Becoming Fire...

 A day for the fire today so this old poem came to

mind with a few inspirations after it too...

Becoming Fire

Throw 

the old log

upon 

the fire

and watch

as it

surrenders 

its story

to the 

flames.

The dried out 

moss,

the brittle bark,

every old

yearly ring

and marking

from life,

now

consumed,

it becomes,

eventually,

itself,

fire.

Dancing 

now

as flame

its old 

earthy

life

forgotten

as it 

frees

old energy,

yielding

like

a lover

to the 

lick,

to the 

kiss,

of the 

flame;

cracking,

splitting,

breaking,

burning,

until

all

is 

given,

until all

is 

one

fire.

Afterwards,

you may 

watch 

the ash

fall through 

the grate

and ask

where did 

the logs 

go?

You could 

ask

the same 

of the

saints.

The answer

is the

same.

They too

yielded to the 

flame,

They too

became

fire.

"Yes, you may burn until you are translucent, but it is by way of this burning that your wholeness will be revealed." Matt Licata

Abba Lot went to see Abba Joseph and said to him, ‘Abba as far as I can I say my little office, I fast a little, I pray and meditate, I live in peace and as far as I can, I purify my thoughts. What else can I do?’ then the old man stood up and stretched his hands towards heaven. His fingers became like ten lamps of fire and he said to him, ‘If you will, you can become all flame.’

(Sayings of the Desert Fathers)

Sanctuary Lamp

 An old one speaks to me tonight... It may bless you too... that we may all become Sanctuary Lamps leading to the Presence of the One who is the Source of Light:

Sanctuary Lamp.

Tonight

in the long quiet 

of moonless

midnight 

I will sit 

in the Holy Dark

of day done 

weariness;

work behind me,

pain within me,

chaos around me.

I will just 

sit,

and try to come

to the only 

stillness

in which true knowing is

possible;

sitting past the storms 

that rage

within and without

discovering,

discerning,

desiring,

I flounder

until my 

distracted 

eye is drawn 

to you,

faint flickering 

flame,

swinging serenely

in some tiny

blessed breeze.

Wondering at 

your wavering

light,

last

struck from 

resurrection

spark of long ago,

I will rest in 

your gentle

ministry of 

presence;

little lighthouse

for the storm-lost,

hearth fire

calling home

this weary 

wanderer.

Your light,

playing

upon the 

white washed 

wall

of sacred silence,

describes

an 

arc of grace

to be entered

only

barefoot

in burning bush

awe

and whispers 

in the desert 

places of my

ill-attentive soul

the name of the Love

you

guard,

solitary sentry

of the silent

hours,

and so 

I will come

to attention

too.

Tonight

in the long quiet 

of moonless

midnight 

I will sit 

in the Holy Dark

of night's deep 

healing,

activity behind me,

healing within me,

quiet around me,

and led by your blessed

beacon

I pray I may 

arrive at last to 

storm eye 

stillness,

in which the true knowing

is possible,

and become

myself,

again

and,

at last,

a 

lamp

of

Presence.

Holy Communion: a meditation poem

 An old reminder that all is part of the offering of creation to the One from whom all arises in Love... and the offering of Love for the healing of creation...

Holy Communion.

If we look 

deeply enough,

If we pause 

long enough,

If we become 

still enough,

If we gaze 

simply enough,

If we are

quiet enough,

then we begin,

at last,

to understand

that

the seeming silence 

of 

creation

is a dwelling 

in the deep Eucharistic 

mystery of 

reality 

itself .

Where all that is, 

comes to us

through Him.

Where all that is, 

offers itself 

with Him.

Where all that is, 

exists 

in Him;

and He is

Love.

And then we,

sons and daughters 

of the Most High,

and,

brothers and sisters

of all

being,

may join this

eternal dance 

of 

creation's

consecration

and offer

our sacrifice

of presence

and praise

to the

One

who descends 

daily,

and, who,

humbly in

the hands

of His

priests,

invites our

entry

into

holy

communion

once 

again.

.

Breakfast Epic

 Breakfast Epic

We are soulfire seasoned with stardust, 

you and I.

Kind kindled from all eternity,

our first quickening arose from the mind of divine love;

wombed from wonder, we were

born into this time, this moment, 

heavy with our own history,

but cocooned in ancient story and song

to inspire our soul and be 

exhalations of the of the Word’s wisdom.

Sun seasoned and moon tided,

we are nourished by starborn elements 

long born from creation’s conflagration.

So we find ourselves connected crossways 

to all that is or was or will be

in the dance of divine love’s unfolding.

Known as sons and daughters

of the kingdom, we now know ourselves 

only as exiles from our own blessed being,

seemingly as false and fleeting as shadows upon the wall, 

yet longing for love’s light to rage so full around us 

that all that is not may be lost in one luminosity of being.

