Going to try and update this a little more often...
Poor blogs, they tend to be forgotten about by all and sundry... even their authors! For now though, here's a link to a nice little chat I had about all things mindful and meditative some weeks ago. It's only about 25 minutes long so shouldn't be too taxing on the muscles of attention.
Blessings to all those who still check this from time to time! Link is below
Somewhere a Light
There is
always light,
somewhere.
Darkness
is always
encompassed
by light.
After all,
you wouldn’t
even know
what darkness
was,
if light
did not
circumscribe
its ragged
edge.
Somewhere
now,
even in
the darkest
night,
fire burns,
light is
kindled,
candles
are lit,
and minds
and hearts
are illumined
by grace,
making lives
glitter,
like gilded letters
animating
the text
of everyday
life
in our
always
flickered passing
towards
the ever after
page
of peace.
September In-between
This is the season of in-between,
a sacred door into the dragonfly days
of sun blushed berries,
and fruits full upon the branch,
when autumnal fire crackles
slowly over leaves,
unleashing light along their veins
tempting them towards
the tension of windborn wonder.
These are the days of swallows and starlings
gathering as slow storm clouds
before their flocked flight warmwards,
screaming their farewells,
fountaining forwards,
free upon the foaming clouds.
These are the days of first noticing
the chill and the dark,
though not as winter yet,
only as remarked change upon our skin
walking from patches of conversation
into silent introspection,
feeling the old summons of schoolday beginnings,
the burgeoning pull-tide of term
we never truly escape from,
no matter the outer age,
that calls our shuffling feet towards
the first drifting leaves and
makes us count conkers upon the trees,
even if our pockets hold other treasures now.
These are the days of longing,
yearning for those sunsets and mornings
just now out of reach,
that teach us the deeper soul longing
for Love's eternal Summer,
yet we rejoice too
in the brittle sharp newness
of lowering sun and rising moon.
These are the days of hunting,
of homing, of harvesting;
of gratitude given before the gathering,
of berried blessing being
between us and all that is,
and though our gaze now looks
long towards winter
we join here, now,
in the days of autumnal grace,
the dance of in-between.
The Garden is Burning
Assumption Eve Medicine:
A little breathing space for a
Sunny morning…
The Art of Stopping
Do not be afraid
of stopping.
To pause
and draw breath
is
an ancient art
of wholeness
and holiness.
Too often
we travel
piecemeal.
Our minds,
hearts,
bodies,
souls,
taking
different routes,
different ways,
moving at
different paces...
Just because
I seem
to be here,
does not mean
I am here
at all.
I could be
in a million places,
feeling
a million feelings,
passing through
the present,
fleetingly,
on my way
into pasts
long gone
and futures
that
may never be
at all.
So practice
stopping.
Pause a while
along the way
and
catch up
on
yourself.
Let your
breath
draw in
the
sundered parts
of you,
welcoming them
home again,
without judgement
or reprimand.
With each
breath,
let them
shuffle into place,
like a child
in a school
crocodile,
shoving,
just a little,
until
every one
has enough
space.
Then,
whole again,
for a while,
smile,
and
take
one
more
step
towards
the only
destination
there is,
the One
who
IS
love.
(This lovely sleepy fox pic is thanks to Sharon Murphy)
Time to wake up... again… and again…
Now is always
the time
to wake up.
Do well and
you
will wake to
discover
that
deep down,
past the chaos,
past the sin,
past the pain,
past the wounds,
past the brokenness,
at the deepest part there
is,
at the very is-ness of it
all,
all is beautiful,
all is ok,
all is well,
for
all is held in being
by Love...
and then,
waking up to
this
marvellous and
terrible
reality,
you will find
to your
unfailing wonder
and
astonishment
that,
all is
transformed.
Chaos becomes peace,
sin is forgiven,
pain is relieved,
wounds are healed,
and the broken is
made whole again
in Divine Love's
embrace.
For there is
nothing and
no one
outside of that
holy
communion
of being
arising
moment by moment
from Love’s
breathing.
If we live from that
point,
from that
whole and holy place,
then,
truly,
in stillness,
we shall
know,
that all is well
and
all manner of things
are
well.
So,
wake up,
now.
Shadows?
An old one (from 2014) for the day that's in it:
A Franciscan litany for Corpus Christi :
The feast of the Body & Blood of the Lord.
Sacrament of the Poverty of God:
Make us poor from the giving of ourselves
Sacrament of the Emptiness of God:
Empty us of ourselves that we may be filled
Sacrament of the Littleness of God:
Make us know our smallness in joy
Sacrament of the Silence of God:
Invite us to dwell in your silence always
Sacrament of the goodness of God in creation:
Make us reverent before You in all your creatures.
