Category: Poetry


Lectio Divina Unleashed: Part Two (Poetry)

“People turn to poems for some kind of illumination, for revelations that help them to survive.” -Denise Levertov, “Poetry, Prophecy and Survival” Poetry is language illuminated.  When we read poetry we are reading the same words we use for prose, but because of the compactness of images and the poet’s way of pointing us deeper than what we expect to see, poetry has the potential to reveal the sacred to us in new ways.  Much of scripture is written in poetic form, making use of metaphor, rhythm, meter, sound, and image to help us grasp an awareness of God.  Praying

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Dwelling in Border Spaces

When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world,

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Delightful Discoveries

In my blog-hopping adventures this morning I discovered two absolute gems.  The first is from Rachel at Swandive: a poem from Jack Gilbert’s book Refusing Heaven: A Brief for the Defense Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies are not starving someplace, they are starving somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils. But we enjoy our lives because that’s what God wants. Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women at the fountain are laughing together between the suffering they have known and the

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Sacred is the Call

I went away to the woods and water expecting to meet God. Instead I met Myself. And we swam together for hours in a blue pool of desire for silence and beauty and stillness so strong that it threatened to drown me with its urgency and longing. The skin of my fingers and toes curled into rivulets, water flooding my ears, I emerged as if from birth again. Naked, alone, and new. Certain of only one thing, that God had whispered my name and my soul reverberated like a gong. It is still humming within me you see. With a

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Into the Forest

        Lost Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here, And you must treat it as a powerful stranger, Must ask permission to know it and be known. The forest breathes. Listen. It answers, I have made this place around you. If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here. No two trees are the same to Raven. No two branches are the same to Wren. If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you, You are surely lost. Stand still. The

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Give Birth Slowly

A New Moon teaches gradualness  and deliberation and how one gives birth  to oneself slowly. Patience with small details  makes perfect a large work, like the universe.  What nine months of attention does for an embryo  forty early mornings will do  for your gradually growing wholeness.  -Rumi Imagine if we allowed the moon to teach us the wisdom of patience.  Or pregnancy to teach us the wisdom of slowness.  What in your daily life might you take the time to observe to be reminded of the beauty and necessity of the slow unfolding of our souls?

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