Butterflies

New braces!

The butterflies are here

Flying on my thin ankles

My thin calves

They fit

Finally they fit

I am grateful

The butterflies are here

Flying

Flying

Blue and flying.

Cranes

I think the three Sunday cranes will be it for the year.  A thin marking of fall passing into winter.

Three lone cranes flew

In the Sunday morning sky

High up,

Their crane voices

Thin

But distinctly

Crane

Next to that blue

Almost crystalline background,

So blue

No word identifies it.

Today my beloved texts me

From the north:

Cranes headed your way.

I find the message

After they have passed by.

I consider who lives south of me

Wonder if cranes veer

East or west

As they fly.

No telling.

Places thick and thin

I am trying to see the thin-ness here, in the midst of renovation.  I will have at least six to eight weeks of practice.  I returned from Iona knowing I was not done yet... with Quincy, with Fort Worth, with priesthood, with anything, really.  I realize I was yearning for something new, even when I thought I traveled there with few expectations.  No.  For the time being my new writing chair overlooks the turtle tank.  This morning he is sleeping peacefully.  At least it seems he is sleeping.

The pilgrimage leader offered:

When it is said Iona is a thin place,

It does not mean that other places are

Thick.

Home here

In the midst of renovation,

I aim to make a chair

In the family room

My writing chair.

I am surrounded by pots and pans,

Plates next to the door,

Silverware

Next to the sofa.

The cat dishes sit

Under the television.

The turtle tank rests

In its usual place.

He can write,

If he could write

(of course)

V e r y  s l o w l y

From his regular spot.

This place feels particularly thick

To me

Surrounded by everything

At once.

If I squint

I think I see the turtle

Smiling.

He has never had so much company

At once.

It seems this may be

A thin place

For Felix.

Of course

He will never say.

Thin places

I really did google thin places as if there would be some sort of thin place directory.  There wasn*t.  I only found people arguing about its origins and who owned it.  I was looking for a map.  No map.  I knew my experience in Santa Fe was of a thin place.  But is it for everyone?  Probably not.  I list the responses I got from four separate Navaho about the Corn Dance.  I think about the Eucharist and our attempts to describe it.  Perhaps the only real answer is How was it for you?

While I wait to find out

About Iona,

I wonder if there is a map

Of the thin places

Of the world,

The places where heaven and earth

Meet,

Or at least breathe

into each other.

Perhaps I can go

To one of them.

My research says

There is no common mind around

Who has ownership

Of the term

Thin places.

Certainly no map

Exists.

I smelled heaven*s breath

When I stayed in Santa Fe,

The scent at morning*s arrival,

The thinner air,

Two coyotes passed me by

At dusk.

The indefinable Corn Dance:

No one would name its meaning

Except

I don*t know

Or

I*m not allowed to tell.

And finally

How was that for you?

What did it mean to you?

No one owns the thin place,

The meaning

Of the thin place.

There is no map.

I am told in Iona the air

Is thin.

Perhaps I will see

What it means to me.

Thin spots

Thin-ness comes at particular times, as well as in particular places.  This week my daughter went to the Episcopal Youth Event. I listen and it sounds like the Bethel College campus was a thin place this last week.  

Our parish mission trip returned from Nigromante in Southeast Mexico and felt the presence of God, maybe even more so this year because there was no project planned, and it was all about hospitality and receiving from each other.  

There was a conference in North Carolina called the Wild Goose Festival.  The Wild Goose is a Celtic metaphor for the Holy Spirit.  Thin-ness was reported there, as well.  

Praise be to our God known in the thin places, especially so we can find Him when things become thicker, and still hear the flutter of wings.

This week summer came.

Thin spots emerged.

God broke through again and again and again.

In Minnesota they built a house,

Sang and prayed and sang again.

I am told God broke through

Again and again and again.

In Mexico they were greeted

With a brass band and fireworks.

With no project to do,

They met the people again

Anew.

They received the hospitality because

They came

With emptier hands.

It is hard to receive

When your hands are already full.

God showed up.

In North Carolina

The Wild Goose flew.

We have yet to see where it will land.

When there is thin-ness

It is hard to know

The end result,

As if we ever know the end.

We catch a glimpse of the beginning,

A flutter,

A rush

Of wings;

The combination of song and prayer,

The brass band and fireworks,

The meeting in thin places,

And the Goose,

The Wild Goose,

Taking flight.