Christine Valters Paintner's Blog, page 70

Monk in the World Guest Post: Rich Lewis

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Rich Lewis' reflection on centering prayer.

On workdays my first centering prayer sit is at 5:45 a.m. I always feel some anxiety after I wake. Then I retreat to the basement, light a candle, and sit on a couch. It wakes me up. The anxiety fades. It fills me with interior peace and energizes me for the day.

I use the Contemplative Outreach phone app. The timer is set for twenty minutes. I read the opening prayer. I have selected, "Open my heart to your Love." That is all I want to do. I want to forget me and open my heart to God's Love. I fill my heart with God's Love.

During centering prayer God heals my mental, physical and spiritual being. I immediately detach from my thoughts and emotions. In my mind I silently say, "I let them go to You." I think about my upcoming day. I think about what worries me and makes me anxious. I think about areas where I need mental and physical healing. I think about others who I am worried about. I think about my anger, frustration, hurt. As the thoughts arise, I let them all go to God.

I might go through my "let go" process for about one minute. Then I am done. If I have more thoughts after that, I mentally visualize my sacred icon as my intention to open to God's presence and action within. I internally visualize the icon for no more than one second. My goal now is to forget me. My goal now is to let go. My goal is to sit in the presence of Mystery – to remove all barriers to God. My goal is to let God gaze directly on me. The only way God can do this is if I let go of me and my baggage.

Anthony de Mello writes, "Words cannot give you reality. They only point, they only indicate. You use them as pointers to get to reality. But once you get there, your concepts are useless. A Hindu priest once had a dispute with a philosopher who claimed that the final barrier to God was the word 'God,' the concept of God."

Words can get me started but I must let go of them if I want to find God, or more precisely let God find me. I am in a posture of openness and consent to the action of God. As soon as I have any thoughts, I let them go. I enter the spaces between my thoughts. Here God finds me.

God is not my thoughts. God is beyond my thoughts. My thoughts only limit God. Many mystics have exclaimed in one form or another that the most profound knowledge of God is to know God as unknowable. I enter centering prayer with this posture of openness and unknowing. Whenever thoughts, emotions and day planning begin, if I have to, I mentally visualize my Jesus icon to bring me back. Sometimes I do not have to visualize the icon. My thoughts float away on their own.

After twenty minutes, the three consecutive tones of the closing bell ring. When the third and final bell has rung and there is silence, my sit is over. I know I did not fall asleep. I describe it as a place I go. I have let go. I do not feel anything. It is a vacuum. I have merged or fallen into something larger than me. When the closing bell rings I re-emerge from this place that I will call Divine Union. I now feel joy and peace. I am grounded and excited to begin my day.

Letting go during centering prayer is meant to continue the rest of your day. What do I mean by this? I mean we should never hold on to thoughts and emotions that are not productive. They stop us from accomplishing the tasks that we need to complete each day. When I become worried, I let it go. When I become anxious, I let it go. When I become frustrated, I let it go. When I become afraid, I let it go. It is okay to acknowledge emotions but they will often stop us dead in our tracks. We need to let them go so we can move on. I realize that at times there are thoughts and emotions that we need to deal with. I do not suggest repression. I suggest that we let them go so we can move on with our day. Later in the day if we need to deal with them, we should.

When it comes to thoughts there are two extremes. We can clutch the thought like clutching a rock (attachment) or we can hurl the rock (aversion). Centering prayer is about simply letting the rock rest in the palm of our hands, then gently tilting our hand so it drops. It is a gentle movement void of tense reactivity.

Gently letting go is a reflex. The more we do it the stronger the reflex becomes. At first we will hold on to an emotional tangent for a day or more. Then with practice, the tangent only takes half the day. Then, in time, as we become more skilled at the art of letting go we can let go of the tangent after ten minutes.

Rich Lewis teaches centering prayer in his local/virtual community at both church and college/university settings and also offers one on one coaching. Rich publishes a weekly meditation and book reviews on his site, Silence Teaches. Learn more about Rich at www.SilenceTeaches.com.

