she walks down the sidewalk as she processes
the last hour on the phone
and replays every moment
every syllable
every change of tone
her face grows ever more still
as the tears track down
and she feels her heart begin to calcify
and begin the metamorphosis to stone
but is this the end or just an intermission?
she has not read the playbill
so she cannot say
but it feels like a death she mutters in her head
and so perhaps not another resurrection moment
at least not today
perhaps though if she wanders down to that coffeeshop
just maybe there will be an open table just for her
and she’ll fill up the pages of her notebook
with all the lines that burning fill her mind
and then with the ashes of their bonfire
her grief will float with the breeze to heaven’s door
she hopes so oh she hopes so
for she can’t take this anymore
Author: James Hogan
Still Waters
Oh how wonderful it is to have a spare few moments to sit and breathe and think on the abundant mercies of my God! I sometimes write in poetry and sometimes simply prose but for now I don’t think I have the energy about me to write much of anything creative this night, alas but is that really such a bad thing? Sometimes it is most beneficial to my soul to simply read on lovely things that are true and meditate on what God has done for me. So I will now shut this laptop and cease staring into a screen that I cannot quite commune with even while pouring out as many words as I write now. This outpouring of my thoughts from my head to this empty white space may seem grandiose at times but can it truly capture the flickering of the candle that is my soul? I know not but oh still I try. For now though, I am off for true. Farewell my friends and be at peace this night, I pray. Peace and love.
Breathing Deep of the last Aching Notes of Summer’s Song
A quiet Friday night is upon us. A lovely little end of the week walk was enjoyed and even though it was rather hot – as is typical for September! – I did enjoy just walking along the trail and enjoying all the blessings my Father has bestowed upon me. And now! A couple of quick book reviews. Yes. They shall be quick. I promise.
55. Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Could not finish this one. There are some lovely parts to be sure and some rather fine writing and I’m sure there is value to be found in this book. But in the end, I could not stomach another second of Florentino Ariza.
56. Anne of the Island by L.M. Montgomery. A jewel of a book and one of my favourites of the Anne series. I always approach this one by with joy in the anticipation and I have never been disappointed as I turn that final page. This book is one that is just a perfect delight of a read. There is a tinge of melancholy in this book and perhaps that is what gives the whole book such a well-rounded air of the true, I’m unsure. But apart from that, I simply adore the descriptions in this book and the way Montgomery shows so poignantly some of the feelings that come with growing up. Also? Montgomery always needs a character that pulls her away from that dangerous saccharinely sweet ditch and here she comes up with a brilliant one in Philippa Gordon. Phil is one of my all time favourite Montgomery creations and I smile every time I read one of her lines. We all need a Phil in our lives.
Incarnation
purple sky darkens as chaos threatens to fall upon the earth
so I cry save us save us
oh Jesus save us and grant us
thy second birth
so witness the account that history has given
and consider the potentiality
of an intrusion from the heavens
what some today name a miracle
and if it is possible that we know not all things
can you believe that perhaps just maybe
there was a descent from heaven
and that with the hovering of the divine
Jesus came
and in humility proclaimed
that he was the last and first
and testified of glories beyond our ken
so that even as he prayed to heaven’s father
we knew something was different about this man
and perhaps this was an instance
of heaven reaching down to remake and heal
for God knows we need it
and even now we plead it
that God give us a second chance
and he says I have
believe in the Son of Man
and eternal life I’ll grant
forever and forever
dare you chance?
this is life I say to myself
to know the God who knows me more
than I know myself now or ever will
and so of course I cast myself upon this shore
and dance upon this lawn and sing once more
for hark my friends there is none other
and naught better
than the true rest and bliss
that comes from resting your eyes upon
the very face of God
and knowing you are found within
the meeting of humanity with the divine
for in Christ our life may now be hid
oh brother oh sister
taste and see
rest in Him.
Intermission
she bends over the little secretary desk
and scribbles with all her might
outside the thunder bugles triumphantly
but Emma doesn’t fear the night
for all the raging of the cosmos
only fuels the maelstrom in her heart
and she bleeds messy prose onto the paper
witness this faltering house of cards
but it’s ok she says to herself
for surely soon this candle will go out
and on my pillow i’ll lie down and
lie awake and for hours muse on art
and the way the wooden crosspiece
struck my eye as the autumn light
fell just so upon that old red barn
i remember that afternoon i wrote
a poem upon my scratchpad as i
leaned against that tree and breathed
deep of pine and felt the comfort
of the old withered bark against my back
cozy in my sweatshirt and my eyes alive
with all that was on the page unturned
now alas i’ve seen too much and i fear
that perhaps all my best lines are burnt
but at least i can’t say i haven’t written
even if the pages are all fluttering
in the wind
and who knows what backstreet alley
they’ll end up in
alas my soul comfort yourself with what you know
and rest in those old promises
i have nothing else
Before Midnight
Quick book thoughts before going out and about this Friday night!
