more subtle eye watching
You abroad; and how what meets you
Touches that part of the heart
That lies low at home:

How you unexpectedly attune
To the timbre in some voice,
Opening in conversation
You want to take in
To where your longing
Has pressed hard enough
Inward, on some unsaid dark,
To create a crystal of insight
You could not have known
You needed
To illuminate
Your way.

When you travel,
A new silence
Goes with you,
And if you listen,
You will hear
What your heart would
Love to say.

A journey can become a sacred thing:
Make sure, before you go,
To take the time
To bless your going forth,
To free your heart of ballast
So that the compass of your soul
Might direct you toward
The territories of spirit
Where you will discover
More of your hidden life,
And the urgencies
That deserve to claim you.

May you travel in an awakened way,
Gathered wisely into your inner ground;
That you may not waste the invitations
Which wait along the way to transform you.

May you travel safely, arrive refreshed,
And live your time away to its fullest;
Return home more enriched, and free
To balance the gift of days which call you.

.....John O'Donohue.....

Renaissance Summer

This summer, I surrender to the last longings of my youth.  No “real job” for me: but I’ll be happy to babysit to my heart’s content.  Return to the days when my earnings were stuffed into a mason jar. No eight-hour shifts at the sandwich shop spent watching the sun shift absently across the sky. No shifts dutifully covered.  No carefully planned weekends requested off of work.

I give up the stable and quotidian existence just for one more summer to call my own.  A month on the mythical continent, at a captivating loss as to what I will find, or what will find me.  New adventures in aged books.  Sunrises on the road, sunsets pitched amongst the aspen trees.  Afternoons in the blustery balm on the reservoir.  Quiet nights watching old shows, indies, and lightning storms. 

These fragments, and many more: like the fin of a pinwheel, or a set of painted toes; the sound of a pigeon cooing in the morning, the still-cool breeze whisking through my open window.  I gift myself one summer to bask amongst the scruples; immeasurable, intense, and  invisible.

  And I call it a renaissance because I endeavor to immerge renewed.