Shadows: a reflection

                     Shadows?

You

say you

feel

your life

is

simply

a

shadow

cast upon 

the

wall of

time,

without meaning

or purpose,

a

random occurrence

without form,

just

function?

But ask yourself

are you seeing 

truly?

So,

look deeper brother,

look deeper sister,

what is a 

shadow 

but

a revelation

of where the 

light

is 

already 

resting?

Your body,

stardust,

forged in the heart

of a 

fire aeons

old.

Not one 

atom of 

your existence

lives 

now

that did 

not also

then

see

the vast 

distances 

of space,

did not

fall through

the long generations 

of

ancestors,

or pass 

through 

many shapes,

on its journey

to bestow 

the form

your senses

perceive as

solid,

a form 

called 

to dwell 

and 

dance 

with 

Divine breath 

in its 

making of 

your marvel 

and your

shadow

until its covenant,

dissolved by

death,

liberates 

love.

Look deeper brother.

Look deeper sister.

You see 

out of infinite 

possibility

you exist.

You.

Here.

Now.

For now 

would be

incomplete 

without

you;

your reason for 

being

passing beyond 

all causes

to the One 

who 

intended 

you

and made you

necessary,

whose love 

attends 

your being,

moment 

by 

moment,

in-breathing love

lest you fall 

away 

into

nothingness.

No 

shadow 

you,

but a 

place 

of 

graced luminosity

so bright

that dazzled by 

your own 

form

your inner eye 

sees, 

for now, 

only 

darkness

describing

a point

of light 

so bright

that Divine Love

dims vision

until 

you are 

ready

to turn

from 

shaped shadows

and face

fully

the brightness

of 

your own

blessed

being.

Moon Memories

 For Sister Moon who rose so beautiful and full last night...

Moon Memories:

Once,

the Moon followed 

me home,

I know, 

because I watched her 

out the back window of the car.

Occasionally slipping 

behind trees or buildings

like a secret agent,

she kept up with us

effortlessly, 

as I strained against

the straps of my seat

to meet her gaze.

I felt her interest

and her smile,

happy to have made

a new friend.

Once, 

not afraid of the night,

but of the day 

that would follow,

I was invited 

by my Mother

to gaze on the Moon

outside our house,

and greet her as

Our Lady’s lamp

protecting all,

guiding all home,

wisdom

passed down

from her Father,

whom I had never met,

but always felt 

I knew.

He loved the Moon too,

she said.

There is hereditary

of the heart,

as well as of the blood,

it seems.

To this day

I miss her calls

that would begin always 

with

Have you seen the Moon

tonight?

For I cannot look up

at the Moon

without looking

within

too.

Once,

I spent the night

in a wood made pure

silver 

by her presence,

and felt the life in every thing

stir and sing

and dance

in a wild celebration

that is hidden from

the day.

I sat stone still

and watched 

Foxes play

about me

and a Badger

pass by like an ancient sage

busy on his own quest,

and I believed 

in magic again 

by her light.

Once,

I remember her

daytime ghost

appearing during the 

long drawn out days

of dry schooling,

and seeing her

still serenity

so far above

the awfulness

of that age

made me breathe out

a breath 

I did not even know

I had been holding

on to for years.

She felt like a friend

checking in.

We greeted each other 

then,

as we do to this day,

each noticing the other

in the blessed acceptance

of being.

Once,

Sick and fevered I rose

gasping in the middle 

of a winter’s night

and pulled back the curtain

to find her shining

over snow so newly fallen

that not a flake 

had been disturbed,

but glowed in her gaze 

cascading in curves

over a street I knew 

but saw again

for the first time,

now softened 

by snowlight’s reflection

of her blessed touch. 

I looked and looked

at this gracious gift

of enchantment’s echo

until I felt I was being 

looked at in turn

and blessed too.

In the morning,

I woke,

well.

Once,

I walked the pier

between my parents

on the night before

I left to follow

the path.

We watched her rise 

together,

in silence 

and listened to a mandolin

playing in the distance.