54. Two-Part Invention – The Story of a Marriage by Madeleine L’Engle. I greatly enjoyed this one. It’s a memoir of sorts and it’s by one of my favourite authors and so the odds were in its favour, I’ll admit. And sure enough, a winner! This nonfiction by L’Engle focuses on her marriage to Hugh Franklin, who I’ll confess I knew very little about going into this one! If you know me at all, you know that I’m already a huge fan of L’Engle’s writing and so of course reading this one felt just like snuggling into a warm blanket and drinking a hot cup of cocoa. That’s not to say this story is all sunshine and roses. There are some very dark and depressing parts of this book, to be sure. But L’Engle is frank and honest as she describes her feelings even in these dark moments. You get a very good idea of what she believes and the nature of her faith in Christ in this book, which I found greatly fascinating and encouraging. You also get many of her musings on marriage and life and death. Of course all of this is intertwined with the narrative that L’Engle unfurls so brilliantly. Her prose is as simple and beautiful as always and the core themes of this book sing true. Oh and also? As someone who loves reading about artsy and literary subjects, I delighted in reading about L’Engle’s growing up and living in a very culturally rich and diverse environment. I most certainly felt some twinges of jealousy at times. All that being said? This was a beautiful read and heartily recommended for anyone who wants to know a bit more about one of the best American authors of the 20th century. I look forward to re-reading at a later date, especially when I’m a bit further along in my own marriage!
Modus operandi
Often I forget how lovely my early morning reading and meditation times can be. Too often do I struggle to wake up early enough – truly, it is not always easy waking up hours before sunrise. And oh too often do I allow myself once awake to get distracted by silly things – oh phone, begone from me! Though I am crafted in the image of the eternal, still true is it that I am a product of this age and thus susceptible to the little thoughts and fears and cravings that are manifested in this current generation. Hence how important it is to be deliberate in setting guardrails and being proactive in setting aside some quiet time and space to sit and breathe and pray and read that I might closer draw to the God who made all things. And as I say all this in that elevated morning manner that comes from being fresh of mind and slightly caffeinated it might be easy for one to view me as the pretentious, haughtily pious type. Far be it from me to claim any particular uniqueness of thought or practice. Rather, I opened this tab and started typing this morning with the air of gratitude and wonder. Far, far too often do I spend my early morning times distracting myself with lesser things or allowing my thoughts to wander to places less profitable. So when there is a notable exception – such as today – I wish to chronicle. I actually woke up moderately on time. My coffee brewed, I sat down in my little corner chair and spread my books out and made sure my phones were across the room. And then I opened the book (the best book first, as always) and began to read and pray. And oh how my soul was blessed as I read many words and meditated upon many truths and cried out mini-prayers to my God as I was struck anew by the fact that I am an adopted son and am blessed with life eternal. Many minutes did I spend this morning reading and being refreshed by the truths of God. My heart feels enlivened now – reflecting a reality that I alas do not always feel. I feel freshened and ready to face a hectic and most likely stressful work day. I wish I always felt this way at the beginning of a day, but we all know far too well that our emotional state at the beginning of a day is not always a bellwether for that which is to come. So instead, I sit quietly right now and praise my God for blessing me with such sweet intimacies with him and I call on him to bless my day as I walk forward in hope and faith. And I ask that I might be faithful this day in all things.
Carnival Dreams
Too often do I wish to write with sparkling wit and put down on paper thoughts that will cause those to read to exclaim in glory. I wish to write with subtlety and with prose that dances up and down the page in elaborate harmonies. Yet what so often happens? My fingers and thoughts run away with themselves and though I start with such grand intention and with such a perfect framework cottage in my mind, I end staring at a castle of grotesquerie that proclaims in bold typeface that theme that I thought so delicate when I began. Alas can it be that I simply do not quite have the mind or tools to express those burning lines of poetry in my heart? Or perhaps – the worse option – is it that the thoughts and dreams I think so lovely are in fact reflections of a dullness within that yet remains no matter all my attempts to burnish in flame. Well perhaps it’s good for my humility that I am destined to be no great artist. It helps me to hold a candle up to my fellow humanity and whisper soft – yes, I am just like you in the end no matter what words I write down. I am too like you a mere clay pot. But still yet my eyes peer to the far horizon that I may gain a glimpse of that glory for which I long. And see. I’ve done it again. I might as well own up to my own folly and be resigned to being called a fool for that which I hope. Better that than a crown that’s destined to burn.
Visions
It was a long time ago it seems that we walked this forest path. I breathed deep of pine and beech and of an impulse I take your hand. The air is quiet in the way you only get when you’re far off from any sounds of engines or whirring gears though now and again I hear a bird pipe up and say hello hello my friend I’m here! And the air is quiet but it’s also heavy with the air of anticipation that a long awaited moment brings. This of course is something I bring into the forest and so is not native to this land. I turn and look at you and note how still your face is as you simply soak in the moment of a quiet stroll through this fairy realm. It does indeed seem like one of the small woods-folk could be around the next bend and we could have a chat, if only we had the eyes to see of course. But do we? I don’t bring this thread to the surface and chase it down for fear of diverting us from this melody of life. Do you hear the music, my friend? Do you? With that breaking of the silence, you turn to me and smile. This wood is delightful you say, truly I can’t believe we’re here walking where once legends dwelt. And for this moment I’ve waited ever so long, to be here with you, while overhead towers the trees we love. Is it enough, this wood?