Sacrament of the mercy of God:
Make us merciful to all and to ourselves
Sacrament of the invisible God:
Teach us to seek your presence always
Sacrament of the marriage feast:
Invite us into the embrace of infinite love
Sacrament of Remembrance:
Teach us to remember You always
Sacrament of the Humility of God:
Teach us the way of humility.
Sacrament of the Real Presence:
Teach us to be really present to our brothers and sisters in their need.
Mary our mother,
vestment of God,
and first tabernacle of the Most High,
teach us the way of silent love,
the deepest contemplation,
and the opening of the heart
as a dwelling place for God.
In gratitude for peaceful Summer evenings...
The Surfacing of Summer:
At last,
the tide of Summer
turns.
And the land,
like a great grey whale,
sudden surfacing
from the deep of
winter's waters
into sunshine's seas
feels the waves
of warmth,
white tipped with
tree blossom
foam,
call her
into blessed breaching
and joyous
jumping.
Singing her wild
whale song
of summer in every
form of
flower
she charms us
who chase
light,
and spouts
the fragrance
of the
Summer Kingdom into
hearts
that remember a
home
once lost
and longed for,
and now,
lilting
lovingly draws
lo,
in each
lauds
praising
of love's
eternal
conquest.
Basking in
blessedness,
she becomes the
Summer Isle,
on which we shivering
sailors
pitch up and
recover
rest,
while white birds
soar
above her in blue
and lift our souls
skywards
once
more
to the stillness
of stars
in a summer's
night sky,
offering their
divinely
ordered dance
above the
phosphorescent
flash
of mountaintop flukes,
tipped
with the golden
sheen
of last
light's touch
of love.
A meditation poem for today’s feast; Mary Mother of the Church, Our Lady of Pentecost
The Feast of Fire
They came creeping, nine days hence,
Cowed and craven, so lately elated
then lost once again,
The Shepherd passing beyond the seeing of the flock.
So they shelter now, each one arriving, drawn back to the familiar
To the place before it all went wrong,
To sanctuary, to cenacle, to supper room
Seeking a communion with Him who seems
Withdrawn beyond the clouds of grief
Checking the locks as each arrives,
Twelve enter and fast reseal the doors
Avoiding all eyes lest they remember and accuse
For even though absolved, the remembrance of their weakness
Burns them still and makes them afraid.
So each takes their shadowed place and falls
Exhausted into prayer as longing and lament,
For days seeming now lost, for nearness now only yearned for
As their fear and frantic flight comes at last to rest drawn divinely
To this place and more, gently pulled into the orbit
Of she who is the still centre of the room, of the world,
Of all that is made, and whose very presence is prayer,
Is participation in oneness, in mystery, in motherhood.
A green leaf on a long wintered tree, a veiled and hidden spark,
A dark lantern bright with flame hidden
From all as yet but on them luminous enough
To draw them mothlike home again and calm their cowardice
And grief with remembrance of a promise made,
Of an advocate, a counsellor, a witness, a teacher, a friend who follows.
So, resting in her graced gaze they sit
Until at last, empty of expectation, they touch the holy quiet
Where grief becomes grace and the doors of the soul
At last burst the bolts of pride to creak open and wait,
Watching as farmers and fisherfolk both gaze upon the sky
Knowing, feeling in their bones the first stirring of a change
Which comes this day at dawn’s first touch,
Beginning gentle as Elijah’s breeze,
Hardly noticed but for it’s waking in tired hearts
And souls the remembrance of gilded childhood memories,
Of first kisses, favourite foods and strains of soul songs heard
On the very edge of sleep,
So subtle that they feel only the change of air
Upon their skin; or is it simply
The first stirring of hope in hearts who ache for absence?
Now a rustling is heard, around, about, within
As, despite their shuttered darkness
The gloom appears to lift, and in a predawn glow
They see each others faces for the first time again
Then a wind begins to catch and lift the settled sad dust of days
Bring with it the sudden bright blessing of recall of Him
Who called them once, and calls again and will ever call,
Until they answer as apostles and know in Him their life and love anew.
And looking up they see now sparks, begin to fall as light as feathers from the breast Of some gentle bird who hovers over the chaotic waters
Of their tears and restores to order their broken hearts
Now split and open, raw and ready to receive the revelation.