Monk in the World: Work 2 – Scripture Reflection by John ~ A Love Note from Your Online Prior

Dear monks, artists, and pilgrims,

During this Jubilee year of sabbatical we are revisiting our Monk Manifesto by moving slowly through the Monk in the World retreat materials together every Sunday. Each week will offer new reflections on the theme and every six weeks will introduce a new principle.

Principle 5: I commit to bringing myself fully present to the work I do, whether paid or unpaid, holding a heart of gratitude for the ability to express my gifts in the world in meaningful ways.

Matthew 20:1–16

The Labourers in the Vineyard

'For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire labourers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the labourers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o'clock, he saw others standing idle in the market-place; and he said to them, "You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right." So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o'clock, he did the same. And about five o'clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, "Why are you standing here idle all day?" They said to him, "Because no one has hired us." He said to them, "You also go into the vineyard." When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, "Call the labourers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first." When those hired about five o'clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, "These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat." But he replied to one of them, "Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?" So the last will be first, and the first will be last.'

Background

This parable is one of several Jesus tells shortly after the Transfiguration and just before he enters Jerusalem. Jesus knows his death is near and so has little time left. He is trying to pass along some final lessons while he still has time.

Jesus does this, as he often did, through a story with a setting familiar to his audience and yet ends with a bit of a twist. The set up here is simple enough: a farmer needs help with his harvest and so hires some workers. Most people hearing this story probably are rich enough to own a large enough business as to need to employ a lot of people. However, most of us have experience looking for work.

I'm sure the day labourers chosen at 9am were grateful for the work. They had a full day of physical work ahead, but at least they knew they'd be able to provide for their families because of it. They were probably even grateful for the extra help when more workers were hired at noon, three, and as late as five that evening. And as the parable goes, they were thrilled to see the workers hired last (those who only worked a fraction of the day) were given the full day's wage. Surely this meant they would be getting paid extra, a bonus for being on the job the entire day.

To say the workers hired first were a bit disappointed in their wages, which they had agreed to work for from the start, is a bit of an understatement. It's also understandable. As a child, I certainly always related to the frustration of those earlier workers. I was baptised as a child. I attended Mass every Sunday and went to a Catholic grade school. Why shouldn't I get a nicer heaven than somebody who was leading a wicked life and only gets in with a deathbed-conversion?

Well, because heaven is heaven and being jealous of someone else's reward (particularly when one is receiving the same reward) is a bit of a jerk move. And as I realised later in life, that the work itself was part of the reward. The workers hired first had the security of knowing they'd be paid that day. The other workers weren't out living the high-life. They weren't getting a free snow-day. They had the anxiety of not knowing if they would be able to eat or pay rent.

If my only motivation for doing the work of being a person of faith is a later reward, I am missing out on the blessing of the work itself.

Reflection

My bachelors degree is in education and I was a classroom teacher for twelve years. It was not exactly a 9-to-5 job, but it was a fairly typical job. My classroom was an office, of sorts. I had co-workers. My students were underlings I was responsible for. The parents were similar to customers. And I had several bosses: department chair, dean, vice principals, principals. It also had a regular pay check and decent benefits.

I gave all that up, for better or worse, when I decided to leave classroom teaching because of the curriculum changes dictated by the U.S. Conference of Bishops. I still believe it was the right decision for me. I was able to put behind me a great many frustrations and stresses. But it also created new issues, in terms of income and benefits.

I'm not a proponent of the "everything happens for a reason" philosophy, but this decision did work out very well. I'm now an employee at the Abbey of the Arts which Christine started over a decade ago. I help her with providing Biblical content for our online courses, as well as helping organize and lead our many in-person pilgrimages and retreats.

Not everyone is fortunate to be paid for such meaningful work and so I am extremely grateful for the blessing of the work I have. Others may get paid more or have a larger impact in the world. But I love what I do. I get to work with my wife, doing work we find meaningful, for appreciative and like-minded people.

What work do you find meaningful?

With great and growing love,

John

John Valters Paintner, MTS

Photo © Christine Valters Paintner

Featured Poet: Jeanne Murray Walker

Last spring we launched a series with poets whose work we love and want to feature and will continue it moving forward.