Not long ago was it that we sat on the edge of a cliffside and gently tended that fire of roses. We talk of this and that upon this cliff looking out over the seas that leap and shout. But in the stark grey beauty of the ocean there is a moment that I quiver. And I sing now oh be still my heart! From where comes the song that was promised for I wait to hear the long lost melody. You say softly that the song was written on that piece of parchment. And I reply that somehow I knew it was meant for me. I shiver as I think that soon my lips shall sing these words. We both lean closer to the cliffside and let our bodies rejoice in this sea spray. My eyes sparkle with anticipation as I turn to you and say – shall we sit upon the edge here and let our feet dangle and talk of all the tales that we’ve not yet told? You giggle and stir the fire casually and mutter low – I have so many things to tell you. I never want to let you go. As we breathe deep of fire and roses and the song leaps unbidden to our lips we look to each other as blue meets brown and wonder – how did it come to this? This fire, is it enough?
Soon will come the moment when we’re standing upon the beach and gazing off into the west. Do you see the pinks and purples and oranges of the sky and wonder what they all mean? Is there a deeper significance to this beauty or is it just some grand coincidence? I laugh and squeeze your hand a little tighter and you turn to me and radiantly smile. There is more to this than the world that was promised. For truly this world is not enough. I know I tell you, I know. But surely we can bring a little meaning into the world if we in our hearts summon deep the joy and pains we have written thus far. But are we the originators of this meaning or are we merely echoing a long told tale? Echoes and symmetry I sigh. I know, I know. Just as this sunset plucks a chord in our hearts and we tremble knowing that we are made for more. Do you hear the music now you ask me. I do I reply. Oh surely I do. But still something is missing. Or someone.
These rhymes that fill my mind have not stopped. My love do you remember that day we walked in that wood? I do of course. That was the day my heart began to quicken as I began to believe there was more to this world than our eyes could see. But do you remember that grey twilight upon which we sat at that fire and burned bouquets of roses as we told each other our hopes and dreams? I can only reply you know I do. That was the day I knew we were on a road that we could not leave. Then you know that we only wait one thing. Our lives have spiraled around the core of truth that can be no other than what is now before us as we see the sun set before our eyes. Where is the one that was promised? We have been given much but still where is the well-laden table, where is the bread and wine? We are missing the one that was promised, the one that takes away the sin of the world. But remember you say your eyes now beginning to glow with inner fire, that one is provided by the one for whom our soul longs. In fact, you say now in a hushed and reverent manner, that one is come into the world and provided himself for himself for us that might dwell with him in the most full and rich communion that could ever be imagined in this world. Imagine that. Behold the lamb.
I take up the vision and fiercely pen all these things my mind have seen. In the darkening of the night, I feel your hand tighten upon my shoulder as we gaze up at the falling stars. And as light flashes from east to west, I whisper to you do you remember what joy is ours as we look forward to taking cups and toasting at that table? Oh my heart quivers. These words now ring in my head as I prepare myself for the consummation of all that’s been written. We now stand in purple twilight and gaze up at the fires of angels as we prepare to dine in heaven. The echoes of that long ago forest walk come back to me and I whisper what I heard him say and my heart rejoices that he is now near at hand
I will drape my cloak over you
I will ever draw you with my hand
I will call you by the music of my voice
I will surely bring you to my promised land
You and I stand together under the banner of redeeming love. We have no qualms about what is written for now united in sweet union are the songs of faith and hope as they look upon what descends from above. I should not say what, but who. And you know of whom I speak. His name is upon my lips as we hold hands tight and prepare for eternity where the songs will never stop and there will be no more echo for the source shall be before us in perfection of beauty and glory – that one robed in infinity and yet marked still by the suffering that he bore for those he descended to save, that in the fullness of his divinity and might still he stoops down that we might know his name. And now we tremble as we stand before him in a way and place I cannot describe for my thoughts flee far above and far beyond and before him we stand and I see his face.
Witness
What does it mean to walk down the path when one knows not the middle but has faith in where it ends? Sometimes it simply means the slow and simple approach of taking that next step and planting your foot firmly upon the path and avoiding the temptation to look behind. That is good to remember and easy to exhort one to but considerably harder to remember in the moment when everything seems opposed to you. True? So as I trudge around the sputtering volcano and feel on my skin the warm brush of ash, I know that it is folly to attempt to turn back now and that path off to the side must be avoided at all costs. For truly where I come from is the halls of darkness and so instead now I lift my eyes to the skies and continue to bear this cross. It is not a fraction as heavy as the one the one before me bore. Remember that, my friend. So I whisper prayers I’ve said so many times before and softly aloud chant these promises that were written that I might delight in them. Heed the word written and look up to the promised word that stooped and wrote in the dust for you. And now though the fog settles and my feet are shrouded from my eyes I smile for I tell myself the stories of the coming glories that shall be written in the skies. Courage, dear heart.
Something Weird 