Roaring then the Spirit comes, the crimson dove become a phoenix
In pyre pinioned flighting gale,
Now a whirlwind, a hurricane, a breath of power,
Fiery and flaming descending from on high,
Surrounding and filling each and all, consuming conflagration,
remaking and renewing they become a burning bush of revelation,
A flaming brand, a gospelled sword, their once frightened hearts
And tongues of twelve now forged anew in fire
And in their midst the One who is the holy mountain
Shines Sinai like and is revealed herself
As Queen and Spouse of Glory, crowned with living fire,
The Ark of God made manifest unveiled.
Full of flame they erupt out onto the waking street their fiery eyes and hearts
Sparking understanding in all who hear, for fire knows no boundaries,
Needs no dialects but speaks the spirit word from burning heart to heart reversing babel’s curse and shines now brightly
Upon this birthday, burnday, blessed new beginning day,
When humankind beheld the fiery glory of their God at last
Not upon a distant mountain but now and evermore within the heart, the breath, the flame tipped tongue where the burning Dove now dwells and for those who will surrender all remakes them too to become,
Always, fire.
All Ascends
Even the wounds went with Him,
windwards, ever up.
Points of pain, now portals,
doorways divine, our worst wedded
to grace in glory,
Like makers marks upon glittered gold,
He bears them now as blessing,
before the astonishment of angels
the amazement of apostles;
our brokenness that beat
iron into ire before God’s grace,
pricked and pierced,
hammered heavily into soft humanity
so to brand the bearer
as slave, as sinner, as sin,
a punishment for preaching peace.
But with breath and beating heart
He arose again,
transfigured and transforming all,
a resurrection, yes rightly, but in Him
all rises, all shines, shimmers, shakes
free of first failure, and at last
faithwards flys!
Upwards ever upwards
He brings all home,
carrying the crossmarks as
five fiery flames,
as proof of pain,
but more so love,
now lamps to light our way
for world’s wilding,
heaven’s homing,
and all humanity
at last restored in
resurrection’s resting.
For He by dulled dark nail and
silver sharpened spear
our remaking redeemed,
who now ascends to stand again
in bright blessedness before
the One who walked with us
in Eden’s even light
and all called us in
as Adam and as Eve,
now newly seen,
as from our long limbo
we are loosed by love
and set at last anew upon
the throne of grace,
for through Him death has died,
in Him right has risen,
and with Him
all ascends.
.
A meditation poem for the vigil of the Ascension, celebrated in Ireland on the 6th Sunday of Easter.
Beginning; Always Beginning.
O God of beginnings
help me to begin.
To shrug off the burdens of before.
To leave aside the anxieties of after.
To release the chains of regret.
To simply begin.
Here.
Now.
In this moment.
With you.
O God of beginnings
help me to begin.
To gift you my brokenness.
To yield to you even my failures
of a moment ago.
To know that our life is built with you
moment by moment,
step by often faltering step,
as you draw us daily deeper into
the fires of love and there transform us.
O God of beginnings
help me to begin.
To begin to love.
To begin to live.
To hear your unbinding call.
To walk out into the light
of the true life you offer
beyond the tomb of time.
O God of beginnings
help me to begin.
To shrug off the burdens of before.
To leave aside the anxieties of after.
To release the chains of regret.
To simply begin.
Here.
Now.
In this moment,
and in every moment after.
Until all our little moments fall away
and we are called into the ending
that is really the eternal
beginning.
Holy Wonder
If you would
be holy;
begin
with wonder.
Go to
the edge
places,
where sky
and sea
meet,
kiss,
and yield
to
each other
their
horizon's touch
in shades
of blue
and green
and grey;
gifting you
with grace
to be lost in
awe;
loose at last
from
all your
wandering
thoughts.
If you would
be holy;
begin
with wonder.
Go to
the wild
places;
the untamed
lands,
where eden's
song
echoes still
between the rocks,
behind the trees,
beneath the waves,
in the sighing
of
the breeze;
there, hear again
the song of
longing
in your own
heart,
your part
in
creation's chorus,
as loud as
thunder,
as soft as snow
falling
on snow.
If you would
be holy;
begin
with wonder.
Go to
the slow
places
where
darkness
becomes
light
as day
emerges
from
dawn,
and dusk
from
day.
Sit with
the
gentle
shifting
of the
light,
see the
stability
of its
circadian
dance.
Watch
moonrises
and
sunsets,
set your
soul
aflame again
with
star fire,
entering deeply
into the
rainbowed
covenant
of dawn.
If you would
be holy;
begin
with wonder.
Go to
the ancient
places,
and there,
rest
in the
inner knowing
of your
youth;
however
old
you call
yourself,
tree
and stone
and sky
long lived
before you
and
will live long
after
you leave.
