The Way It Is — Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

 

Over and over we break

open, we break and

we break and we open.

For a while, we try to fix

the vessel – as if 

to be broken is bad. 

As if with glue and tape

and a steady hand we

might bring things to perfect

again.  As if they were ever

perfect. As if to be broken is not

also perfect. As if to be open

is not the path toward joy.

 

The vase that’s been shattered

and cracked will never

hold water. Eventually

it will leak. And at some

point, perhaps, we decide

that we’re done with picking

our flowers anyway, and no

longer need a place to contain them.

We watch them grow just

as wildflowers do – unfenced,

unmanaged, blossoming only

when they’re ready — and mygod,

how beautiful they are amidst

the mounting pile of shards. 

 

Opening reflection chosen and read by Nancy L. – from Poetry of Presence,  An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems

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When the Roses Speak, I Pay Attention – Mary Oliver 

 

“As long as we are able to

be extravagant we will be

hugely and damply 

extravagant. Then we will drop

foil by foil to the ground. This

Is our unalterable task, joyfully.” 

And they went on, “Listen,

The heart-shackles are not as you think,

death, illness, pain,

unrequited hope, loneliness, but

lassitude, rue, vainglory, fear, anxiety,

selfishness.”

Their fragrance all the while rising

from their blind bodies, making me

spin with joy.

Poem chosen by Anita M.

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        Even After Broken, This

Well-worn paths testify—

water rising rising in a slow penetrating creep

can be mighty.

Hidden valleys of grass now show up as ponds;

shards of shells, splits of branches, greedy mud

all birthed by storm.

Change is like this; after the fear recedes,

we get to decide what gets cleaned up

what alteration is allowed to be,

what life there is in ending.

Even this late in the season, lotus pods rattling,

leaves becoming colorful and crispy,

a dragonfly picks its way among the leftovers

finding feast after feast.

 

       

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

        Still Is

Swamp algae appear

still, growing in the isness,

offering their green.

Poem, haiku and photos by Amy W.

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“How beautiful they are amidst the mounting pile of shards.”

As I walked this morning looking for beauty in unexpected places I thought of holding onto hope amongst chaos. The following is a meditation from Bishop Steven Charleston.

“These may be difficult days in which to live, both on the home front and in the world around us, but I do believe you and I inhabit them for a reason. We are not part of this historic drama because we are so wise or so strong. In fact, just the reverse: we are here because we have no power. Our hope is not in our strength, but in out trust. Therefore, we embody the option of faith. We offer people a choice. As long as we remain visible and active, unafraid and loving, inclusive and welcoming, we will keep the Spirit option open for all who seek peace and justice. These are difficult days, but they are our days, for they require exactly what we have to give.”

Photos and reflection by Denise P.

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The line in the opening poem that spoke to me this morning was “As if to be broken is not also perfect.” As I walked by the standing water left by the storm, I observed that the tree reflections in the water were out of focus, but at the same time shimmering with the sun’s glow. A different perspective to ponder…

How can I work at thinking less dualistically? Not perfect or imperfect, not beautiful or ugly… not broken or whole;  but just gratitude and appreciation for all of God’s creations just as they are. “As if to be broken is not also perfect.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I walked along the beach briefly, I stopped to watch the tide ebb and flow into the moat of a diminishing sand castle. A fortress wall had been built to keep the water out, but that wall was dissolving a little with each wave. As the water entered the moat, it sank into the sand, and the moat remained empty for just a few seconds before the next wave filled the moat. Filling, emptying, filling, emptying… all within the flowing tide that would soon merge with, engulf and destroy the castle. 

Photos and reflections by Nancy L.