As I mentioned in my last post, I’m spending some time exploring the dark waters of Advent in a retreat my Spiritual Director is offering. Before Advent began we were invited to write out 22 prompts based on our current longings. Each day in Advent we’re engaging creatively with one of the prompts. For me, that includes writing a poem based on the prompt each day. This is, essentially, a continuation of my November practice of writing a poem a day. I haven’t taken the time to edit these yet, and some are more fully formed than others, but I thought I would offer them here a week at a time during Advent. If you’re not here for the poetry, feel free to skip these posts. I won’t be offended. ;) If you are here for the poetry, I’d love to hear what resonates with you and what doesn’t.
How are you leaning into this season?
Dark waters swirl in my cup and I am held in the warm shelter of cupped hands around all that seems dark and bitter this morning.
Dark waters whisper pouring from the kettle gratitude spills over flooding the banks carving out a new path for days to come.
Light, reflected, in the deep darkness of waters, frozen like my eyes as I stare, wondering how much life is beneath the surface, buried in mud like the turtles, waiting for the dawn of something new.
This morning I sat between seasons wrapped in fall's crumpled chiffon on the frozen banks of winter's edge and waited for the dawn. The moon pointed a silver-white finger across the glassy sea and beckoned with a whisper, "Come, come and sit with me." We sat there in the darkness in the quiet still of night and waited there in silence for the breaking of the light. It didn't come with hallelujahs and angels filling up the sky; Dawn came with rosy cheeks and bid the darkness die. And die it did, but slowly, fading back from black to gray where I sit between the seasons on the brink of endless day.
His heart beat in the darkness of the womb He broke forth as light in the darkness of the tomb Life entered the dead that the dead might live His heart beat with ours that our hearts might beat with His And when His heart started beating in the darkness of the tomb This world became for us the darkness of a womb.
How is it that snow floats down like ash from a world on fire, where the infant holy lies in a bed of rubble and yet still wraps the world in this soft blanket of peace?
The breath I breathe is not my own -- I am but steward of what God has breathed in me. With this breath I am offered life and I offer it. Breathe on me, Breath of God, that all my days might belong to you. With each breath breathe the world anew in me.
Thank you so much for sharing these very beautiful poems, they inspire me to practice a daily creative reflection while praying and journaling... Dear regards from Germany, Nelly
Shelter speaks to me of what I need in this season--so desperately to be held, cared for as I the one caregiving most of the time.
Heartbeat made me audibly sigh at the end. So good!