The Soul’s Garden

 An older one today as the gardens all around us come to life and bloom...

The Soul’s Garden

 

The Garden

of my Soul

is an old one.

Filled with the deep

chocolate smell of

rich worm-tilled earth

and fallen leaves.

 

A place of wild peace

and gentle fires,

with, here and there,

a secret corner;

warm old pavement,

damp fenny reeds,

cracked urns 

fountaining flowers;

descendents of 

ancient planting

by long forgotten hands.

 

Fireworks of blooms

of a sudden season’s turning

illumine thick wild hedges,

silent,

but for the rustle

of a Blackbird’s

wing.

 

From quiet meditation,

here, one can be startled

by an unexpected verse

of Robin-song;

or a Stormcock’s exultant

heralding of evening rain.

 

In deep tree-shadowed pools

The sudden ‘plash of a frog

causes circles

of eternity to spread

ruffling calm surfaces,

until reflection’s repose

is renewed.

 

Here the Bee drones and

the solid munching

of the Caterpillar is heard;

deep quiet belies

deep activity,

and even the stones

sing

if one has silence

enough to hear.

 

At the edge, a crumbling wall,

more ancient ivy than stone,

makes border where

the Woods begin,

dropping gifts of 

wildness within

from overhanging

forested fingers.

 

And here,

where Mice live,

in morterless walls,

in the Dawn Light

the web is seen.

 

Reflection of all Life,

spangled in dew-drop gold

it’s beauty, revealed

while Spider rests from

night’s toil

 

I stand

barefooted

In the Garden

of my Soul,

feet and toe deep,

in ancient soils

of a long time prepared

to yield such a

flower.

And from the Light

beyond all night

I hear the Gardener say

“Be and fulfil,

and you will

be fulfilled.”

The Blessing of Blossom

 The Blessing of Blossom

Often,

Grace comes 

unlooked for

but 

needed;

falling on our souls

gently

Like cherry blossom 

petals

shook free 

by 

sudden 

Spring storm,

and confetti cast 

upon 

the stone grey

of 

sky and path.

Reminding

rehearting

you

in a single 

gift gust

that 

joy

is

always present

where heaven

is 

wed to

earth

by Love's

light.

Walking through Cherry blossom blizzards these days. 

The unseen, seen in the floating path of a petal. In beauty we behold the Beautiful and Divine Joy arises.

I firmly believe that a cherry tree, heavy laden with bee filled blossom, is a celebration created by Divine Generosity of the covenant between Earth and Heaven; that no matter how hard and long the Winter, Spring will always come...

Annunciation Thoughts

 Annunciation thoughts...

Feast of the Annunciation today or as it was known at one time Ladymas day, (Our Lady’s Mass day):

This is our true Spring day, when the Winter dark and cold of selfishness and sin yields to the green shoot of Mary's total yes to God. The whole cosmos pauses and stills to listen for the answer to the Angel as God makes Himself dependent on a young girl's faith. All graces come to us through Mary's consent including the author of grace who today allows the loving attentive stillness of a woman to change our destiny forever.

A girl becomes the Theotokos: the Mother of God, and in and through Mary we become His brothers and sisters.

Just as the Father willed we would receive the Son through the Mother at the time of the Incarnation in history, so we receive the Son in every moment through the Mother now. Nowhere is this more visibly seen than in His Presence in the Blessed Sacrament. For the One who said, this is my Body, this is my Blood willed to receive both the Body and the Blood we adore and receive from His Mother. So it follows that if we receive Christ into our life in prayer, thought, or Holy Communion, then knowingly or unknowingly, we receive Him through Mary, whose womb was the first tabernacle of the Most High and the Ark of the New Covenant. 

As the old verse put it so beautifully:

Maid that wed Divinity.

Clay that shaped Infinity.

Lady of the Trinity

Keep me in your heart.

