What Are You Waiting For?

Life is born out of the divine shrapnel of the big bang. We are energy that simply changes form. Perhaps in our time of grieving, when darkness seems to envelop us, we can remember this one thing:

The physical world is mortal and immortal;

In time, everyone and everything passes through the lower energies of matter and then leaves;

Changing into a different vibration of energy, without form and without a physical avatar.

That darkness we feel sometimes is also part of divinity.

It reminds us to hold this precious and temporary time when we embody physical matter tenderly;

and be thankful for those we have loved and lost;

and appreciate those we have now;

because too soon, this life will change form.

What Are You Waiting For?

by Jan Phillips

Intelligence permeates the universe

It makes our hearts pump, our fingernails grow.

Every cell knows what to do

because it is intelligence materialized.

In the circle of life,

the wave of knowing becomes the particle of being.

Energy slows down and becomes matter.

Like Einstein said: energy is simply matter

times the speed of light squared.

Energy never dies. It just keeps changing form.

A dewdrop becomes a cloud, becomes rain,

becomes the sea, becomes a cloud, becomes sleet

becomes the icy road.

The hydrogen atoms forged in the Big Bang

are in your eyelash, your cat’s fur,

your piano bench.

You are more than a child of the heavens and earth.

You are mortal and immortal,

finite and infinite,

human and divine.

Own up to it.

Inside you burns the flame of Creation Itself.

If you heard it once, you heard it a hundred times:

You are the light of the world.

You are the miracle you are waiting for.

Your body is a chalice holding Mind-at-Large.



What in the world are you waiting for?

One Day

One day we all, one by one, will enter into our last season, and our earthwalk will come to an end. Like the ebb and flow of the tides, each generation arrives and then, too soon, departs. Oh, but what a gift this short time, this life, has been. And what of ourselves will we leave behind to carry on with that indelible act of living a life? Our loved ones, and pets, and flowers, and birds, and the craggy rocks in the desert. The colors and sounds and songs of the vibrating everything.

And then too soon, another tide, another turning, as they release their last breath. And we, the divine cosmos, inhale. Just as it always has done. This divine, energetic ebb and flow, where we have always been together, and together, we have been everywhere, forever.

spoken poetry video

One Day by David Whyte

One day I will say

the gift I once had

has been taken,

the place I have

made for myself

belongs to another,

and the words I have sung

are being sung by the ones

I would want.

Then I will be ready

for that voice

and the still silence

in which it arrives.

And if my faith is good

then we’ll meet again

on the road

and we’ll be thirsty,

and stop

and laugh

and drink together again

from the deep well

of things as they are.

Blessing for Coming Home to an Empty House

I realized that I had not posted much lately. I am in the homerun stretch of graduating from the apprenticeship program at The Guild for Spiritual Guidance, which has carried me through the last two years in community and love. After this Sunday, I will be a graduate and will dive deep into my writing and sharing with you here in this space. I very much look forward to posting more.

In the meantime, I came across this poem by Jan Richardson. I hope it brings you comfort.

Blessing for Coming Home to an Empty House

I know
how every time you return,
you call out
in greeting
to the one
who is not there;
how you lift your voice
not in habit
but in honor
of the absence
so fierce
it has become
its own force.

I know
how the hollow
of the house
echoes in your chest,
how the emptiness
you enter
matches the ache
you carry with you
always.

I know
there are days
when the only thing
more brave than leaving
this house
is coming back to it.

So on those days,
may there be a door
in the emptiness
through which a welcome
waits for you.

On those days,
may you be surprised
by the grace
that gathers itself
within this space.

On those days,
may the delight
that made a home here
find its way to you again,
not merely in memory
but in hope,

so that every word
ever spoken in kindness
circles back to meet you;

so that you may hear
what still sings to you
within these walls;

so that you may know
the love
that dreams with you here
when finally
you give yourself
to rest—

the love
that rises with you,
stubborn like the dawn
that never fails
to come.

—Jan Richardson

Haiku Poetry of Grief and Gratitude

I have rediscovered Haiku poetry, a Japanese form of short poetry.  In the English language, Haiku is written according to the number of syllables: Three lines with 17 syllables.  5-7-5.  Japanese does not have syllables.  So, Haiku is written in what are durational sound units, sounds of equal duration.  In English, syllables can be of differing duration.  