If you would
be holy;
begin
with wonder.
Go to
the inner
places
of your own
being;
bow down
before the
flame of
presence
dwelling
divinely
in your
soul.
Come
to the
knowing
of
your true name
within
the Name;
with each
breath
be breathed
into the
fullness
of
being
in awe,
in delight,
in the
graced
gratitude
of love.
If you would
be holy,
always
begin
with
wonder.
Saturday thoughts for May:
Rosary
Each
day
dawns;
a
bead
strung
upon
the cord
of
life.
Heart holding
safe
within
it
a gift of
joy
or
sorrow,
glory
or
illumination,
but always,
love;
as my
little mystery
loses
self in her
greater
mystery
of
love's
libation
poured out
purely
in
prayer.
Her yes
inviting
always
a
deeper
circling
of
the
chaplet
of our
days
until life
and
Divine Life
become
one
again;
then
mothered
into
meaning,
wombed
into
wonder,
birthed
into
being
finally,
in faith's
long
fruition,
from our
thorny
heart
a rose
blooms.
(Artist unknown)
The Path of Pebbles
At dawn
each day
begin
again
by
lifting
the pebble
of the
moment.
Hold it
with the
full awareness
of your
senses.
Warm it
with
your breath,
as you smooth
its surface
with
compassion's
touch.
Then,
as dusk
descends,
place it
gently
on the
cairn of
experience.
Let it
settle
there
until,
silently,
the
deep
rich
moss
of Wisdom
grows,
and
Divine Love
enters,
building anew
the
temple
of your
being.
The Month of May is dedicated to Our Lady and brings with it a plenitude of heavenly riches indeed!
Our Mother is the one who in her own person brings in the One who is the Light of the World and, with Joseph as his earthly guardian, guides Him to readiness for His Mission.
In and through Mary we receive every gift: for while the Church, and the Sacraments come to us from Christ, Christ comes to us through Mary.
Christ, the Eternal Word is spoken into our world by Mary's word: it is through her "fiat!", her "Yes!" that we have communion with Christ.
Salve Regina Angelorum!
Today traditionally people greeted the May sunrise and gave thanks for the first fruits and flowers of Summer by dressing the Holy Wells and the wayside shrines to Mary. In the home the May Altar was erected and fresh flowers placed there throughout the month. Consecration of homes, families and individuals to Mary’s protection took place and May processions and crownings of Our Lady’s Icons and statues were celebrated...
So however you celebrate these days may our holy Mother be with you and yours!
The poem May Magnificat by the mystic and poet Gerald Manly Hopkins puts it so beautifully;
The May Magnificat
MAY is Mary’s month, and I
Muse at that and wonder why:
Her feasts follow reason,
Dated due to season—
Candlemas, Lady Day;
But the Lady Month, May,
Why fasten that upon her,
With a feasting in her honour?
Is it only its being brighter
Than the most are must delight her?
Is it opportunest
And flowers finds soonest?
Ask of her, the mighty mother:
Her reply puts this other
Question: What is Spring?—
Growth in every thing—
Flesh and fleece, fur and feather,
Grass and greenworld all together;
Star-eyed strawberry-breasted
Throstle above her nested
Cluster of bugle blue eggs thin
Forms and warms the life within;
And bird and blossom swell
In sod or sheath or shell.
All things rising, all things sizing
Mary sees, sympathising
With that world of good,
Nature’s motherhood.
Their magnifying of each its kind
With delight calls to mind
How she did in her stored
Magnify the Lord.
Well but there was more than this:
Spring’s universal bliss
Much, had much to say
To offering Mary May.
When drop-of-blood-and-foam-dapple
Bloom lights the orchard-apple
And thicket and thorp are merry
With silver-surfèd cherry
And azuring-over greybell makes
Wood banks and brakes wash wet like lakes
And magic cuckoocall
Caps, clears, and clinches all—
This ecstasy all through mothering earth
Tells Mary her mirth till Christ’s birth
To remember and exultation
In God who was her salvation.
Gerald Manley Hopkins sj
Cocoon
Do not expect cocooning
To be easy.
It is not a time of rest
But of rebirth.
They used to think
That the Caterpillar
Merely slept there,
Awaiting the wonder of wings.
This is not true.
To cocoon means
The breaking down of self,
Of letting go of all
that may be considered
Caterpillar.
Yielding to the chrysalis call.
Dropping all that is old identity,
All that is desire,
All that is hungry,
All that is eating, eating, eating,
Endlessly.
