Eight things to notice

I do this with clients all the time. What's one thing you will do this week? What's one thing you will pay attention to right now? There's a kind of magic in ones. One day. One thing. One particular bird eating seed under the grapevine out back.

Eight things to notice

Now to pare it down to one

Only one thing now

Proof

I like when such things match.

More dry-pack daffodils.

These took two days

To break their paper shells

But today

Today

They bloomed full yellow

In accordance

With my mood.

I like when such things match.

Yesterday three stones

In the desert,

Today the daffodils are proof

God is everywhere,

In everything.

There is no place I am not

I spent some time looking for the meaning of three placed stones in a desert. I did my research on trail markers and cairns, the ancient practice of leaving stones to mark our comings and goings. I believe it is more simple than that. No burning bush, but three stones, one placed on one placed on one in a desolate place. No place I am not.

It is night

I dream myself

In the middle of a desert,

Sand

As far as the eye can see.

There is me

And sand

And three stones,

One set upon one set upon one.

Stones placed

In the middle of the desert,

One upon one upon one

And me

There is no place

I am not,

He says,

She says.

One in three,

Sand as far

As the eye can see

Three placed stones.

No place I am not.

When sleep does not come

Visit from the black dog. Learning to scritch her head between the ears.

When sleep does not come

I pray the list

Of everyone,

Of everything,

Of all that rests on my heart.

I hold them more clearly

In front of me,

Look them in the eyes.

I pray the dark,

Watch it lighten.

When sleep does not come

I pray.

Blueberry Mike

The blueberry drop-off is at exactly 2 PM on the third Sunday of the month (unless it is switched to the fourth Sunday, like yesterday). We purchased five pounds ahead of time. Another woman, who arrived after we did, received four plain brown boxes. She must be the neighborhood supplier. We giggled the whole way home.

We made an appointment

To pick up blueberries

In a hotel parking lot

Three suburbs away.

We got there early,

Did not know exactly

What to look for,

What vehicle,

What part

Of the parking lot.

We did have a phone number

For Mike.

Blueberry Mike.

We found him.

He shook my beloved’s hand,

Gave him a plain brown box.

We drove away

Feeling like we had accomplished

A drug deal of sorts,

Clandestine even.

One plain brown box

Of frozen blueberries,

A wink and a nod,

The exchange was done.

We will do it again

Next month.

Sloth

Rationalization. Amazing.

I know many

For whom

Lent does not really begin

Without the Great Litany

Chanted in procession.

Today we forewent

The probable Great Litany.

The Christmas tree

Is halfway down.

Ornaments await boxing.

My coffee cup is again

A singing bowl.

The cat is once again

Asleep.

I wonder if today

The signature sin

Is sloth.

Still

Today is Sunday

Not a real part of Lent.

Yes

Sloth it is.

Sometimes I see Jesus

The dream about Jesus sitting behind me in the boat keeps coming back to mind. No, I have not had more dreams like that one. At night, now, when I try to climb into the boat, I cannot now even picture the boat. I remember He said, I have your back. Now there is no boat. I am not particularly happy about this. Today there is no boat, comfortable and wooden and blue. Just a Christmas tree which needs to be disassembled before Sunday.Today Jesus is free in the world, as He has always been. Today is the wilderness of Jesus uncaptured, unleashed, moving on. Jesus has His own journey, even though I know He still, somehow, has my back. How this works, I do not know.

Sometimes I see Jesus,

In front of me, yet behind,

Also at my back.

Deadly sins

Ever notice how some people get more credit than others? Deserved or undeserved? Me too.

Home today

Working through some

Of the seven deadly sins.

I would rather focus

On other things.

I am stuck in the middle

Of envy, avarice and wrath.

They are embodied

By older women who have accrued

More credit than I perceive they should,

Some well-deserved

In my oh-so-discerning eye,

Some not so deserved

In my bedeviled heart.

They are writers.

Everything they write drips gold

Even when it doesn’t.

Everything they write is quoted,

And quoted,

And quoted again.

If I read one more quotation

I may rant somewhere inappropriate.

I am home trying to figure

Which sin applies.

Envy?

Avarice?

Wrath seems too big.

Pride covers all.

Gluttony, lust and sloth

Will need to wait

For another day.