For now we know not even the real earth beneath, or the real sky above,

for we look as yet through sin veiled eyes that weep, 

for feeling in resurrection seeded heart the light that shines 

behind, before and through, and seeks our spirit sight 

to raise us to our thrones.

Ah! All this awaits my knowing, for, 

if only I could truly see the sainted being 

who sits in front of me, 

here at table on this simple morning,

and is a blessed bridge between eternity and time

who sighs and smiles and says in answer 

to the first deep question of this day

“Coffee, please; then porridge.”

The Early Shift

 

The Early Shift

To rise early.

To sit in the holy dark.

To sit like a mother 

keeping watch over their child.

To sit like a lover 

who watches the gentle slumber 

of the beloved.

To sit like a sage 

watching for the ripples of wisdom 

on the face of the deep pool 

of the soul.

To sit and mingle our breath

with the fiery breeze of the 

hovering dove.

To sit and allow our silence

to become a word of the Word

who unseen holds all things

in being.

This is our work.

To sit.

To breathe.

To pray.

To be.

To watch with holy attention 

the places and times that so few see,

that so few notice.

To sit with the last star in the sky.

To sit with the first bird’s tentative song,

little more than a whisper,

little more than a breath.

To watch for the hidden point of turning,

when it is no longer night,

when it is not yet day,

when it is the holy time 

of ending and beginning,

after moonset, before sunrise,

when for the briefest of moments

the sky is the colour of heaven.

When the mind ceases its chatter,

when the heart may be surrendered to the silence,

and the silence warmly hold 

all tears,

all suffering,

all sorrow,

all pain,

to itself

in infinite compassion.

Breathing peace,

breathing love,

witnessed by our sitting,

witnessed by our presence,

witnessed by our silence.

Until the silence yields 

to the sounds of slow waking

as the world pulls itself together, 

puts off the little daily death of sleep 

and stumbles towards busyness anew,

and thinks only now,

only now,

do things begin.

The Feast of Candlemas

 

The Feast of Candlemas: The Feast of Light

 

 

 

In the Christian tradition today is kept as Candlemas Day, the feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple by His mother Mary and foster father Joseph. It was then that the babe was recognised as the Christ for all peoples and proclaimed as such by St.'s Simeon and Anna. He will be and is already the Light who enlightens all people as Simeon sings in his prophetic canticle, the Nunc Dimitis. This song is chanted and prayed by the whole Church during the office of Compline every night 

 

This feast is understood as one of the pinacle moments when the two strands of Jewish Revelation; the Prophets and the Priesthood, both recognise Jesus as the Christ who fulfils Prophecy and as the perfect High Priest who enlightens the world and who is Himself the sacrificial offering for its salvation.

 

Falling 40 days after Christmas and mid way between the Solstice and the Equinox it also reminds us of the great cosmic rhythms of light and darkness and the uncreated Light from which they both emerge. It is also since ancient times the definitive end of the Christmastide season and looks forward to the growing light of Spring.

 

As part of its ritual the candles that will be used in the coming year are blessed today thus giving it its ancient name of Candlemas

 

 

For this day enjoy a meditation on Light by the poet TS Eliot 

O Light Invisible, we praise Thee!

Too bright for mortal vision.

O Greater Light, we praise Thee for the less;

The easternlight our spires touch at morning,

The light that slants upon our western doors at evening,

The twilight over stagnant pools at batflight,

Moon light and star light, owl and moth light,

Glow-worm glowlight on a grassblade.

O Light Invisible, we worship Thee!

We thank Thee for the light that we have kindled,

The light of altar and of sanctuary;

Small light of those who meditate at midnight

And light directed through the coloured panes of window

And light reflected from the polished stone,

The gilded cavern wood, the coloured fresco.

Our gaze is submarine, our eyes look upward

And see the light that fractures through unquiet water.

We see the light but see not whence it comes.

O Light Invisible, we glorify Thee!

A Litany of St. Brigid

 A litany of St. Brigid for her Feast

Brigid of the hearth and the hare

Brigid of the spark and the flame

Brigid of the cloak and the veil

Brigid of the herb and the stars

Brigid of the byre and the kine

Brigid of the ill and the old

Brigid of the young and the wild

Brigid of the poor and the voiceless

Brigid of the oak and the staff

Brigid of the long nights watching

Brigid of the Sun's slow dawning

Brigid of the Moon's spring rising

Brigid of the first bloom’s flowering

Brigid of the well’s gentle healing

Brigid of the Earth’s old wisdom

Brigid of the Nun’s deep chanting

Brigid of the High King of Heaven

Brigid of the rush woven cross

Brigid of the shaven head

Brigid of the lost sword

Brigid of the royal house

Brigid Abbess of the dual house of prayer

Brigid Eldress of the sanctuary’s light

Brigid Wise Woman of the healing touch

Brigid patron saint of Ireland

Brigid named Mary of the Gael

Pray for us!

(Icon by the late Sr. Aloysius McVeigh)