I put this together for the #SpinePoemChallenge.
The heart aroused
grace awakening
here and now
catching fire
becoming flame.
Now what?
Be still, my soul.
Finding quiet, aware…
silence
…silence and beauty
the sacrament of the present moment.
Contented soul
everything belongs
becoming human…whole.
All shall be well.
God of hope,
our world seems hopeless.
An unseen enemy assaults us,
emptying our streets,
yet filling us with anxiety.
We have no mooring, no anchor.
We ride white-capped waves
in small vessels
that were never meant
to weather these storms.
Our stockpiles dwindle,
but we cannot see the shore.
We lash ourselves to the mast
and pray we do not capsize.
Our prayers are groans
and tears
and tumbling thoughts.
Many of us hope for the light to break through,
but all we see is darkness.
We don’t even know where to look.
Our darting eyes betray our anxious hearts.
Still our hearts, O Lord,
Still our hearts.
A reflection on Psalm 65 from my book Soil of the Divine.
Birds at first light
tune their voices
offering melodious praise,
not one holding back.
They loudly welcome the dawn,
in awe of God‘s handiwork.
“‘Tis just instinct,”
you say,
“pre-programmed
animal behavior.
Nothing more.”
But perhaps
they do not suppress
their instinct to worship
in the same way
that so many people do.
The meadows clothed themselves with flocks, the valleys decked themselves with grain, they shout and saying together for joy. Psalm 65:13
We were given a rule of gold,
treat others with kindness we’re told,
I’ll treat others well,
or damn them to hell,
it depends on what viewpoints they hold.
Love sounds good
on paper
but paper love
is too easily
crumpled, torn, and burned.
True love
comes from
a more primitive place
not bright white smoothness
eight point five by eleven,
but from an ancient seed
blown to the ground
and buried in death
that transforms into
something greater
Always reaching for the light,
though daily assailed
by gales
or scorching sun
Perhaps not comforting,
but necessary.
Today is a gift
Stay present
To all that
Is happening
Within you
And around you
Take it all in
Breathe deeply
Inhale what is
Exhale thanksgiving
For everything
That comes your way.
Racing fast
leaving crimson marks
upon white expanse
tracing cursive lines
perfectly written
by the teacher
scribbles becoming legible.
“I’ve got the hang of this”
I tell myself
flowing effortlessly
as I maneuver to and fro
upon a wide tableau
quicker we go
heart and machine
accelerating.
I watch him
make a sweeping arc
poetry in motion
I follow suit
trying to execute
the loop with grace.
But I colored outside the lines
uncertain what happened
illegible marks
tell the tale.
I study the lines
my ego bruised
to a deep crimson
knowing that
I got ahead of myself.
“Mistakes are great teachers”
I say
as I hold my ribs
take a breath
and begin again.
Start close in,
don’t take the second step
or the third,
start with the first
thing
close in,
the step
you don’t want to take.
Start with
the ground
you know,
the pale ground
beneath your feet,
your own
way to begin
the conversation.
Start with your own
question,
give up on other
people’s questions,
don’t let them
smother something
simple.
To hear
another’s voice,
follow
your own voice,
wait until
that voice
becomes an
intimate
private ear
that can
really listen
to another.
Start right now
take a small step
you can call your own
don’t follow
someone else’s
heroics, be humble
and focused,
start close in,
don’t mistake
that other
for your own.
Start close in,
don’t take
the second step
or the third,
start with the first
thing
close in,
the step
you don’t want to take.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
The Second Coming, William Butler Yeats
On social media, people have been sharing photos of themselves in 2009 and 2019. On Twitter, Rachel Joy Welcher shared her pictures and a capsule of significant events. I felt compelled to write mine down.
We began the process to adopt
an Ethiopian girl
with Down’s syndrome.
It turns out she didn’t have it.
My wife was diagnosed with
and treated for breast cancer
in the midst of the adoption.
She had chemo the day Tessa came home.
We began the process to adopt
two beautiful Haitian children.
Eight years and ten thousand tears later,
it officially became a failed adoption.
I betrayed my friends,
more than once
and so betrayed myself
more than once.
I nearly lost my oldest daughter,
and so nearly lost myself.
I became a pastor.
I tried to be who I am not.
I had a nervous breakdown.
I became an ex-pastor.
I wrote.
I painted.
I published.
I began to create.
I got a tattoo, then another and
another and another and another.
Peace and freedom.
Goodness, truth, beauty, and strength.
Identity and love.
I have been experiencing
a radical shift in my understanding of God
and of myself.
And I began again,
the process of coming back to God,
and to myself.
Jason Kanz 