Pipe organs of Greenland

There is a seeming endless number of things to research. Through this rabbit trail of facts about Greenland, we are vaguely considering a trip to Greenland. Of course the only way to get there is via Iceland.

In high school

I determined to catalog

All the mammals of the world

On index cards.

Perhaps I was a budding

Zoologist

Or maybe librarian.

Instead I went to college

Studied Classical Greek.

Still

I have catalogued things

Ever since.

In a fit of exploration,

Set off by a random fact

About Greenland,

I found someone has catalogued

All the pipe organs of Greenland,

Including musical works

Played on each one.

Unlike my mammals

Back in high school

There is a known finite number

Of pipe organs

In Greenland.

Envious

Sometimes envy catches us unawares.

This morning I am envious

Of the priest with ALS

Who died way too young,

Yet led the first half of the service

With mechanical voice

And a turn of her head

Two weeks before she died.

Really

I find myself envious

Of what that woman did

Of who that woman was

Of the inspiration she offered

To many.

This morning

I am amazed

At the envy I feel

Of that priest with ALS.

Really?

Really?

Not everything has to relate

To me.

Really

It is possible simply

To be amazed

To be grateful

To be thankful.

It is possible simply

To leave it at that.

Ashes

Taking my part in Ashes to Go... or perhaps Ashes in Library.

Soon to take my post

In the library,

Offer ashes to whomever

Walks in.

Clerical collar?

Check.

Holy reading?

Check.

I look the part

I know the part

I sometimes even

Fake the part

Though I know the ordination

Sunk deep deep

To a place it can never

Be removed.

Lenten discipline

Lent is different, yet also the same, every year. This year too.

Lent begins tomorrow.

Maybe I will finally figure out

Who I will be

When I grow up.

Forty days?

That should do it.

Minus Sundays,

Of course.

On Sundays I will be content

With not knowing.

Belonging

I peruse all the writers' workshops, research ways to affiliate with religious communities, wonder where I fit these days. There is no ready answer. I do know it is not time to leap into something. I remember past decisions, to leave, to join. I realize again no action is called for... now. The seagull overhead is appealing, but the crows, the crows are more present. The crows offer companionship.

I watch the crows

In the backyard

Hope they bring me back

To some semblance

Of normal.

A seagull flies way overhead.

The crows go about

Their crow business.

Here we are

They seem to say

Join us

For the time being.

Have you ever thought

Of being a crow?

Perhaps you belong to us.

Gone missing

Valentine

Different people merit different valentines.

Whenever I see a butterfly,

You come to mind,

My beloved,

You come to mind.

I remember.

I smile.

I've got your back

Sometimes at night.

Sometimes at night,

To get to sleep,

I visualize myself in a rowboat,

Blue and weathered and wood,

Tied to a dock,

Like the one Up North,

Under a dark starry sky,

Snuggled with my pillow and blanket.

Last night

I got myself comfy,

Then realized Jesus was sitting in the prow

Behind me.

I didn't see him

But I knew he was there.

I've got your back,

He said,

I've got your back.

Of course you do,

I thought,

Of course you do.

I had forgotten.

Sidewinding

Life is different now. I give things up, things I need to give up, to others. If only. If only. Then that snake appears, sidewinds out of the brush. You can still do that, the s in still, sibilant as snakes hiss.

How many times

Must I give something up

Before it ceases

To come back to me,

Sidewinding like a rattlesnake

To bite me on the ankle.

How many times

Must I give something up

Something which is not mine

But something

I could do

Oh so much better

Oh so much better.

I think

If I were in the thick of things

Then

Then

The world would be different:

Good different.

Nothing like that rattlesnake

Sidewinding,

Nothing like that snake

At all.

The crow

Admiring the crow through glass.

The crow has settled

Into the backyard ash.

With doors and windows closed

In winter cold,

We watch him open and close his beak.

From his posture

We know he pontificates

From his pulpit

In the tree.

We see his open beak.

We can almost hear him

Because we know and admire crows.

They are lovely birds,

Even if their tone

Is raucous,

Even if sometimes they speak

Out of turn.

In the silence

Of the breakfast table

The crow speaks

From the ash.

We imagine

What he is saying.

We smile.

Content

Once more I read a book and realize I've been doing these things for years. I would name the book, but it doesn't seem to matter. Somehow, I suspect we all name these things in different ways. So, read a book...but don't forget to look out the window afterward.