Our next poet is Jeanne Murray Walker whose recent work was created through the discipline of a sonnet format. Read her poetry and discover more about the connections she makes between poetry and the sacred. Watch and lister to her read "The Creation" below.

Staying Power

In appreciation of Maxim Gorky at the International convention of Athiests. 1929

Like Gorky, I sometimes follow my doubts

outside and question the metal sky,

longing to have the fight settled, thinking

I can't go on like this, and finally I say

all right, it is improbable, all right, there

is no God. And then as if I'm focusing

a magnifying glass on dry leaves, God blazes up.

It's the attention, maybe, to what isn't

there that makes the notion flare like

a forest fire until I have to spend the afternoon

spraying it with the hose to put it out. Even

on an ordinary day when a friend calls,

tells me they've found melanoma,

complains that the hospital is cold, I whisper, God.

God, I say as my heart turns inside out.

Pick up any language by the scruff of its neck,

wipe its face, set it down on the lawn,

and I bet it will toddle right into the godfire

again, which--though they say it doesn't

exist—can send you straight to the burn unit.

Oh, we have only so many words to think with.

Say God's not fire, say anything, say God's

a phone, maybe. You know you didn't order a phone,

but there it is. It rings. You don't know who it could be.

You don't want to talk, so you pull out

the plug. It rings. You smash it with a hammer

till it bleeds springs and coils and clobbered up

metal bits. It rings again. You pick it up

and a voice you love whispers hello.

First appeared in Poetry.

Also appears in Helping the Morning

Themes of Her Work

I have just finished writing a hundred poems, each in 14 lines of rhymed iambic pentameter. I very intentionally took on this task as a king of spiritual commitment about five years ago:   to write sonnets, investigating the question:  why have the best religious poets in English have been obsessed with the sonnet?  The answer became the book, Pilgrim, You Find the Path by Walking (Paraclete).  I confess that I didn't care for sonnets, particularly, when I began writing. Through practice I have discovered that the sonnet offers a powerful way to read and/or write about life and death and God and His astonishing world.

Everywhere You Look You See Lilacs

and better yet

just blossoming in woozy

pink and white, smell the peonies

that will cast off their clothes like floozies

soon. Ponder the indolent fat bees

like tiny blimps that hover over them,

perfectly content with where they are

this morning. Nothing's missing in the flame

of this slow day. Sun through Douglas fir

cascading now, the earth complete and here:

once, currently, forever. How not traveling,

we've still traveled everywhere. How far

it's possible to go without unraveling

maps or charts. To get there with no drive,

no fear, not even any hunger to arrive.

First appeared in Innisfree.

Also appears in Pilgrim, You Find the Path by Walking

Poetry and the Sacred

Reading good poetry reminds me (as does participating in ritual at church) that every literal thing in the world has another meaning, that there is a spiritual world which lies around and just beyond us all the time.  I believe this.  However, when I write poetry, I am usually not thinking about that spiritual world so much as about the fact that I'd better show up for a workshop at 3:00 pm (or whatever the scheduled time) with a couple of poems so I can talk them over with a friend, who is a poet and a fine critic.  She brings her poems, too.  I learned a long time ago that if I don't workshop with other poets, I don't write.  Workshops and deadlines serve as my reminders about the dailiness of living on earth; for me they are also an aspect of the sacred practice of poetry.

Attempt

Be present with your want of a Deity

and you shall be present with the Deity.

Thomas Traherne

Sometimes I lose you, as if you were a stallion

and the barn door's left ajar. Or I'm due someplace

and can't remember where. In my hellion

hair and ripped work shirt, I ransack the place

to find my datebook. Gone. Or I've dropped

my glasses and I'm crawling on all fours

to swab the floor with outstretched hands. I mop

blindly, my heart stuttering with fear.

Don't tell me you're not a stallion. I know.

You're not some destination. But I want to

tell you what it's like to search, although

the words are clumsy. Vapor.

What it comes to:

You are the sky, the boat, the oars, the water.

