Into the Mystery

Here's a comment I sent to the NY Times blogger Stanley Fish regarding his recent post God Part 2.

Thanks Stanley Fish. For your sublime intellect and careful, thoughtful commentary. And I add, as an employee of an Episcopal church (music director for 12 or so years),
IT is not about religion.
IT is about mystery.
And for sure IT is more about the questions than the answers.

I don’t have the answers–neither does the Pope, or Christopher Hitchens, or St. Paul or Stanley Fish but I think our modern prophets and prophetesses of song and poetry help get us closer to some kind of knowing. (I’m partial to the Gospel according to Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Aretha Franklin, Ben Harper, Mary Oliver, Mark Strand, Sherman Alexie…the list goes on and on…)

I think Mary Oliver has something important to say in her poem The Summer Day

She doesn’t have the answer either, but she IS paying attention.

Good Grief

Grief is kicking my ass.
This problem we humans have of loving and losing is really starting to beat me down.

Maybe because I give my heart too freely.
Maybe because loving each other is what is most important to me.
Maybe too because I've been keeping all the pain deep down inside.

I don't know.

I do know music saves me. Poetry too. Oh and there is always beauty.

Here's 2 minutes of beauty that just breaks and opens my little heart.

I'm suffering. I'm doing my best. Help.

Just a word or two about my new favorite book,
Anger by Thich Nhat Hanh.
Read it.

"Darling, I am angry. I suffer.
And (with mindfulness) I am doing my best.
Darling, I need your help. Please do help me."

What more would you ever need to say?

I need it bad

I need some unconditional love today.

The love that can hold you when you're feeling worthless.
The love that doesn't need definition or reason.
The love that you can count on.

How about we love each other for who we are--
who we are right now in all our messed up glory.

I need this kind of love right now.
I need it bad.

Dare you not to cry

Here's another poem.
The Race by Sharon Olds
It mostly speaks for itself.
Read it aloud to someone you love.
Dare you not to cry.

Each day we go about our business...

Thank you Elizabeth Alexander, author of the inaugural poem, for reminding us of where we Americans have come from and who we are now.

Reminding us of our African American praise song story and about the love that can be and grow beyond race, time or gender.

We are on the brink.
We are in need of more love than we can imagine--getting or giving.
We are walking forward into a light that is finally shining on all of us, not just some.

Let's answer Ms. Alexander's question

"What if the mightiest word is love?"

with a yes!

"Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance."

We make the mightiest word love and retire money, power and fear.

I so hopefully feel ready to try.

Creatures of Light

"Fragile, vulnerable, creatures of light."

This is what we are, my preacher friend tells me.

I am reminded of this every day.

Fragile.
Today the news that a dear friend has cancer.
Another dear friend with cancer.
My heart is in my throat and I feel like I cannot get a full breath.

Vulnerable.
A friend falls on the icy snowy walkway and breaks her foot.
Her dear husband, (they are both in their 70's) gets the flu in the midst of caring for her. We can break--and we do.

Creatures of light.
My sweet grandson laughing--it could break your heart how bright his light shines.

Fragile
Vulnerable
Creatures of light

Here's a poem, In the Produce Aisle by Kirsten Dierking, that sweetly expresses our finite and delicate predicament.