Cold Moon: a meditation poem for the last night of November

 A Meditation for the Last night of November

Cold Moon

The 

full moon 

winks 

through heavy lidded 

skies tonight,

sailing wild

over the silvered 

bay,

cold and bright

in her 

wintry solitude.

Beneath 

her serene 

gaze

the year is 

long toothed

and

aching in its 

cold November 

bones,

now so ready 

to be

advent

wreathed

again

in warmth.

Huddled hearthward,

we lose 

ourselves

in longing

for that 

kindle quartered 

light

that in its 

time circling

joy

greens the heart 

again, 

makes children 

of us

all,

and promises 

the wild joy

of eternity's 

song

of ever new 

beginning,

bursting into

time,

and heard

by heart's 

expectant ear

in a baby's

first

cry.

#contemplation #mindfulness #mystical #meditation #franciscan #advent #ardsfriary #november #moon #forest #grace #peace #poem #catholic #mindfulness #mystical #grace #capuchin #winter #night #spirituality

First Sunday of Advent: Hope

 First Sunday of Advent:

The Candle of Hope has been lit.
A reminder that as Christians we are not a people of despair, or of darkness or of hand wringing worry and judgementalism over a weak and withered world.
We are a people of optimism, mercy, kindness and compassion who know that hope is renewed daily, that the light has overcome the dark and that history lies safe and secure in the hands of the One who is Love, who came as a Lamb and will return as a Lion...

Blessings +

Advent Vespers

 The Holy Season of Advent begins at sundown with the lighting of the first candle of the Advent wreaths and the Office of Vespers this evening...an old meditation poem for this evergreen moment of turning towards the light in the midst of darkness follows...

Advent Vespers

At the thinnest time 

of the year,

when

the worlds whisper 

to each other 

across the cosmos,

and tell their ancient tales

while the darkness draws in,

we draw the cloak of comfort

close against the cold.

And,

at our vesper vigiling,

a spark is struck 

then

enfolded 

in the ever-green,

that circle of 

hoped for Spring,

sprinkled

with blood-berried scarlet,

of wounds wilding, 

and see

once again

time's yearning path

retold 

in leaves,

the slow greening

of patriarch's prayer 

and prophet's longing.

So we wreathe ourselves 

in hope,

again,

as 

a wavering flame 

proclaims 

faith's abiding presence 

beyond 

dark's doubting 

and 

invokes the coming 

of the One who 

is always present;

knowing that 

as flame will beget flame

until

the candled constellation 

is complete,

and our caroled voices 

rise 

to join the sister stars 

in their long remembering 

of that ancient night 

when,

once, 

they 

stilled their dance 

awhile,

and,

awestruck,

watched

the silent Word 

appear,

whose light,

now hidden 

beneath

Mary's mantle

and

settled on straw,

first

kindled their flame 

and 

set the measure 

of their orbit's pace.

But,

in this moment's breathing 

we 

simply stand 

and psalm our way 

to Advent's

gates of longing,

and there,

with open hands

and heart's made poor again,

we are gentled 

by a single flame's

appearing,

and watch 

soul's inward sky

for Grace's 

first falling 

flake,

as children

look up

and long 

for 

snow.