We did not have to speak,

the Moon sang for us,

soul songs only we could hear.

Always remember this night,

they said later.

As if I could 

do anything 

else?

Once,

Feeling bereft and lost

I caught sight of her

rising over a strange city

(Though I remember her, 

and the feelings, 

but not the city it was.)

and I did not feel lost 

anymore

How could you be lost

when you are always

under her graced gaze?.

How could you be alone

when everyone you know

and love is beneath her blessing

too?

I asked myself.

Once, 

I saw her,

loom so large

as to almost 

be alarming,

bedecked in harvest

gold and heavy seeming,

she lit the land beneath

so beautifully 

that the cattle on the hills

cried out to her, 

and the birds began their chorus

for a dawn 

that was yet hours away.

I danced in her light 

that night,

beneath the trees,

a slow sandaled

shuffle of monkish sort,

and bowed deeply 

as she passed.

How could you not?

When all around 

and within

was 

psalming

celebration

of her compline

completeness.

Once,

I watched her rise 

sickle sharp

over Assisi.

As though making manifest

the unseen divine smile

hanging in the air

over this holy place

where joy was married

to peace in the song

of brother-sisterhood.

I smiled back and felt

the saint smile too

behind it all

and wondered what

his long silent nights

of prayer

must have been like,

measured only by her dance 

across the sky

slowly revealing her face

to him,

as grace comes gently 

to fill us

only as we empty,

and so seem

to disappear 

into divine darkness

just like 

her.

The Path of Pebbles

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.

Beach Breakfast; a meditation poem for Easter Friday

 Meditation poem for Easter Friday:

Beach Breakfast.

This morning,

at the 

turning 

of the 

tide of night

into the 

blue 

of the

new 

day,

we sat with 

God.

Not doing 

anything.

Not saying 

anything.

Just sitting

on the beach

of being,

while all around 

us

darkness dissolved

into dawn,

and the 

waking birds 

sang

their psalms

of daily

astonishment

at the gift

of 

beginning,

again.

Then,

we ate and drank

God

for 

breakfast.

For what 

else 

would you 

call

the first meal 

of 

the day?

Breakfast

or

Eucharist;

whatever you 

call it,

it happened,

happens,

will happen,

every 

morning.

We gather.

We sit.

We offer.

We receive,

and we are 

received.

We consume

and,

slowly,

over a lifetime 

of 

mornings,

we are

consumed,

until only

God

is seen,

and we see

only

God.

For

we become

what

we eat.

Don't we?

Then,

after breakfast,

we tumble

into the day

touching

both 

its order

and 

its chaos

and

knowing both 

as gift,

as blessing,

as beloved,

as grace.

Beholding 

above the 

head of each

and all

we meet,

a flame,

a spark,

of burning bush

beauty,

perhaps forgotten,

or even

unnoticed,

by inner eyes

long used to

downcast

distraction.

So we,

food fueled

and breakfast

blessed,

will

touch

a passing 

shoulder,

or elbow

and 

in the moment 

of their startled

stillness,

smile at their

old young

heart

waking to its

reflected

beauty

as we offer 

His 

ancient

invitation

to the beach

of being:

"Come 

and have 

breakfast."

(Written 2019)

Breathing Easter;

Breathing Easter 

There 

is a 

moment

of perfect

stillness

between 

the 

in-breath

and the 

out-breath;

small,

silent,

vulnerable,

and so often

missed;

but, 

when we 

attend,

always 

infinite 

in 

depth.

It dwells

where

the now,

radiant and

eternal,

is touched

as transformation,

as grace;

for there

the

Risen One

is revealed

in the 

burning

bush 

of our breath,

of our being.

Just

as a garden,

emerging

frost tipped

from night's

entombment,

knows 

the delight

of dawn's 

first touch

and yields 

to the 

daily

moment

of resurrection

with the

inhalation

of light,

with the 

exhalation

of

birdsong.

Pic of Easter Sunday Dawn at Ards Friary 2019

Meditation for Friday of the Fifth Week of Lent

 Meditation for the Fifth Friday of Lent:

Why the Cross?

