Journey Center Blog

The first Friday of August, Dan and I offered an evening on poetry of the Christian mystics as our monthly Meeting the Mystics gathering. We focused on 4 aspects of the Christ-centered mystical path– nature mysticism, bridal/love mysticism, the journey of kenosis/emptying, and entering the Silence. Dan and I read most of the poems back and forth, so folks could hear them two different times, and in two different voices and styles– how often does that happen? So often we hear something once and then are dashing off to the next thing. We also decided to limit the number of poems so we could SAVOR them– also a great and rare pleasure. At one point I looked up and saw folks with their eyes closed, listening so deeply– no wonder a couple of people have asked us to do this again. Part of the pleasure for me, too, was having people come who don’t usually think of themselves as poetry lovers–and yet they could hear how each one of the writers had experienced God and then had– in words that are always limited and imperfect-attempted to share that experience with us–so that we,too, could enter into that moment when the Holy was a felt and experienced Presence-
I wanted to share a couple of the poems we read and invite all those of you who read our staff blogs to take a few moments, and read these slowly– maybe a couple of times — and enter into the God-blessed time these poet-mystics are describing- is there something that Spirit might be saying to you in this poems–perhaps something you are being asked to remember, or celebrate, or reflect upon, or pray over—-

The first is by R.S. Thomas, a Welsh Anglican priest who lived from 1913-2000. He was an amazing nature mystic-

The Moor
It was like a church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God was there made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours,
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In movement of the wind over grass.

There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart’s passions-that was praise
Enough; and the mind’s cessation
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread.

This next one is by Carrol Houselander, who died in the 1950’s. It’s my personal favorite “emptying poem’.

Reeds of God

We are emptiness like the hollow in the reed,
the narrow riftless emptiness
which can have only one destiny:
to receive the piper’s breath and
to utter the song that is in the piper’s heart.

We are emptiness like the hollow in the cup,
shaped to receive water.
We are emptiness like that of a bird’s est.

The reed grows by the stream.
It is the simplest of things, but
it must be cut by a sharp knife,
hollowed out, stops put in it.
It must be shaped and pierced before
it can utter the shepherd’s song.
it is the narrowest emptiness in the world,
but the little reed utters God’s infinite music.

We are lifted up and carved out,
formed and shaped and filled with
all the music of the earth.

(I’m not going to comment on these poems–so you, if you want, can just be with your own experience without my interpretations interfering with your own response–but I will just say–WOW! WOW!:>)

Finally, a poem by contemporary poet, Episcopalian , Mary Oliver. She is usually in the nature section of mystical poetry, but Dan and I used this in the silence portion to lead people into a silent prayer time– you’ll hear why-

Praying

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together, and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

This month I am carrying a poetry journal with me– I am writing poems in response to whatever catches my attention– so far my dog, Molly, sneezing;my husband fast asleep in his chair when I got home late one night;a lady who loves Christ but can’t relate to Jesus; the 50th anniversary of To Kill a Mockingbird; pomegranate salad dressing; and that poor fig tree Jesus blasted– all of which brought me just a bit more deeply, and more humbly and with more of my body, and heart, and crazy over-active mind, into what in Christianity we call ‘the sacrament of the present moment’.
That to me is the gift of poetry– if I can enter so fully into another’s experience–and most especially if that experience is of God–than my own capacity of being more fully present is encouraged,expanded. I think the Holy Spirit inspires these poems–and speaks to us through them– as if the poets were the hollowed out reeds and the poems the Shepherd’s breath– that gives life.

I hope you enjoy these -

Ruah

“Prayer is not asking for what you want, but asking to be changed in ways you can’t imagine” (Kathleen Norris)

Nine years ago, when I turned 50, I began to say a prayer: “Great Spirit, take away from me anything that interferes with my becoming who I came here to be, so that I can do what You want me to do”. It was a scary prayer-as I had no way of knowing what would follow-but it was what came to me whenever I got quiet.  Soon after the prayer began to take up room in my heart, my spiritual director taught me Centering Prayer, and consenting to the presence and action of the Spirit in my life became a daily prayer practice. 

As someone called to and committed to the contemplative journey,  I continue to discover, sometimes to my dismay and sometimes amusement, the ways and places in which I still try to control my journey with the Holy. I hope –and pray–that at some point in this long unravelling of the false self/ego I will be brought to the place where in fact I can more fully trust and surrender. Years ago a friend who was a therapist told me that no one would undertake therapy if they fully realized what it was going to be like. I think the spiritual journey may sometimes be like that too—so I just continue to ask for help in following this mysterious path into unimaginable places . I don’t know what you are doing, Spirit, but something inside of me keeps saying YES! (My Irish Nanna would say, “God help me!)