You are the soul that longs to row and you're the rower.

First appeared in Spiritus.

Also appears in Pilgrim, You Find the Path by Walking

About Jeanne Murray Walker

Jeanne Murray Walker is the author of ten books of poetry, most recently, Pilgrim, You Find the Path by Walking (Paraclete Press).  Her poems are collected in Helping the Morning (WordFarm Press).  Jeanne's poetry and essays have appeared in several hundred journals, including Poetry, Image, The American Poetry Review, The Georgia Review, and Best American Poetry.  Her plays have been produced by theatres across the US and in London. A recipient of the Pew and NEA Fellowships, she has been nominated 16 times for The Pushcart Prize.  Her poem "Colors" is part of a permanent installation in The Comcast Technology Center in Philadelphia. Jeanne served as head of the creative writing department at the University of Delaware and as a mentor in The Seattle Pacific University MFA Program. Currently she teaches writing as a volunteer at Baylor Women's Correctional Institution.

Visit her online at  www.JeanneMurrayWalker.com

For more of Jeanne's books including her essays visit:  https://www.english.udel.edu/people/jwalker

 

Dreaming of Stones

Christine Valters Paintner's new collection of poems Dreaming of Stones has been published by Paraclete Press.

The poems in Dreaming of Stones are about what endures: hope and desire, changing seasons, wild places, love, and the wisdom of mystics. Inspired by the poet's time living in Ireland these readings invite you into deeper ways of seeing the world. They have an incantational quality. Drawing on her commitment as a Benedictine oblate, the poems arise out of a practice of sitting in silence and lectio divina, in which life becomes the holy text.

Monk in the World: Work 1 – Reflection by Christine + Art

Dear monks, artists, and pilgrims,

During this Jubilee year of sabbatical we are revisiting our Monk Manifesto by moving slowly through the Monk in the World retreat materials together every Sunday. Each week will offer new reflections on the theme and every six weeks will introduce a new principle.

Principle 5: I commit to bringing myself fully present to the work I do, whether paid or unpaid, holding a heart of gratitude for the ability to express my gifts in the world in meaningful ways.

"In Benedictine spirituality, work is what we do to continue what God wanted done.  Work is co-creative. Keeping a home that is beautiful and ordered and nourishing and artistic is co-creative.  Working in a machine shop that makes gears for tractors is co-creative.  Working in an office that processes loan applications for people who are trying to make life more humane is co-creative. . .We work because the world is unfinished and it is ours to develop.  We work with a vision in mind. . . Work is a commitment to God's service."   

—Joan Chittister, Wisdom Distilled from the Daily

Work is an important element of monastic life.  Benedict called for his monks to live by the work of their own hands.  Monastic spirituality calls us to be present to the gifts of meaningful work, work which gives us shelter and food, work which allows us to be a part of something larger than ourselves, work which gives us space for creative expression.

Work isn't always what we are paid to do.  Meaningful work is rooted in our sense of vocation – what we have been called by God to offer in service through our unique gifts.  Work, as Joan Chittister writes above, is co-creative.  It contributes to the flourishing of heaven on earth.

As monks in the world, work life is perhaps the hallmark of our relationship to our communities.  It is often the place where we make our offering.  Even if our work feels tedious, we are called as monks to be present to each moment and enter into it with love.  In this way we grow in freedom and discover how we are being called even more deeply to transform the world.

With great and growing love,

Christine 

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Art © Kristin Noelle

Text: "Each minute and each second of life is a miracle. /  And the dishes themselves / And the fact that I am washing them are miracles. / Each bowl I wash / Each poem I compose / Each time I invite a bell to sound / Is a miracle / And has exactly the same value." Thich Nhat Hanh

Join Abbey of the Arts on retreat in 2021!

We are delighted that all of our 2020 pilgrimages and retreats have been full for several months now (you are always welcome to add yourself to our cancellation list as we do have folks drop out).