When the moment comes, called
To go to the cool dark underleaf, underlog place,
To spin the silk of silent self,
The Caterpillar dissolves,
Touches the point of nothingness
Of being;
Become now
Neither Caterpillar
Nor Butterfly
Become simply, potential,
Until new form is found,
Until the selfmade tomb is too tight
And Butterfly is birthed,
bursting blessing, beauty.
A journey through stillness
into freedom,
Into flight,
No one who knew the Caterpillar
Would know it in the Butterfly,
No one who knows the Butterfly
Would see in it
Even the memory
Of Caterpillar,
Yet within there is
A continuity of being
A new recipe out of old ingredients
A life remade, a seed flowered, a potency fulfilled,
There is pain in this
I am sure.
How could there not be?
There is always pain
In surrender,
In transformation,
In new life, new birth
Death before resurrection,
Letting go, before letting be
This is the divine order of things
This is why there hides
Even here, even now,
In all your old Caterpillar desiring,
In the hunger at the core of your being,
The promise of Butterfly
If you would but surrender
To the call
Of the cocoon.
If you would know,
even for a day,
The wonder of wings
The freedom of flight.
8th May 2020
Pic without attribution on the web
Suggestions:
Look at the sky; to do so draws you up and out of your thoughts.
Look at the ocean; in its flowing tides, its calms and its storms it will give you a sense of perspective.
Look at the trees; they will reach you both rootedness and the ability to let go.
Look up from the ground and meet the world with compassion.
Look at each person you meet as a teacher sent with an important lesson for you.
Live seasonally; enter fully the joy and the beauty of each one as it arises and then do not cling to them as they bid you farewell.
There is nothing you can do about the passing of time except to learn from the past and then live in the present.
Experiences without reflection are just events.
Experiences with reflection become wisdom.
Know the difference between the tears that purify and the tears that do not.
Never hold back the former.
Touch, taste, smell, listen deeply to all that is, remember, if it exists it has meaning even if it does not reveal it to you.
Living plants are better than cut flowers but always try and have a little of nature near you.
Listen for the birds, greet the dogs and cats and all creatures you meet along the way as fellow citizens of the one earth as brothers and sisters in being.
Live so as to cause as little harm to other beings as is possible.
Advocate for the weak and the downtrodden,
make space for those who have been silenced by life to speak and then listen.
Plant seeds.
Grow a garden, and, if possible eat from it, it will teach you your dependence on the earth for bodily sustenance.
Sing, hum, whistle; let music be part of you especially the music that arises unbidden and seems to come from deep within.
Spend time with the very young and the very old, both will help you be yourself again.
Share.
Speak less. Listen more.
Pause before you post anything online. Ask will it bring more compassion to the world?
Learn the names of things:
not just Tree; but Beech, Oak, Ash.
Not just Bird; but Robin, Jackdaw, Wren.
Be polite and thankful towards those who have the job of serving you; waiting staff, shop assistants, cleaners etc and remember that everyone you meet has a story at least as complicated as yours.
Bend, stretch, move, dance; do not become confined in or separated from your body,
honour it with respect and kindness.
Tell it you love it until you do.
Rest.
Draw, paint, doodle, play with colour and shapes and as you do so watch what emerges.
Do not characterise it as good or bad.
Compare yourself with no one.
There is no universal map for a human life, but there is a universal destiny; to become love.
Remember the greatest potential for good or ill exists just as much within you as it does in others
Watch the dawn and the dusk often, both are great teachers in their own way.
Seek truth always.
Be open to the fact that you could always be wrong.
Apologise.
Be polite.
Smile when you feel you are able to,
but be honest about how you feel.
Teach yourself the value of unstimulated solitude.
The fear of being alone can lead to poor choices at any age.
Treasure solitude and treasure connection. The balance you will need between them is unique to you.
Let your eyes rest on books more than screens.
Read the older stories.
If they are still with us it is because they have much to teach us.
Laugh, as much as possible, as often as possible.
Do not make the mistake of surrounding yourself with sad media when you feel sad.
If you can’t take being happy at that moment at least choose that which brings equilibrium.
The most difficult mystical teaching of all is this: forgive everyone for everything and remember that Love is an act of will, not an emotional reaction.
Learn to sit still, to breathe consciously and to watch your thoughts and feelings as they come and go. They are not you.
Pray, meditate and do so as much in silence as with words.
Honour your ancestors.
No matter their story they have something to teach you about how to be, or how not to be.
Realise the vast majority are doing the best that they can with the knowledge that they have in that moment.
Be.
Finally;
before all else and above all else;
act justly,
love tenderly
and walk humbly with your God.