Equinox: a meditation poem

Equinox: 

Now

the point of 

pause

is reached

at last;

our sacred place 

of celestial

rest,

when the balance 

turns

towards 

the light, 

and we

gather

in our 

Springtime

flowering

to

celebrate 

that

moment

when

battle's

scales

tipped for ever

to the

Light,

as eternity 

kissed

time

and 

womb woke 

it

from its

long

sleep

of

slumbering

sin

to a blessed 

beauty 

longed 

for

and found

only

in she 

who

is the

vernal

greening 

of

our human

story,

and

with her 

soul assent 

gained 

for us

our 

Easter

ever 

after.

It’s good to remember in these crazy times that we are still part of the deep rhythms of the cosmos; that we still rest secure in the eternal embrace of Divine Love.

The days of the Spring Equinox were traditionally a time of rejoicing for the coming of the light and in the Christian tradition we celebrate the Annunciation, the entry into our world of the Divine Light, incarnate through Mary, marked at the end of the festival. (March 25th) 

However worried and anxious or even ill you may be remember the Light is growing and the darkness can never overpower it.

Equinox blessings to one and all+

(Pic found unattributed online but I truly love how Our Lady seems to be smiling due to her new “crown”)

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+

Nesting Season:

In gratitude for the brighter days of Spring and the hatching of hope they bring...

 Nesting Season

There is always 

a choice.

Perhaps in these 

strange moments

it is a simple one;

to dwell on 

what has been taken away

or to dwell in

what we have been given;

to build our nests anew

weaving safe and soft

a chance to breathe,

with all the terrible 

possibility that brings;

to reflect,

to wonder,

to sit anew 

in the secret depths 

of those actions 

of holy ordinariness;

eating, 

drinking, 

walking, 

sleeping, 

cleaning,

being with, 

being alone,

simply being. 

Taking the time

to watch the earth 

reset and heal,

to allow our inner

sky to clear of

all our worry weather,

often as grey 

and insubstantial 

as clouds,

until the 

one thing necessary

shines through

at last,

and we see

the present moment,

sky blue,

and fragile

as a blackbird’s egg,

nesting secure 

in the heart,

deep within 

the brambled hedge 

of our thorn tangled 

thoughts, 

awaiting the stillness 

of a spring morning 

when we grant ourselves 

new greening,

awaiting the sunbeam 

of divine attention 

to warm it to life,

awaiting our 

sitting breath,

faith feathered 

and yielding,

to hatch within us

a new way.

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.

Lady of Spring: Meditation Poem for the first day of March

 Meditation poem for the first day of March:

Lady of Spring 

O Lady 

of the 

Spring green,

of the first flower,

and the new leaf,

and the fruiting bud,

you whom the 

dogwood halos

and the 

hidden wren 

hymns,

remind us

of

the new life

of grace

that rests 

within us

seed like,

awaiting 

the gentle 

rain

of

mercy.

Crocus: a meditation poem of hope

 

Crocus

Once, long ago,

during a winter more grey within

than cold without,

when the house was filled

with seeming endless

sadness, and anger,

and emptiness,

I came down one morning

to a chilled and silent kitchen

to discover that outside,

a crocus had bloomed overnight,

under the old cherry tree,

in a place none had ever bloomed before.

How had it come there on that day,

in that place?

Bird carried, wind blown,

or old planting stirred anew?

But, why wonder at its coming?

All it asked of me

was to be seen.

I stood, still,

empty kettle in hand,

staring into the grey garden,

now sunlit, with the yellow frail petals

of an unexpected 

and unlooked for flower.

It lasted just long enough

for us to hear,

behind the song of sorrow

we were singing in that house then,

a note of hope, a sound of Spring,

not now, but coming.

I knew then, and for evermore,

that at the right time, in the right place,

looked at in the right way,

even a tiny yellow crocus

can be a word from the Word.

So today I know that 

when sadness sings her song

around my roots,

it is ok, 

it is beautiful,

it is necessary,

but also it is an invitation

to wait and watch

for the yellow crocus

to bloom again,

as it always will,

announcing angel like,

the nearness of spirit's Spring,

not now, perhaps,

but always coming.

(Pic not mine; found unattributed on the web)