Why of all the possible modes of execution was the Cross chosen?

The ancient fathers of the Church list a number of reasons. Here are a few of them:

Crucifixion was reserved for the worst criminals and was considered the worst punishment... In absolute humiity Christ takes on the worst of what Humanity can offer so as to raise us up to the best...

Sin and death entered the world through what hung from a tree... so it was conquered and banished by He who hung from the tree of the Cross.

Christ is nailed between heaven and earth. His arms open wide in the embrace of inifinite Divine Love. He restores the ancient communion between heaven and earth forever in His own death.

The Vertical axis of the Cross represents the Eternal Now of God piercing for ever the horizontal axis of time, thus in the incarnation of Christ and through His passion and death, we have access to the eternal loving NOW of God forever... 

At the centre of this piercing we have the pierced heart of Christ from which flows the streams of Sacramental Grace that we call the Church...

This is the Atonement, literally the "At-One-Ment", that Christ accomplished through His death on the Cross...the rebalancing and healing of the ancient wound of sin that separated Humanity from God and threw the whole cosmos out of balance...now healed by Christ through the Cross it becomes our way home again. As St. Augustine says, "He descended so that we could ascend with Him."

Wherever you are today pause a moment and simply consider the Cross.

Pax +

Peace on St. Patrick’s Day

 Tomorrow we will celebrate the Feast of St. Patrick, apostle of Ireland and thaumaturge (wonder worker) 

The pic above is view of the beautiful statue of St. Patrick breathing over the Holy Well of Ballintubber to consecrate the waters of Ireland for baptism and healing. Traditionally the Holy Well here was used by St. Patrick to baptise and has been venerated ever since with the Abbey growing up around it. (You can see a reflection of the Abbey in the water if you look closely). Insufflation, the practice of consecrating or blessing with the breath, is one of the oldest gestures of blessing and directly echoes the in-breathing of the Holy Spirit at creation and the gifting of the Spirit by Jesus when He breathed over the Apostles and at the moment of Pentecost. It is also a reminder that our breath is one of the clearest connections to the Divine as it anchors us in the experience of life in the Now, in the present moment, where we touch the Divine Presence. "His breath vibrates in yours. It is the breath of God that you breathe and you are unaware of it." said St. Theophilus of Antioch. Touch your breath with deep awareness today... come home to it and know it as a connection to Divine Peace and your breath will become prayer, will become blessing, and then we may breathe peace to all we meet on this special feast and every day+

The Softening of Spring

The Softening of Spring a meditation poem:

The Softening

There will be cold nights still,

and frosty mornings, a few at least.

For another few weeks I 

will still need to put the lamp on 

to read in the early morning 

after meditation,

but now when I open the window, 

though it is still dark 

the birds are singing 

in that quiet reassuring relearning 

the words once again kind of way.

The evenings too are taking a little longer before shuffling off stage out of winter night’s sparkle starry way. 

But, I felt the softening some weeks ago now, that deep moment of knowing, 

just knowing in the blood, in the bones 

that Spring has come. 

It is not marked on any calendar, 

receives no celebration, no parade, 

and yet it always arrives.

Arrives in its own way, at its own speed, regardless of the weather 

or the arguments over whether Spring begins on this date or that date. 

It knows no dates, owns only divine call.

It is a breath of life, a subtle change upon the breeze exhaled by the earth as she wakes, stirs, stretches.

It comes perfumed in subtle notes of fox musk and the honeyed tones of hyacinths and daffodils.

It is the colour of new green tips reflected in the golden lights of sharp sun, the deep wisdom of the old frog’s eye squat settled in love’s spawning in the weedy ditches.

It sets the world to loving, to nesting, to feeding, to flying home.