I finished the book.

Once more

I realize things

I have been doing

All along,

I just named them

In a different way.

I could write a book

I think

I could write a book.

Instead

These are the things

I write,

Content in the ways

Others have named them,

Content to recommend

The book to others,

Content to write about

Snow and birds

Offer up possibilities,

Ways to view the world

Read this book

I say

Then look out the window.

Wild

Therapy with no individual therapist required. Cheaper, maybe. Or not so cheap.

We saw a movie last night

Bought the cheap seats

Watched Reese Witherspoon

Walk

Crawl

Slip and slide

The Pacific Crest Trail

Miles and miles of therapy

I would not sign up for

Miles upon miles

Of therapy

One step at a time

One foot

After the other

In too small hiking boots

In duct tape

In shorts

In snow pants

Miles and miles of therapy

One step at a time.

I wondered what was next

I think it is human to want to make broad sweeping statements, to lead massive systemic change. I am human (there, I've admitted it!). Teeny tiny steps. One thing at a time. Noticing tracks in the snow. Making my own tracks.

I wondered what was next.

I guess this is.

Teeny tiny steps.

Animal tracks

In the snow

Leading to the garage.

They end there.

Did the creature

Crawl under the door

Or skirt to the side

Leaving no prints

To continue the story.

It may have gone either way.

The tracks

Tell only part,

Leave the rest

To the imagination.

I wondered what was next

There is always a next.

I guess this is.

Where will I leave tracks

In the snow;

Where will.

I leave them guessing.

Teeny tiny steps

Parfait

I often tell clients we are layered folk. We are all layered differently. I have often used geological imagery in therapy... strata. Today I woke up thinking about a parfait metaphor. Maybe I was hungry.

Things come in layers

Laid down layers

Thicker

Thinner

Layers

Differently ordered.

Some layers have strawberries.

Some are thick

With nuts.

I prefer whipped cream

Alas

So often whipped cream

Was forgotten

Not to mention the cherry

On top.

Perhaps whipped cream

The cherry

Are laid down

At the end.

Maybe it's time

A thought for the Episcopal Church. My home church.

Maybe it’s time

To hold hands with our Methodist

Sisters and brothers,

Mr. Welch included.

Maybe it’s time

To consecrate grape juice,

To offer only

The equally attractive alternative

At church functions.

Maybe it’s time to figure out

How to celebrate life

Without alcohol

For an undetermined period of time

And then

Only then

Our heads may be clear enough

Our hearts may be clear enough

To figure out what’s next.

Maybe it’s time.

Anchored

It is interesting the things that anchor me. They differ from day to day. Today it is the tree outside the office window seen through two-thirds of my office window.

The snow is one-third up my office window.

I can still see the crooked pine

Through the top two-thirds

So all is well

Here in this cozy space,

Here where I pray for clients

Seen and unseen;

Here where it occurs to me

Once again

All is very well.

From afar

I think most of the birds eating seed under the crab apple are juncos. I don't quite know. The cardinal is unmistakable. I wish my beloved had spread the seed closer to the house. But instead he had the birds in mind... not me.

It is safer

To spread seed

Out under the crab apple,

Next to the pile

Of pulled grape vine.

I see the mass of birds

From afar.

They eat seed in the snow.

The only one with a name tag

Is Mr. Cardinal,

So red against the white.

Sun with one foot of snow

Last night I watched school after school close today because of the snow. Today is bright with sun and snow. I am glad to live in a place that closes down because of snow, not hurricanes or tsunamis. Soon I will leave for a client, drive through sun and snow. 

So many places closed

So everyone may play in the snow

Or not.

The real thing

I will admit snow on the weekend is more convenient now than it used to be. Now I do not need to be concerned about parking lots or boilers or leading worship in mittens. Now I can consider the beauty, clear the sidewalk when the snow ends, leave the Christmas tree up one more week because it finally looks like winter outside.

Today is

The first real snow of winter,

Halfway through the season.

Of course we have had

Practice snowfall:

To remember how to drive

In it;

To remember what

It looks and feels like;

To recall each flake

Being different.

Today is the real thing.

Tomorrow will be another version

Of this real thing.

Like every occasion

No thing is ever

The same.

Not even snow.