Keren Dibbens-Wyatt's Blog, page 5
March 21, 2018
Lent 31
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Outside the city gates we stand, walking on paths made of eggshells, crushed and broken like us: the remnants of things thrown. Talking in whispers no more but keening madly, for no-one is listening anyway, and we can say what we like. There is no further punishment that they can visit on us, sitting in their ivory towers and casting breadcrusts onto the wind, knowing we cannot afford to despise their tithing. We are already lower than the dust and we have the gift of lack, which teaches us all we need to know.
Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018
March 20, 2018
Lent 30
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The tables are set, and all is laid out in bounteous splendour. Who is invited? I wonder if the great and the powerful will mind sitting underneath, cross-legged and catching crumbs, the hors d’oeuvres made for the humble and the hoi polloi tucking into canapes all around them. Perhaps we should all take turns and become once more like little children, giggling in our draped dens, the adults carrying on above, and then all of us understanding a little better when the music begins again and we move around.
Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018
March 19, 2018
Lent 29
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A pearl is all swirling softness, nacreous light. Where does it belong? Will you try to flatten or mould it, bending it out of shape until it shatters, like an ugly sister forcing on a glass slipper? Or will you allow it to have its curves and its lunar mimicry, and listen to its wisdom song of beauty made from irritants and toxins?
Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018
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March 17, 2018
Lent 28
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Change is always longed for, and never stillness. Yet does the seed shift restlessly in its place, crammed all around by loam? Does it yearn to dance and long to give voice to its being? Or does it wait, drinking in silence and immobility, swaddled by soil and held by the earth. It knows this dark womb is working its deep and loyal magic, and that spring may not be hurried.
Photo and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018
March 16, 2018
Lent 27
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Limes sitting in a crystal bowl, catching the light in zigzags that refract through the glass, glancing off the zest in bounced pools of golden green. Here is a sacred thing of beauty that may be set before a queen, bounty from the tree of life, this glorious energy encapsulated in pitted orbs. Can you smell the viriditas, the freshness, these new mercies offered you every morning? All can be renewed. Take and eat, taste and see that the Lord is good.
Photo and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018
March 15, 2018
Lent 26
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Tap, tap tap at the window, the fingers connect with the glass, but we turn around to look and there is nobody there. Nobody seems behind so many of the tiny noises and small distractions that intersperse our days, and perhaps nobody is sometimes ourselves, trying to rouse us from the humdrum and the routine, so that just for a moment, we might look up, and see holiness gazing in, and beckoning with bright hands and hear laughter drifting into the air, calling us to come and see, come and see!
Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018
March 14, 2018
Lent 25
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The chambers of the heart pump and breathe their flow, in and out Life courses through, and like us they do not see the results, that they send word to every part of the body, and it hears the booming voice of love. They must simply trust that doing their work, monotonous as it is, makes some kind of difference. At the end of things they will be astonished to find they were the engine at the very centre, holding the truth and owning faith.
Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018
March 13, 2018
Lent 24
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Treasure calls out from the most unlikely hiding places, “Ko ko, is anyone home?” Here I am, sitting in the seeds of the pomegranate, new born beginnings covered in sweet blood. Here I am, shouting out from the veins of a butterfly’s wing, carrying life like sap beyond our sight and hearing. Here I am, in the cracked voice of a grubby stranger, trying to pour out their life story at a frozen bus stop, having chosen you as the recipient. Who are we to deny these glints of gold?
Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018
March 12, 2018
Lent 23
Hearing the sea can happen at any moment. It is always crashing onto the beach of life, onto those tidal places where the edge-dwellers and turtles comb the shore. If you listen to your own breath, and the name it speaks, you will hear it, rising and falling, the waves passing in and then out, the ebb and flow of holy water.
Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018 Artwork inspired by a reference photo by Linda Bolser Gilmore with kind permission.
March 10, 2018
Lent 22
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The ego clenches itself around all it holds dear, like a fist. It coils around its own centre, rattling its tail and spreading its deadly hood. The fangs are at the ready and poised to strike. But also held curled inside that fist is a wave of love, and the fingers only need to let down their defences for a moment, the tightness to hesitate for a second, and love may prise open the prison and rush out in a tide of compassion for others that releases both the inner and outer worlds.
Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018