But for me, for me it is a softening of the heart, 

a dropping of the shoulders, 

a breath exhaled, a promise fulfilled, 

a remembrance of sacred resurrection trust, an ancient oath remade that tells

no dark, no night, no winter cold lasts forever and Spring comes always,

and when it will, 

So, yes;

I shall wear my scarf a while more, 

and smile now at the touch of frost 

and pray my heart, old and wintered though at times it may be shall ever soften too 

and breathe the grace of Spring.

Ordinary Miracles

 Ordinary Miracles.

Today I am so tired

I have no space in me for big.

So I must return 

to the small ordinary miracles;

to the way the cup 

and the bowl 

laid upon this table, 

once earth themselves, now,

after fire's touch

are something else 

entirely,

and give themselves 

freely,

and with the 

simple symmetry 

of their curved line

to the holding 

of emptiness 

or fullness.

Or I will drink tea, 

and follow it's warmth 

and healing touch 

within and without,

and mingle my breath 

with its vapour and 

touch the journey 

of its essence 

from far away lands 

to here, to now, to me.

Or spend time 

simply remembering

that between the covers 

of the books 

upon my shelves 

are held minds, lives, worlds, 

stories, wisdom 

that will all last longer 

than this little body of mine.

Or marvel 

at the striped stones 

upon the shore 

that tell deep time, 

layer by layer 

and recall wild days 

of disaster and dancing 

in their still sea vigil 

slowly loosing 

their grains and building 

beaches for children's hands 

to make sand castles with 

until the next tide 

sets them swimming again.

Or just knowing 

that already I have seen 

a seed become a tree 

become a log 

become a fire 

become dust 

and become soil 

for seed's planting.

Or watch the sky 

and know that the blue 

is still behind the clouds 

and the stars still shine 

even in the day.

Or simply sit 

with the slow rhythm 

of breath

knowing its biology 

as blessing, 

its divine anchoring 

as presence and prayer.

Today, I am so tired 

I have no space in me

for big questions, 

queries, feelings, 

problems, pains, 

plans, 

whether mine 

or others,

so I will just sit 

with the small ordinary 

miracles of being; 

breathing, watching, 

touching, tasting 

the now, 

and in the now 

knowing

the love 

from which all that is, 

is.

I will dwell there, 

today, 

in the wonder 

of it all,

in the wildness of 

the small 

ordinary miracles

of being.

(An older one today but its how I’m feeling and a good reminder to me to seek and find the extraordinary in the ordinary. May it be such an invitation to you too in these quarantined quiet days)

Ordinary Miracles

Ordinary Miracles.


Today I am so tired
I have no space in me for big.
I must return
to the small ordinary miracles;
to the way the cup and the bowl
laid upon this table,
once earth themselves,
now,
after fire's touch,
are something else
entirely,
and give themselves
freely
with the simple symmetry
of their curved line
to the holding of emptiness
or fullness.
Or I will drink tea,
and follow it's warmth and healing touch
within and without,
and mingle my breath
with its vapour and touch
the journey of its essence
from far away lands
to here, to now, to me.
Or spend time simply remembering
that between the covers
of the books upon my shelves
are held
minds, lives, worlds, stories, wisdom
that will all last longer
than this little body of mine.
Or marvel at the striped stones
upon the shore that tell deep time,
layer by layer and recall
wild days of disaster and dancing
in their still sea vigil,
slowly loosing their grains
and building beaches for
children's hands to make sand castles
with until the next tide sets them
swimming again.
Or just knowing that already
I have seen a seed
become a tree
become a log
become a fire
become dust
and
become soil for seed's planting.
Or watch the sky
and know that the blue is
still behind the clouds
and the stars still shine
even in the day.
Or simply sit
with the slow rhythm of breath
knowing its biology as blessing,
its divine anchoring
as presence and prayer.
Today, I am so tired
I have no space in me for big
questions, queries, feelings,
problems, pains, plans,
whether mine or others,
so I will just sit
with the small ordinary miracles of being;
breathing, watching, touching, tasting
the now,
and in the now knowing
the love from which all that is, is.
I will dwell there, today,
in the wonder of it all,
in the wildness of
the small ordinary miracles
of being.