We are scaling back on our live offerings for 2021 to allow more time for writing but are thrilled to announce the following programs which are currently open for registration:

Writing on the Wild Edges: A Creative Retreat on the Island of Inismor (Ireland)

with Christine & John Valters Paintner

May 9-15, 2021 – limited to 18 participants

More details here>>

Poetry and the Sacred Garden of the World: A Creative Retreat on the Island of Inismor (Ireland)

with Christine & John Valters Paintner

August 22-28, 2021 – limited to 18 participants

More details here>>

*This retreat is based on content Christine developed for Chartres and is similar in format to our other writing retreat above with even more emphasis on poetry. Open to all levels of experience.

Hildegard of Bingen and the Greening Power of God: A Pilgrimage in Germany

with Christine Valters Paintner and Betsey Beckman

September 11-19, 2021 – limited to 16 participants (HALF FULL! Only twin shared rooms left)

More details here>>

These are likely going to be the only live programs offered by Christine in 2021 as we are also hosting a couple of private groups. Let us know if you have questions or need an encouraging nudge to join us!

See our Calendar of Programs

Livestream Event with Abbey Musicians Simon & Richard

We are so delighted that Richard Bruxvoort Colligan and Simon de Voil, two sacred musicians we work with extensively at Abbey of the Arts, are collaborating together and offering a livestream event next Wednesday (January 22nd). You can sign up below. They are both such soulful musicians as well as gorgeous presences bringing beauty into the world.

We have a new album being released very soon to accompany Christine's book *Earth, Our Original Monastery* (available to pre-order) and both Richard and Simon have songs featured on it!

They each are a part of the Patreon platform, so you can support their music that way and have access to all kinds of lovely extras in music and ministry. It is really a wonderful way to support the arts and independent musicians and to say to the world, this deeply matters!

Click here to sign up for the live event>>

Earth, Our Original Monastery book excerpt

Mercy by the Sea retreat center has shared an excerpt from the introduction of Christine Valters Paintner's forthcoming book Earth, Our Original Monastery: Cultivating Wonder and Gratitude through Intimacy with Nature:

Everything in creation becomes a catalyst for my deepened self-understanding. The forest asks me to embrace my truth once again. The hummingbird invites me to sip holy nectar, the egret to stretch out my wings, the sparrows to remember my flock.

Each pine cone contains an epiphany; each smooth stone offers a revelation. I watch and witness as the sun slowly makes her long arc across the sky and discover my own rising and falling. The moon will sing of quiet miracles, like those which reveal and conceal the world every day right before our eyes.

Click the link to read the whole excerpt>>

Click here to pre-order online at Amazon or directly from Ave Maria Press>>

Monk in the World Guest Post: Elizabeth Brady

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Elizabeth Brady's reflection "The Slow Unfurling of a Fiddlehead."

When I reflect on the question of how I live as a monk in the world I think of a fiddlehead. It is a delightful word to say and invites the inevitable question: what is a fiddlehead?

A fiddlehead is the furled frond of a young fern. It is largely ornamental and can be eaten as a side dish, but if it were left on the plant to fully grow it would unroll into a new frond. We have all delighted in the outrageous and unsubtle ways in which our spiritual lives are reflected in nature and the fiddlehead is no different.

It is untested; unfurled and therefore in the neat and tidy shape of a scroll and thus appreciated for those reasons. But when we begin to unfurl it allows for new growth and our very survival. And this tug between our inner striving and life's outer demands helps us to fully grow.

On New Year's Eve 2012 our son Mack, who was two weeks shy of his ninth birthday, died suddenly of a severe blood infection on a Lifelink helicopter on route to Hershey Children's Hospital. My husband and I drove as fast as we could to keep up with the helicopter, fireworks dotting the night sky in between the rolling mountains of Pennsylvania.

Emily Dickinson wrote, "Dying is a wild night and a new road," apparently musing upon her own death, but it holds true for the complete upheaval of life after such a storm. There are few things that have not changed for me and my husband and our daughter since Mack's death six and a half years ago, but others have come into sharp relief.

