Welcome to Poetry Party Number 35!
I select an image and suggest a theme/title and invite you to respond with your poems or other reflections. If you have your own blog, please use the Mister Linky widget below to add a link back to your website. If you don’t have your own blog (not required to participate) or if you just want to post your poem here, please skip Mister Linky and go straight to the comments section to add your poem. Make sure to check the comments for new poems added and I encourage you to leave encouraging comments for each other either here or at the poet’s own blog.
Feel free to take your poem in any direction and then post the image and invitation on your blog if you have one and encourage others to come join the party! (permission is granted to reprint the image if a link is provided back to this post)
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The Poetry Party Theme:
Lately I have been contemplating the sacred feminine and sacred masculine as integral elements of my spiritual path and practice. One dimension of these is what Richard Rohr calls the “Sacred Yes” and the “Sacred No”. The feminine with its archetype of welcoming, nurturing, enfolding energy is the Sacred Yes of our lives — all those things, people, and opportunities we embrace. The masculine with its archetype of boundary setting and protection (think warrior) is the Sacred No of our lives — the healthy setting of limits and protectors of our gifts and energies so we don’t over-extend ourselves.
I have been very much in a season of yes lately, welcoming and embracing many amazing opportunities that have come my way. Just in the last couple of weeks I am feeling more of a draw again to contemplate the places of no in my life. The opportunities to which I am not being called right now or which take energy away from the yeses to which I have committed myself fully. Accompanying my meditation on the Sacred No has been the image of the Guardian of the Threshold. These allies and companions are much like the gargoyles and statuary placed at the entrances to European buildings to ward off evil spirits. Our own internal guardians are those fierce aspects of ourselves that help us to clarify what is life-draining and what we need to release to live fully and help to maintain those boundaries. The photo was taken in Riga, Latvia last summer on our ancestral pilgrimage.
What does your own Guardian of the Threshold look like? What is he or she helping you to say no to? What is the yes that needs protecting these days?
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© Christine Valters Paintner at Abbey of the Arts:
Transformative Living through Contemplative & Expressive Arts
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43 Responses
Guardian of the Threshold
the wall extends into the misty mountains
where signal-keepers watch warily
as the madoffs steadily advance
ready for a frontal assault
stealing the liminal and marketing it
seduction causes a wall to crumble
as the sweet music of comfort calls
singing a hymn of joy to the world
the guardian rushes to defend
the child tempted by the sparkle
and luminosity of the siren song
roaring with anger
striking at tables topped with filth
the guardian casts a sacred net
stopping the advance
for today
Wow – you couldn’t have caught my attention more! I am a collector of Dragons, and a (one-quarter) Lithuanian too – a dragon guardian from neighboring Latvia just couldn’t have been better designed to get my attention!
The Watcher – a Rubayick
The watcher guards the portal true
a blade of steel, a bow of yew
permitting nought an evil spate
allowing life and blessing through
The watcher sits beside the gate
accept, deny – for neither wait
the ruling comes with no delay
decision swift is watcher’s trait
In watcher meet welcome and warding
The joining of giving and hoarding
the giver accepts
receptor projects
in each is the other a-borning
the watcher made the open way
He passed through night into the day
He will reopen Golden Gate
Eternal truth He will display
When Thresholds Break
Hidden behind my bravado’s stone demeanor,
buried deep within my heart’s chiseled vault,
fear imprisons the truth of our regard for love.
Brazen youth boasts as if carved from granite.
Polished maturity cringes at the slightest fault.
In shameful tears I cry out, “Break me, please”.
Pride; crusted slabs so seldom pried apart,
I seek righteousness to help me come to grips.
Instead grace, unafraid of pasty vulnerability,
with her own underbelly bared and scarred
is made ready for my amputated fingertips,
I hear her joy cry freely, “Break me too, please”
Winged Medicine
When the dead crow
was placed in the trash-
a perfect wing stretched
to greet me.
Twisting the appendage like a branch
it broke in my hand.
A gift so powerful
I dropped it to the ground.
Certain on some plain
it was in flight.
Thanks, Christine. This is fun….
The Guardian at my Threshold
is a little yappy dog–a Lhasa Apso–
bred to protect by making a noisy
threatening fuss, and then
to calm down and wag her tail
in welcome when the traveler drops
her suitcase full of fears
and holds out a handfull of trust.
This traveler is learning trust
WHAT’S A SURVIVOR TO DO
“I’ve escaped death so many times, I know I’m only living
By the saving grace that’s over me.”
Bob Dylan
Saving Grace
I was born
on the feast day
of the Guardian Angels.
How they got that day,
I don’t know.
How I got that day?
Biology.
My Aunt Theresa told me
I’d always be taken care of –
I’ve never had any reason
to doubt her, but
Who’s taking care of me?
The universe knows no mercy;
Guardian Angels are comforting,
but childish;
Fortune is as much
a stumble-bum as I’ve
ever been;
Fate? No thank you,
nothing is written;
His saving grace? I haven’t
switched columns here, I’m
still listing fancy, not fact,
and to think I’m better protected
than the guy who just went up
in shrapnel and smoke is just
arrogance.
The idea of a Guardian
belies any logic, but
“it’s just the way it is,”
is so drab.
My guardian
she sits up on the precipice
silent … watching
protecting my soul
enveloping me in her arms
loving me
she speaks but a soft sound
“Shhh”
in stillness she lets me know
I will be well
in my “yes” and in my “no”
she is there
to guide … to protect
to listen to the heart of my soul
still … quiet … watching
……with deep thanks to Mary Oliver:
THE JOURNEY
One day youu finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
‘Mend my life!’
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road was full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left them behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.
The Mother – the Guardian – the Child
The Flower – the Fruit – The Seed
May we understand all our days
As the teachings of your ways
So that they might all find favor with Thee