An old one but after a weekend teaching I'm feeling this one today...
May it bless +

BR

Talk for the World Meeting of Families: The Family & Digital Technology: Making Space for Prayer

The Family and Digital Technology: Making Space for Prayer

Talk for the World Meeting of Families 2018: Brother Richard Hendrick

Some years ago I came across a concept which may serve to illustrate beautifully the changed circumstances our families find themselves in as they strive nowadays to be places of love, meaning, communion, prayer and faith. The concept I refer to is that of the “Transparent Home”.

Let me explain.

I am a child of Ireland of the 1970’s and 80’s…

However, in those far off distant days there were two primary arbitrators between me and the world. They were called Mum and Dad. If they didn’t like the behaviour I was engaged in, or the people I was hanging around with they would appear at the door and I would be told, “Richard! In!” and in I went… mumbling and grumbling along the way, but often somewhat relieved as well. Once in the house they continued to be the guardians of reality.

What do I mean by this?

Well, there was one TV in the Living Room. We gathered as a family to watch it. If something unsuitable appeared it was switched off or we were sent out of the room or up to bed. I always found my Father required a cup of tea just as things were really getting interesting on Dallas. There was no remote control. We were the remote control. There was one phone in the house, it was in the hall and later in the kitchen and if we were on it, it was amazing how often Mum would need to drift through the kitchen asking on her way, who it was we were speaking to? There were a few radios of course scattered around but that was it. Reading was actively encouraged and trips to the library and bookshops were common.

You see, the house was opaque to the world, and so it was, thankfully, a safe refuge from which to slowly venture into it, or to return to when things out there were overwhelming or even dangerous. We were gradually introduced to the outside world via Parents, Teachers, Clergy and Elders at a pace that was slow, allowed for self reflection and began locally before stretching out to the world at large.

Now what about today… 

Today, our homes, and indeed our families are transparent. You can call the young person in from the street but now the street, indeed the whole world comes in too via the ubiquitous smart phone, tablet and laptop. The Young Person exists in an always on, always available network of media that demands the same level of availability from them. It allows no time for reflection and encourages the externalisation of self-esteem, which often invites the young person into the living of a reactive rather than a proactive/reflective life that leads in turn to heightened emotionalism and the need to always be on the crest of a wave, seeking the next high, the next “like”.

It is a way of life that is exhausting, anxiety inducing and doomed to futility as we seek the perfect life that others seem to be having out there somewhere. Not for nothing do all of the great spiritual traditions teach that “comparison is the thief of joy”. In this new model the arbitrators of reality are no longer the adults and elders that bestow a wider, deeper, wisdom based narrative based on love, faith, prayer and communion, but are instead the often anonymous forced of so called social media that as we have seen on both a national and international scale are open to manipulation from market forces and perhaps even more decidedly negative ones too.

So what can we do, we who gather here at the call of our Holy Father and the World Meeting of Families to help young people and families in the midst of these sudden and sometimes dangerous changes?

Well, we first need to admit where we are and be present to reality as it is. We cannot go back, nor would we want to. We are well aware that the bucolic force of nostalgia only serves to isolate us further from the world. God is in the Now and so we must be too. We must praise and promote the positive changes that have occurred! Greater social connectivity and the possibilities for evangelisation and outreach inherent in new forms of media must be strengthened and become a ripe field for the harvest of the Gospel. But skills so as to manage these new ways of being must be taught and I propose that like the Scribes of the Kingdom, who bring forth things both new and old, our own Christian Contemplative Tradition has wonderful tools that can assist the young person and the family in their navigation of this changed world. The practices of Stillness, Silence, Reflection, Meditative forms of prayer that are at the heart of our tradition must be taught and above all lived again in the home and in the heart of the family. 

