To enter the pages of Christine Valters Paintner's "Dreaming of Stones" feels akin to wandering the undulations of Celtic wilds, the barren landscape that cloisters timeless secrets and truths. It's not hard to imagine ancient ruins off in the mist-drenched distance. Nor to hear the cry of North Atlantic winds, sweeping across moor and mountain. It's haunting and it's beautiful.
Most of all, it's to find yourself at home in a place you've never been — the very definition of soulful retreat.
And so it is in this first full poetry collection by Paintner, a writer and Benedictine oblate who moved to the west coast of Ireland in 2012. She now calls herself the abbess — or "urban monk and part-time hermit" — of Abbey of the Arts, a virtual monastery and global ecumenical community that combines contemplative practice and the arts.
No less than Richard Rohr, the best-selling spiritualist and Franciscan friar, writes that Paintner's poems "have both a mystical and earthly sensibility, drawing us to the transcendent as well as the immanent presence of the divine." Paintner herself writes that "poetry is language carved down to its essence," and she calls these 80 poems "little love notes to the world." Love notes of the soul, perhaps.
Paintner is fluent in the lush language of earth and sky as well as the otherworldly, the mysterious beyond. Born and raised in New York City, she is old-soul Celtic, through and through. Her poems rise out of the monastic practice of dwelling in silence, and hers, often, is a churchless god. A god who can't — and won't — be confined. A god who belongs to any and all.
The poems here are distillations of the most enduring wisdoms — love, hope, heartache, the unfolding of time — penned with a painstaking eye on the earthly. Carved out of the raw stuff of existence, especially in these troubled times, these dispatches offer safe harbor for taking stock, seeing the sacred, absorbing the solace.
And as with all the finest poetry, it's the unwritten volumes beyond the words that hold our lingering attention. To enter these poems is to slow time, to pause long enough to grasp what might otherwise have escaped us.
The poems here might as well be prayers — many of them anyway. Others put words to lasting truths.
In one of the collection's six sections, in a poem titled "St. Gobnait and the Place of Her Resurrection," Paintner writes: "Is there a place for each of us, / where we no longer yearn to be elsewhere? / Where our work is to simply soften, / wait, and pay close attention?"
Or, pages later, in "St. Brigid and the Fruit Tree," this: "Your tears splashed onto / cold stony earth, ringing out / like bells calling monks to prayer, / like the river breaking open to / the wide expanse of sea. … There will always be more grief / than we can bear … Life is tidal, rising and receding, / its long loneliness, its lush loveliness, / no need to wish for low tide when / the banks are breaking."
In her afterword, Paintner writes of her devotion to the great poet Rainer Maria Rilke and "the way he wrote about the God of darkness and mystery, the God who loves the questions rather than the answers." She shares that inquiry. And it's her hope, she writes, that those who find their way through "Dreaming of Stones" find "a moment of sanctuary" in its pages.
The poet's prayers, then, are answered. This collection — probing the mystery and the darkness, embracing the god of question not answer — indeed carves out sanctuary in a most turbulent landscape, amid these wild, wild times.
(Barbara Mahany's latest book,"The Blessings of Motherprayer: Sacred Whispers of Mothering," was published last spring.)