Not tempered

Change comes hard, even when it's written on the calendar.

I am still not tempered

To the evening sky

An hour earlier

Than it should be

Dark and darker

I wait for the hour

To slip back

Where it once was.

I know I am not in charge

Of time

This time or really

Any time.

Still

I keep hoping

For different things

To come to pass.

I do not want to wait.

I am not tempered

To this particular darkness.

Vernal equinox 2015

My first three seizures came at the winter solstice, the autumnal equinox, and the summer solstice. You better believe I was extremely careful around the next vernal equinox.

Today light and dark

Line up

For the moment.

We play evensies.

I remember

Not so long ago

Holding my breath

Until the equinox passed,

Rather like ducking when driving

Under a bridge,

Or lifting feet driving over

A river

(Of course

Not when I was driving)

Today light and dark line up.

Tomorrow light wins.

Tomorrow I can breathe again.

The day ended gold

A complete gold day, beginning to end.

The day ended gold

With rice and beans,

Cilantro and tomato.

The day ended gold

On complete hospitable ground.

Light in the darkness,

Gold in the conversation,

Possibility at the dining table,

Children running circles,

Prayer in the living room.

The day ended gold

Light in the darkness.

More treasure in a hidden field

Unearthed.

Clock

Milwaukee today to look at another school.  Then we drove around and looked at things, as is our usual wont.  We got lost... a lot.  But with a clock on every church and public building, we were never at a loss for how long it would be until dark.

There is a clock

On every church

In Milwaukee,

An amazing thing:

This attention

To the time of day.

We got lost several times

But we never lost track

Of what time it was.

Exsultet

St. Mark's didn't reserve Molly the donkey in time, so we will have a pony (or some sort of cross-breed) this year for Palm Sunday.  No worries... we have already reserved Molly for 2015.  At staff meeting I found myself asking about who would sing the Exsultet at the Easter Vigil.  Would you like to do it? came the question.  So the Palm Sunday procession will be led by a pony, and I will sing in the Light of Christ at the Easter Vigil.  A new kind of Holy Week.  We will see where it goes from there.

Lent this year

Has meant the recalibration

Of my brain,

The welcome

Of a new kind of spring.

It has meant

The recognition

That Jesus will ride

A pony this year

Rather than

The requisite donkey

In the Palm Sunday procession.

Lent this year

Has meant the practice

Includes the descent

To dark places,

The ascent to the final light.

This year

At the end of Lent

I will exalt the Light

In the Mozarabic tone.

I may figure

What Resurrection might mean

Even to the tone

Of riding in

On a pony.

Advent Eve

Advent is my favorite season.  It seems the only season of the Church year which waits for two things at once, seemingly opposite things.  This waiting time feels, well, liminal to me.  An in-between time of sorts. This year we also get to wait for the comet to appear in the sky just before dawn.  

Advent Eve

The sun has set

The day will dawn blue

Tomorrow

Unless I look

Just before the sun rises

For the promised comet;

Unless I watch the sky,

Darkness incarnate

With a growing purple tinge,

Melting into final day blue.

Hope holds her hands

Pressed

On the baby

Riding safe inside;

Hope holds her hands outstretched

To the Promised One  

Who will return

Again.

The stage is set.

Advent Eve.

I await

The comet

Out the other side

Of the sun.

The sky will change

From darkness incarnate

To purple

To a final blue.

Hope bows down.

Her hands wait

In her lap.

Extra hour

Maybe my brain will catch up eventually.  It*s not simply a change in barometric pressure that does it. Sometimes it*s something as simple as going off of daylight savings time.  I*ll have to gradually re-calibrate meals and bedtime.  Maybe by the time the winter solstice arrives, and the light begins coming back, my brain will arrive with it.

The extra hour of light

This morning

Translated to darkness at 5 PM.

It all gets refigured

On the other end

Anyway.

I sit in the dark,

Realize I am counting

Again.

This time I count an extra hour of daylight

In the morning

But still

It feels like darkness fell

More than an hour earlier

Tonight.

I think the world spun faster.

I swear the world spun faster.

It left daylight

In the dust.

The dark. The gray. The wet.

It has been awhile since I have done anything before 7 AM.  This is practice for tomorrow when the doorbell will ring at 7:30 AM and our house will be presented for cleaning.  Of course this means doing a major pick-up tonight.  This morning it all feels, well, jungly.  Is that a word?  We do not live in a rain forest, but still it is warm and wet and gray (now), and green.  Like a jungle, almost.  Thankfully I did not awaken with an 8 foot long crocodile under my bed, like that man in Zimbabwe.  http://gawker.com/man-discovers-he-slept-through-the-night-with-a-monster-1340648603

This morning brings the dark

The gray

The wet.