One of them is the practice that I began as a young short-term missionary in West Africa almost thirty years ago. I was required to keep a journal and so the practice of morning prayer and reflection became a part of me that I have carried throughout my life. In the early days after Mack's death I returned to my desk in the early morning out of habit and would stare numbly out the window and watch the sunrise. I came because it is my sacred space. And, somehow, I knew that in that space where I meet the Lord that I would find Mack, too. And I have.

But what has most changed for me in the slow and painful unfurling beyond the death of our son is that I no longer come to prayer with the thought that I am becoming more spiritual. I come to prayer because it helps me appreciate my humanness.

By humanness I mean that I recognize that I am only here for a finite time. Mack's early death is a constant reminder that our human experience is fleeting so I am more mindful of the present.

By humanness I recognize that I am imperfect. And, part of the unfurling of a fiddlehead is finding peace in the midst of the messy but necessary and never-ending process of growth.

I have also learned from Mack's death that although I am finite, my relationships are infinite. One of the most astonishing aspects of the death of someone you love is that love does not die. This slow, hidden process is cultivated in the interior journey and yet it has also transformed the way I see the people I am honored to share life with and who are willing to share life with me.

I am grateful for my slow unfurling.

Elizabeth and her family honored Mack by establishing the Mack Brady Soccer Fund that helps recruit and train the best keepers for Penn State men's soccer. She teaches at Penn State and her essays can be found at OpenToHope.com, ModernLoss.com, and "Bodies of Truth: Personal Narratives on Illness, Disability, and Medicine."

Monk in the World: Kinship with Creation 6 – Reflection Questions and Closing Blessing ~ A Love Note from Your Online Abbess

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims,

During this Jubilee year of sabbatical we are revisiting our Monk Manifesto by moving slowly through the Monk in the World retreat materials together every Sunday. Each week will offer new reflections on the theme and every six weeks will introduce a new principle.

Principle 4: I commit to cultivating awareness of my kinship with creation and a healthy asceticism by discerning my use of energy and things, letting go of what does not help nature to flourish.

Reflection Questions

How are you being called to awaken this new day?

Where are you being invited to embrace your own radiance in the fullness of the day?

What are you being summoned to release as the day ends?

Where are the places you are being called to surrender into deeper unknowing and a sense of the mystery of night?

Closing Blessing from Christine

God of fecundity,

you overflow into creation

with each moment,

offering the gifts of beauty, wildness, and nourishment.

I embrace the sacred rhythms of light and dark,

rise and fall, fullness and emptiness,

as the pulse which animates every living thing.

Enliven my commitment

to live as a member of the whole earth community.

With great and growing love,

Christine

Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, REACE

Image credit: Star image above is a word cloud made up of words from this community to guide them in 2020

Featured Poet: Sofia M. Starnes

Last spring we launched a series with poets whose work we love and want to feature and will continue it moving forward.

Our next poet is Sofia M. Starnes whose work is centered on God, as infinite mind and heart. Read her poetry and discover more about the connections she makes between poetry and the sacred. Listen to her read "The Soul's Landscape" below.

https://abbeyofthearts.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2020/01/TheSoulsLandscape10.9.19mp3.mp3



Intercession I

A time for keeping quiet,

A time for speaking …

—Ecclesiastes: 3

Not the attic light, but the bricks that left us asking

where the house was,

and the widow-walk.

Not the porch lamps, but the blueprint of a sunroom

and a window stripped to bone. Chanticleer.

By early dawn, the swindle of a cockcrow flew apart.

So, did death stop speaking too?

All our ladders have become: ribcage, bruise

appraisal, crackers in a can, dry root—

which is to say, a basement full of words made

tangible—

music in large cages and small rooms.

And so I turn to voice as sling, to call as latticework

of tongues

(gossips in a loft),

that breaks our fall through ink and mockingbird,

those nights we test our hand on spring, incur a rustle—

brush before abandon.

From Fully Into Ashes, Wings Press, 2011;

first published in ARTS

Themes of Her Work

Having written mostly in free verse (although the use of formal stanzas and their cadence give my poems visual and oral shape), I recently discovered a 15th-16th century form, the dizain, which captivated me with its conciseness and prescribed constraints.

