For St. Kevin of Glendalough

 For St. Kevin of Glendalough

Only after

finding the 

forested place

of stillness

between

the lakes,

between 

the worlds;

only after

all the words

had been 

dropped,

though reverently, 

like leaves, 

upon

the woodland floor;

only after 

the hands,

now worn,

wrinkled, 

thin,

were gently opened

palm to sky;

only after 

the hooded mind 

was

emptied 

of 

all the 

shadows

that seeming 

are;

only after 

the heart

let go the chains

of its own 

forging;

only after the 

breath

became the slow 

foundation 

of being;

then, 

only then,

did the deep stillness 

arise,

and the eye of prayer 

open,

and the Spirit 

breathe 

the embers of 

the long banked heart-fire

into blaze.

And then,

only then,

did the blackbird 

of heaven

nest,

and lay its sky blue 

blessings

of resurrection 

promise

upon your 

branched 

hand,

anointing 

with song 

the promise of 

heaven

for new beginnings,

while you, 

tree tall

and

stone still,

beneath the 

bowed benediction 

of the

oaks,

became

monk,

became 

sage,

became

prayer,

became

you.

.

(Today in Ireland we keep the feast of St. Kevin of Glendalough, hermit, monk and founder of the monastery of Glendalough. It was said of him that his prayer became so deep that on one occasion he was so still a blackbird mistook him for a tree and nested on his outstretched arm. He remained in stillness until the eggs hatched. This poem came to me after a visit to Glendalough some years ago. I share it every year on his feast as a reminder of the possibilities inherent in faithful prayer.