Thankfully such programmes that teach these practices exist and are part of our Church life today. Groups such as the World Community of Christian Meditation, Contemplative Outreach and the Sanctuary Centre in Dublin all offer courses aimed at introducing these ancient skills in new ways to the people of today. We need to recognise the importance of these practices as life-saving, indeed soul-saving tools that will allow us to negotiate the transparent homes and lives we are all living today so that at our centre we are still enough to hear the quiet breeze of the Spirit inviting us into this world as sons and daughters of the Kingdom, so as to create in the digital desert spaces of today oases of the spirit where the real presence of God may be found by those lost in the often overloading storms of life, both real and virtual today.

To finish I’d like to offer you three simple practices that can revolutionise our way of interacting with each other online:

The first is what has become known as the “3P method”. The three P’s are Pause, Pray and only then Post! They offer us a way of being present online in a reflective rather than reactive way. Something catches us online and we immediately feel we need to comment, to make our opinion known, to teach the other a lesson! All of these responses may simply be our ego igniting and may not be spiritually healthy for us or to those we are responding to. So take the fingers off the keys, pause and breathe; pray for the grace of the Holy Spirit to be present in your words and then see if you need to post. It is amazing how often when one has practiced the first two P’s the need to carry through to Post disappears. The three P’s: Pause, Pray, and only then Post!

The second is all about our use of time and intention. How do you wake up? Most people, and especially most young people will tell you that the first thing they do when they awake is to reach for the phone. Barely awake they are catapaulted into the virtual world and all the bad news present there. They are taken away from the present moment and taken away from the presence of those who are with them, and even from the awareness of the presence of God. So practice 2 is a simple consecration of the first moments of the day to being present to God, to those you live with and to yourself. It is the ancient practice of the Morning Offering made new for today.

Try it! You’ll be amazed at the positive difference it makes to you and to others around you. As one old friar used to say its going from your first thought being, “Good God it’s morning!” to “Good morning God!”

The third practice and the final one I will leave you with today is the practice of the bells! All monastic traditions have used bells to mark the passing of the day and as a call to awareness, mindfulness and attentiveness to the Divine Presence. Well you have a device that summons you with multiple bells throughout the day always with you; your phone! Why not set and hourly, (or more), reminder to take a moment to breathe, pray and become present to the real world around you, to the needs of your brothers and sisters, to the beauty of creation, to God. No one else need know what’s going on… they’ll just think you’re very popular with all the texts you’re getting!

So there we are, three small, gentle practices that have deep roots in our own Contemplative Tradition that can really help us negotiate the opportunities and challenges of new technology and ways of communicating that we enjoy today so that we do not lose ourselves in the process. Our homes and even our monasteries may have transparent walls these days but with the wisdom of the ancient practices we can grow in reflective discernment and begin to truly choose just who and what we want to be transparent to.

Thank you for your attention today!

Some practical advice from our elder brothers on Meditation

Over the years of being taught the ways of meditative prayer by our brothers many of them have shared a word of advice or teaching along the way… a few of them are recorded below, may they help you in your practice as they have helped me over the years.

1.)    Be regular in your practice; so far as is possible practice at the same time and in the same place each day. You are a creature of habit. Let abiding in a state of prayer become habitual.

2.)    At the start meditate for twenty minutes, twice a day. If this is too much begin with ten minutes. Better ten with attention than twenty with struggle.

3.)    Begin with a formal gesture of invocation and intention.

4.)    Call on the heavenly helpers to assist you in your prayer. Your Guardian Angel, patron saints, holy ancestors and above all the Blessed Virgin want to assist you in your prayer, but they await your invitation.

5.)    End with a moment of thanksgiving.

6.)    Still yourself by noticing your senses and your breath. They are the gateways to the present moment.

7.)    Use a short phrase or word to anchor yourself in the moment of prayer. The “prayer word” both unites us to God and gives the conceptual brain something to attend to until the thoughts quieten.

8.)    The prayer word or phrase should be in a language other than the one you speak daily as this will prevent associative ideas from arising and getting in the way.

9.)    Attend to physical needs first, or you will just spend your time thinking about your needs.

10.)                        Do not eat just before meditation. Your body is limited in its energy, eating before hand draws necessary energy for the meditation to digestion instead.