Against the chaos and disjointedness of the prevailing "outrage culture", I am drawn to the dizain's whispering power. I am exploring it further, hoping to recast it with contemporary voice. The themes of the poems vary, but their center remains the same: God, as infinite mind and heart; our minds and hearts growing only, and fully, by abiding in his.

Miracle

A word disperses what a breath has caught,

as crimson bird fraying the autumn mist,

or ruffle in a cloth, a thread, once knot,

now a quiver.       Tell us, the crowds insist;

for telling means that languages exist

past brokenness—until they taste the salt

of being healed. Far closer now, the fault

that split the girl's lips from her Hebrew tongue.

Talitha koum! Her breath, turned somersault,

pinwheels the distance between gasp and song.

Published in Presence, 2019

Poetry and the Sacred

I think everything we do derives from our having been fed, which is why it is fitting that we say grace, not only before meals, but before anything else we do. Before writing.

Writing is a willful act which takes us closer to or (God forbid) farther from God. There is no staying in place. Not because we do the "approaching"—it is always God's call—but because only in his presence can we respond to God's initiative. So, whenever I write, I try to place myself in the presence of God, praying that the words will neither go astray nor lead me astray. There is no guarantee that the poem will be a good poem (so  many poems falter in the race!), only that the moment will be spent prayerfully, will be holy. There is still the hard work, the not-knowing whether a particular poem is worth anything at all, the need to live simultaneously with faith and doubt.

For me, writing poetry necessitates an emptying of the self, so that the poem is no longer about me. The resulting emptiness would be untenable if it were not filled with the sacred, ultimately (God-willing, in God's mercy) with God.

Emerge

…from Latin emergere, "bring forth, bring to light"

At times this brings a stork, past rains, abandoning

a tower; at times a bubble dying

in a pond. I hear the word emerge and see a fern

or a feather; the first one wild and wispy,

to cure a wound, the role of ancient grasses; the other,

trail of a bird, slim fan or lady's purse—

the kind fairy tales gather.

Does not your heart, weary from things apparent,

ask what each storyline will tell,

which words carry their roots with candor?

Secrets would hunker down, safe in their winter castles,

were it not—

for the prophetic stem, weighty with beans

that rides its pole for air, for what we sense of seeds,

soft inches down, fussing our veins awake,

for every bone that pulls the body alert, to learn

its fragile face. But what about our hands,

the ones we excuse from light, deep in our pockets?

With chambers dark, I think, the dark is change, is key.

From The Consequence of Moonlight (Paraclete Press, 2018);

first published in The William and Mary Review

About Sofia M. Starnes

 

Sofia M. Starnes, Virginia Poet Laureate (2012-2014), is the author of six poetry collections, most recently The Consequence of Moonlight (Paraclete Press, 2018). She is also the recipient of a Poetry Fellowship from the Virginia Commission for the Arts, among numerous other commendations, including five Pushcart Prize nominations. In 2013, she received an honorary Doctorate in Letters from Union College, Kentucky.

From 2007 to 2019, Sofia served as Poetry Editor and Poetry Book Review Editor for The Anglican Theological Review. Currently, in addition to working on her poetry she is a manuscript editor and mentor for writers of poetry, fiction, and non-fiction. She is also a freelance literary translator, particularly of art essays, memoirs, and historical texts, most recently for Galería Cayón (Madrid, Spain), the Ayala Foundation (Manila, Philippines), and Iberdrola (Bilbao, Spain).

For more information, please visit SofiaMStarnes.com.

Love and the Afterlife available exclusively by contacting the poet at smstarnes@cox.net

Dreaming of Stones

Christine Valters Paintner's new collection of poems Dreaming of Stones has just been published by Paraclete Press.

The poems in Dreaming of Stones are about what endures: hope and desire, changing seasons, wild places, love, and the wisdom of mystics. Inspired by the poet's time living in Ireland these readings invite you into deeper ways of seeing the world. They have an incantational quality. Drawing on her commitment as a Benedictine oblate, the poems arise out of a practice of sitting in silence and lectio divina, in which life becomes the holy text.