You are not in the earthquake
or the fire.
But there are times when the sight of the bluebird
breaks my heart for the beauty and the joy of it.
And there are times when the soft poetry of the breeze
in the branches of this tree
or there lightly dancing through the hair of a small child
shakes me loose and lifts my heart 
in song and praise, unspoken and too heavy to carry.

And there are times when I feel you in the holy tides of sadness and grief,
in the protest and wailing when something precious has been torn
or lost.
The times when I feel you in the heaviness and awful weight of tears
and in the howling cold silences between the spaces of the heart.

And I don't even know
if I am hearing in the whispering
or if you are the echo of my imaginings and longings and dreams
when all is very quiet, lonely and sad.
When there is only the stars and the movement of soft breathing

And yet,
here you are
once again
washing me clean in the crushing ache, the poignant baptism of beauty and lament
whispering to me in the worship of my surprising inexplicable tears,
the quiet melody I can hear when hushed, out of the whirlwind of my days and confusions.
I don't know what this is.
I never have.
This love, this joy, this longing and sorrow.
I don't know what this is.

So I confess.

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9 thoughts on “Untitled”

  1. It came from me tearing up. Here's an insight into my "creative process":

    Richard is mowing the grass and is overcome by an unexpected swirl of feelings (as happens from time to time), a mix of things beautiful and sad, joyous but tinged with lament. Richard begins to cry while mowing the grass and can't decide if it's because he is a sentimental fool or of he's encountered God. So Richard goes in and writes it all down.

    The end. :-)

  2. I was home alone one morning last week after having spent the two previous days with my newborn grandson. What you describe here sounds so much like what happened to me except for the mowing grass part. A sudden encounter beyond words, yet which begs for words. And in the words somehow even more encounter happens. Thank you for sharing this beautiful piece of writing and also this glimpse into your "creative process". These experiences are new for me and I think God is in them somehow.

    I don't know what this is.

    I never have.

    This love, this joy, this longing and sorrow.

    I don't know what this is.

    So I confess.

  3. I also occasionally find myself overwhelmed by the beauty and interconnectedness of the world. These experience explain why some of us tend to have at least one Buddhist phase.

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