11.)                        Sit relaxed but straight, let your breath be open and gentle without altering the rhythm in any way. As you become still it will slow and deepen by itself.

12.)                        Surrender all thoughts, images, sensations, concepts as they arise. Simply notice them but do not grasp them. Remain instead in simple attention attuned towards meeting the Divine Presence in this moment, in this breath.

13.)                        Do not force anything.

14.)                        Do not expect anything.

15.)                        Try and meditate early in the morning as the sun rises and in the evening as it sets. In this way you will be united with the natural rhythm of the cosmos and its Divine order.

16.)                        You are just sitting, to sit. You are not owed anything. Anything you receive is a grace. Your job is just to show up, attend and be open.

17.)                        The distractions are part of the process. With each return from the distraction your faculty of attention will become stronger and your ability to maintain a centred awareness of the Divine Presence will grow.

18.)                        Remember God is already present within you and around you. You are simply tuning into His presence.

19.)                        There is nothing you can do to make God more present. There is much you can do to become more present to God.

20.)                        Rest. You are loved. You are loved. You are loved.

21.)                        In the end this is not your work. You are being worked upon and within. You must simply turn up, abide past the distractions and attend to Love’s gaze.

22.)                        Just close your eyes and get out of God’s way.

Moon Memories

Moon Memories:

Once,

The moon followed

me home,

I know,

because I watched her

out the back window of the car.

Occasionally slipping

behind trees or buildings

like a secret agent,

she kept up with us

effortlessly,

as I strained against

the straps of my seat

to meet her gaze.

I felt her interest

and her smile,

happy to have made

a new friend.

Once,

not afraid of the night,

but of the day

that would follow,

I was invited

by my Mother

to gaze on the Moon

outside our house,

and greet her as

Our Lady’s lamp

protecting all,

guiding all home,

wisdom

passed down

from her Father,

whom I had never met,

but always felt

I knew.

He loved the Moon

she said.

There is hereditary

of the heart,

as well as of the blood,

it seems.

To this day

I miss her calls

that would begin always

with,

Have you seen the Moon

tonight?

For I cannot look up

at the Moon

without looking

within

too.

Once,

I spent the night

in a wood made pure

silver

by her presence,

and felt the life in every thing

stir and sing

and dance

in a wild celebration

that is hidden from

the day.

I sat stone still

and watched

Foxes play

about me

and a Badger

pass by like an ancient sage

busy on his own quest,

and I believed

in magic again

by her light.

Once,

I remember her

appearing during the

long drawn out days

of dry schooling,

and seeing her

still serenity

so far above

the awfulness

of that age

made me breathe out

a breath

I did not even know

I had been holding

on to for years.

She felt like a friend

checking in.

We greeted each other

then,

as we do to this day,

each noticing the other

in the blessed acceptance

of being.

Once,

Sick and fevered I rose

gasping in the middle

of a winter’s night

and pulled back the curtain

to find her shining

over snow so newly fallen

that not a flake

had been disturbed

but glowed in her gaze

cascading in curves

over a street I knew

but saw again

for the first time

now softened

by snowlight’s reflection

of her blessed touch.

I looked and looked

at this gracious gift

of enchantment’s echo

until I felt I was being

looked at in turn

and blessed too.

In the morning,

I woke

well.

Once,

I walked the pier

between my parents

on the night before

I left to follow

the path.

We watched her rise

together,

in silence

and listened to a mandolin

playing in the distance.

We did not have to speak,

the Moon sang for us,

soul songs only we could hear.

Always remember this night,

they said later.

As if I could

do anything

else?

Once,

Feeling bereft and lost

I caught sight of her

rising over a strange city

(Though I remember her,

and the feelings,

but not the city it was.)

and I did not feel lost

anymore

How could you be lost

when you are always

under her graced gaze?.

How could you be alone

when everyone you know

and love is beneath her blessing

too?

I asked myself.

Once,

I saw her,

loom so large

as to almost

be alarming,

bedecked in harvest

gold and heavy seeming,

she lit the land beneath

so beautifully

that the cattle on the hills

cried out to her,

and the birds began their chorus

for a dawn

that was yet hours away.