I think I love Haiku so much for a couple of reasons.  First, because of my analytical side.  The counting of syllables and the effort it takes to fit a moment of life into 17 syllables is very satisfying to this woman whose favorite class in school (way back when) was math.  Many poets of Haiku in English think of this 17-syllable rule as a suggestion, and my older self is just fine with coloring outside the lines.

Second, Haiku helps me to reel in my errant thoughts and focus them like a light beam onto one moment, one object, a simple thing.  This is a type of meditation for me.  It has helped me, especially during these uncertain times. 

Noticing the smallest of things and being grateful for them, however fleeting, is what I attempt to hold in my hands as I walk through life now.

Here are a few Haiku poems focusing on grief and gratitude. I hope you find comfort in them.


Grief

A Japanese Poem Translated by Takashi Kodaira and Alfred H. Marks

At the deepest point

of grief, somebody nearby

breaks a withered branch


by Kobayashi Issa (1763-1828)

In a world

Of grief and pain,

Flowers bloom –

      Even then.


By Rev. Deb Vaughn

Just a single leaf…

One of many in autumn

A tree remembers


By Emily Thiroux Threatt

Remembering joy

Gazing into his brown eyes

We laughed together


by Hannah Spencer

“Not Fair”

How cruel my heart

is!… To persist in beating

although you’re gone…


by Dina Televitskaya

“Smile”

It has flown to me.

And it has given me grief.

It was your sad smile.


by P.S. AWTRY

“Not As Strong As She Seems”

formidable dam

     a breach in the night

          dread torrent of tears


by Paula Goldsmith

“Squirrel Time”

My cute furry friend

Eating nuts until the end

Chasing all your friends


Unknown

Morning fog rolls in

Not as dark as yesterday

         Or the day before


Gratitude

By Diane Yoza

My white coffee cup

So full of aroma

Sips to warm my heart


by David Byrne

“Beauty”

Ah, beauty must die

Impermanent flower

Showing gratitude


by Romeo Naces

“Grateful Sigh”

    …soil, sky and sea sigh

       gratitude from low and high

       we, us, you and I…


by Line Gauthier

“Summer Whispers”

summer whispers

in the garden of my life

  ~ chants of gratitude


by Dietra Reid

Appreciation of Colors”

shades enlightened light

gratitude to primary

secondary thanks


by Suzy @ suzysomedaysomewhere.blogspot.com

Changing seasons drift

A twisting kaleidoscope;

   Life, a Thankful gift

Perennial

Perhaps the greatest gift
is to die a little each day.

To love what death can touch.

The losses innumerable
on this world

where grief is

perennial.

And gratitude,

for the fleeting beauty
of life is its twin,

born from the same mother
called love.


I have been thinking of the 12th Century poem a lot and the transitory nature of life. I wrote the short poem above in the early morning hours which was inspired by these thoughts.

The Gift

To live in this world of mundane chores; to live when the wash still needs washing, the plant still needs watering, the cat still needs to be fed. To live still, and my friend is gone away to whatever awaits us all.

You, who will live in our future, will never know her. Nor will you know anyone whom I know or even that we had existed. Not as individuals at least.

There is impermanence everywhere in this reality, whether a flower or a family member. It is omnipresent. It is life itself. There is something that the death of my friend, my favorite dog, my mother, and my neighbor’s oak tree has taught me. It is that to truly appreciate life on this Earth, we must also hold within ourselves its coming death.

We should love this Earth and everything on it with the passion and urgency of one who sees the end.

If we live in the embrace of knowing that someday at a time in which we have no clue or control, this tree, this friend, this fractal of divine light will extinguish, perhaps we would better understand the depth of the gift. I do not mean to intellectually understand that death is coming. Of course, in those moments when we allow our minds to stumble upon the thought, we comprehend that death is a real thing. But usually, the thought is banished from our minds, and we live as if the gifts on this Earth will never be depleted. However, something even deeper is missing in this mental void of ours. We are missing the miracle in the mundane.

Perhaps had we understood all of this, as the indigenous and our ancient ancestors had understood it, things would have turned out different for the natural world and for you, who must learn to live in the wake of our lives.