I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Rosemary McMahan’s reflection and poem Today.
As a monk and artist, my primary medium is poetry, crafted in response to the wise instructions of our spiritual ancestor, Pelagius, who advised, “Write down with your own hand on paper what God has written with his hand on the human heart.” Perhaps there is no more appropriate time for the creation of poetry, or any of the arts, than right now while our world trembles and smolders. Poetry becomes the microcosm in the vast macrocosm of endless and often empty words where we flounder to stay afloat. It is the “spontaneous overflow of powerful passion” (William Wordsworth) shaped so precisely that it can pierce the heart, heal the soul, arouse conviction, shake apathy, offer solace, and, yes, even impact the world. If a picture can paint a thousand words, a handful of words can paint a picture of a moment, an experience, a transcendence, a reality, a tragedy, a miracle. In the following poem, that is what I’ve tried to do, balance the tensions of our present existence, so that as monks and artists, we can retain our humanity and our spirituality which become more precious by the moment.
Today
Today, a pregnant woman across the world
worries about giving birth in the midst of
a sniper-laden war zone.
I walk past a quince bush birthing
blooms in mellow tangerine.
Today, another young girl,
another young boy,
is sold into slavery, trafficking
and driven
into the unspeakable.
I bend to lift
the shy lavender face of
a Lenten rose
from the dirt and raise it
to the sun.
Today, the fidgeting murmurs of
nuclear war whisper over
a ruler-straight horizon while
plump pink bulbs
like fat red robins
perch on a silent magnolia tree.
Today, raging rebels overturn
poor governments
on distant islands
and desperate families
seek flight.
I notice the purple sapphires
crowning the slender silver limbs
of the redbud.
A Mexican man, trimming trees,
stops his work to chat with
me as I take my morning
walk. He is earning money
to go back home
next year to the cerulean
waters of the Caribbean
while today the vortexes
of green-striped hostas
begin
the unwinding
of hope and
the copper-colored dog
wags its tail
on the other side
of the invisible
fence.
Rosemary McMahan is a retired Presbyterian minister and poet. A graduate of the 2021 “Way of the Monk, Path of the Artist” seminar, she continues to meet monthly with five others who have remained in community continuing to explore the interplay of spirituality and creativity.