I would sleep in

But the dark

The gray

The wet

Invited my daughter

To stay asleep

Past her ride to school.

I become her ride.

Of course I drive

A different route.

Strange,

There are at least

Three different ways

To school,

As many as there are drivers

Who live in this house.

Turn here

She says

Go there

She says

There are fewer lights

This way

She says.

I beg to differ

Oh I beg to differ.

Stop yelling at me

She says

In the dark,

The gray.

The wet,

We make it to school

I drive home

Decide the dark

The gray

The wet

Demands a mention.

Twilight

What do I write about after a day of Domestic Violence training?  Today we covered Oppression, HIV, and Under-served Populations.  Another day I may explore some of that.  For now, I look at a world turning to night before my very eyes.

The snow in the yard

Is twilight blue.

The backyard lights

Illumine the feeding ground

For ducks

Across the way.

Already my yard turns

To purple and dark,

The trees to black.

Soon they will blend

Into the night sky,

Be gone

Til morning.

This is the way

Of twilight.

It asks for things to disappear

Before they reappear.

With morning

The lady in red

Comes with the light

Spreads corn over the snow.

The ducks will arrive

From wherever they have slept,

Invisible in the night.

Buried treasure

I prepare for a new client, and the quiet day on Saturday.  Both are unknowns.  Both are buried treasure.  Advent seems a good time to look for buried treasure.

I search

For buried treasure

In the coming of the Christ child,

The Second Coming

Is buried

Just around

The corner.

The Mayans

May be onto something:

Let one calendar run out

Before creating

Something new.

This buried treasure

May be found

Only when the field

Looks empty.

This buried treasure

May require

Less light

To be found,

A quiet hopeful waiting

In the dark

Darker place

What if there is a meteor shower and the cloud cover does not cooperate?  What if our darker place is not dark enough, with all the city lights?  I remember trying to drive out west the last time we had a comet to see, and we couldn*t get west enough of the city to see much at all.  This is when I*d love to live in a place where the Milky Way shows a full band across the sky.  I bet the meteors would streak abundant there.  Still... tonight I pray for the clouds to go where clouds go to sleep, and enough darkness to catch a meteor or two.

Tonight

We will seek a darker place,

Watch the sky

For streaks of light.

We will ooh and ah

Count them,

Then lose track,

There will be so many.

Tonight,

I think,

A darker place

Under the stars.

Still,

In the meantime,

I love the daytime clouds.

They offer a dimmer switch

For the sun.

But tonight,

I think,

A darker cloudless place

Under the stars.

I pray for the clouds

To find a new home

Where the sun sets

Splendid,

Stripes the sky

In preparation

For all

The nighttime streaks of light

Too many to count.

Dark night of the soul

Today is the day we honor St. John of the Cross, the mystic who named the dark night of the soul as part of the spiritual journey.  It does seem fitting that his day comes right before the darkest day, before the world begin turning toward light again.  It is cold and gray and wet (and yes, dark) this morning as I write this.

So close to the darkest day

We see fit to honor

The dark night of the soul

Before the way opens again

To the Light.

It is always darkest

Before the Dawn.

Today it rains.

It seems today is determined to be

As gray and dark as possible.

So close to the darkest day,

Today we pay homage to the dark.

It will allow us to notice

The first glimmer of Light

When it comes.

We wait for

For the leading of the Star

So bright

We can*t help

But follow it Home.

Nine more days

I remember a small boy in a parish I served years ago.  Ben was 3, the same age as my son that year.  As I was putting finishing touches on my Christmas sermon, Ben and his father appeared in my office doorway.  It was almost evening.  Ben wants to show me a particular spot of dark he found (his father explained), it*s somewhere in the building but he doesn*t remember exactly where.  And then they left, down an already darkening hallway, to find that particular piece of dark.  I often think of Ben and his dad, at this time of year, looking for a particular spot of dark, and looking for it together.

We stopped saving daylight later this year.

I am still not accustomed

To regular time.

Perhaps it is not really

Regular.

Evening finds me craving bedtime

Sooner,

Under the covers

Until I can drink morning coffee

In full light.

People ask if my schedule

Is full.

For accounting purposes,

It isn*t.

The light winds down,

And my schedule

With it.

For accounting purposes:

Nine more days to wind down.

Nine more days to notice

How dark it can get

Before turning

To light.

Before turning

Once again

To Light.