How come the dying vestiges of autumn
look so much like joy?
A paean of praise
all dressed in yellow.
The forest floor littered
with a million drifting and dropped
forms of gold.
Treasure that cannot be earnt, bought, bartered or won
but comes
each year
as gift.
A friend shared a vision they had from God, which reminded me of this today. A lovely invitation to deep rest. I listened to the music below and reread the ancient poem below that and dwelt with that image of the weaned child. Wonderful.
This is my favourite recording of Spiegel im Spiegel (« Mirror in the Mirror ») by Arvo Pärt, performed with such brave vulnerability by Daniel Hope. Most violinists would add vibrato to make it sound professional. But he captures the simplicity and vulnerability of this music-prayer beautifully: https://youtu.be/QqmZxtrUVK8
Psalm 131
O LORD, my heart is not lifted up,
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvellous for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.
O Israel, hope in the LORD
from this time on and forevermore.
I love the paradox of stillness and movement in this video and in life in general.
And for some reason I find it fascinating how the waves never come up exactly the same distance onto the shore. There is a sense of endless variety and unpredictability about it, even when it’s quite a calm day.
And a little further out the waves look like folded cloth: https://youtu.be/1KaARQxBStY
Constant movement and stillness. Everybody’s going somewhere all the time. (This was taken near the station in the city.) Rushing like the water onto the next thing. I’m currently in Covid isolation though, which is making me appreciate the stillness the stepping aside from any rush at all.
A moment of moving. And of stilling…
I recently re-read a poem about prayer that I have come to really love, and a new line struck me; « this isn’t / a contest but the doorway / into thanks » Suddenly I felt a weight lifted as I read that. I realised that so much of the time, conversations, meetings, even prayers feel like a contest to see who will get in first with the wisest comment or prayer. But prayer is not a contest. What’s the point in competing when God knows every hair on all of our heads, and knows what we will say and what is real for us before we even begin to know it ourselves?
…And if prayer is not a contest, most other things needn’t be either, I think. What if every encounter we have became a doorway into thanks for us…? And into a world of possibility and love…? What if we could carry with us, wherever we go, a silence in which another voice might speak…?
Julian of Norwich famously wrote « All shall be well, all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well. » Here’s a beautiful musical tribute to that, referring to the force of love I mentioned in my previous post. It’s good to watch the sea and let these words wash over me:
One minute to be still and breathe. A good minute: https://youtu.be/8pPr8HPwJYA
I’m using this YouTube channel to share moments of contemplation like this. If you enjoy them, do like, share, subscribe to the channel so they make their way to more people who just need a moment to be still and to open their eyes and ears to what is a gift around them. 🎁
A chant, with a random quiet hum at the start which I didn’t realise it would record! I wonder whether this link will work…?:
https://www.dropbox.com/s/yf6otpf5yqf7g8d/YouNowAreLightEph5.8.loopyrecording.aiff?dl=0
The thing that strikes me about this short text this morning (it’s from Ephesians 5.8 in the Bible), is the confidence of it, and that it’s stated as fact; “You once were darkness but now you are light”. I’m also struck by how it’s talking about modes of being. It doesn’t say, “You once walked in darkness”, or “You once were like darkness”, or “You once were blinded by darkness”. It says “You once were darkness”. That’s a pretty powerful statement. And equally powerful is the strong assertion “but now you are light”.
There are some things that give time back to me
And others that steal it away,
Like a thief in the night.
My friend’s hospital appointments with all the -ologists,
Stealing the life they are so carefully trying to save.
My latest contract for work that I don’t really believe in,
Which I’m doing to put bread on the table.
I have the impression that these things are robbing us of life?
I strike a match
The candle is lit
We let the silence fall.
Disturbed waters still.
I hear a bird sing in the distance,
Breathe in the delicate aroma of my tea,
Hands warmed by the mug.
My shoulders drop, burden loosening;
Nous sommes arrivés
We have arrived;
Brought back to ourselves
Here there is life, healing, peace.
Here, the present that was always ours to live is ours once again.
la perle 