I danced in her light

that night,

beneath the trees,

a slow sandaled

shuffle of monkish sort,

and bowed deeply

as she passed.

How could you not?

When all around

and within

was

psalming

celebration

of her compline

completeness.

Once,

I watched her rise

sickle sharp

over Assisi.

As though making manifest

the unseen divine smile

hanging in the air

over this holy place

where joy was married

to peace in the song

of brother-sisterhood.

I smiled back and felt

the saint smile too

behind it all

and wondered what

his long silent nights

of prayer

must have been like

measured only by her dance

across the sky

slowly revealing her face

to him,

as grace comes gently

to fill us

only as we empty

and so seem

to disappear

into divine darkness

just like

her.

Candlemas Feb 2^nd 2018

Storm Fallen Cedar

Storm Fallen Cedar

It was the storm

that took her

at the last;

while we nestled

deeper in our beds,

unsleeping,

but grateful all the same

for the simple joy

of shelter.

In the smallest hours

Heaven opened

overhead

and poured upon us

an onslaught of

wild wind,

with rain so cold

it was almost snow

in its sharpness.

Just before the dawn

it peaked in power,

finally enough,

as it

whipped

like a scourge

against her long aged, grey,

elephantine skin

and, though her sisters

held their vigil nearby,

she gently gave way,

and fell,

prostrate upon the earth

from which she came,

embraced by the sacred soil

of our little

graveyard.

Was she tired

of her long watch upon the hill?

Holding her gaze

over the forest, the family

and now the friars,

for three hundred

of our human years

(Whatever kind of reckoning

Trees make of time

I do not know,

and they do not tell

in our tongue at least.)

So much had passed

beneath her branches

famines, feasts, families

and finally, friars, all played

their part

measuring her time,

each in their own way.

That morning,

emerging into light,

we heard the news

in shock;

the ripple of her passing

echoing

in awe and prayer both,

a sadness felt in brother, bird, and beast

for those still enough to hear.

Today,

I made my pilgrimage

to pay my respects

as she lies in state,

our sacred sister,

eldress of this land.

Finding her broken body

dissolving already,

her ancient green soul

flown.

Her long hidden heartwood

now exposed,

still raw and soft yet,

open to the breeze,

that touched her broken branches

with the sacred sprinkling

of the rain.

So often before

I had blessed her,

and given her my brother’s bow

in passing by,

and so been blessed in turn

by her simple stately

being.

My hands, resting upon her trunk,

felt the difference

today.

No pulse,

no inner warmth,

no great deep

breathing in her

root,

trunk,

branch,

bark.

It brought sadness too,

but also the joy of knowing

that in every death

something withdraws,

is freed,

leaves.

For all that live

sing their own soul song

arising from Divine love,

and in someway,

at the end will

return their essence

as gift borrowed for a while,

until the new creation

allows resurrection seed

to finally fully bloom

in all beings.

I was not the first

to grieve her though,

For all around the tracks

and trails of those she sheltered showed;

the fleet of foot, feathered, furred

they too had felt her passing,

and it seemed had held their funeral rites

ever before us.

And then,

I looked up from my troubled thoughts

and found my gaze held

by a Stag who watched,

wary and wonderful and wild,

from the forest’s edge.

Both of us, in our own way,

guardians of this land.

Both of us mourning

the passing of our eldress,

each in our own way.

Both of us simply there

in the brotherhood of all being.

And I think, in that moment

we were blessed,

and blessed each other too,

in our common grief and trust

that all that live upon this earth will die,

and all that dies will live again in Love.

Then, bowing gently, we withdrew

to forest and to friary each,

aware of other 

and of something

beyond other, 

I, for my part, call grace,

(Whatever kind of reckoning

Deer make of grace

I do not know,

and they do not tell

in our tongue at least.),

grace that had led us both

to be there

at that time, together,

in mourning,

for our storm fallen sister,

the great and ancient being

we simply call

Tree.