Three cranes glide over the river
the line of flags hang limp in the rain.
The weight of sodden
pageantry; was it calculated in the casting?
Can it be borne?
Does anyone imagine the
weight of their life
when it is soaked?
How heavy it is.
Every motion is laden with grief
accumulated weights.
The density of water is 0.99802 g/ml.
What a pull when it saturates;The next day the flags flutter northward,
the cranes roosting.
“Prayer is an activity that must be central to our lives... in prayer we are holding our empty hands of faith to the God who is there and you can do far more abundantly than all we ask or imagine. -Francis Scaeffer
I know this river, we've spoken before
Solaced by it's banks
Between highways and heartbreaks
Above a culvert, beside it's ever-changing shape
Years, months and days
Always the same and always new
Greeted by a different hue;
June's deep blue
August's green algae bloom,
October's grays and January's white renewed
In the spring air, the Red Winged Blackbirds, Robins, and Jays sing
The crickets jump, the sun dapples the trees, glowing reeds
This embankment, shoreline curve, rip-rap and parallel eroding banks
The planes taking off,
life moving on
All the transition
the learning, the letting go
We're told and sold beauty and money will bring happiness
(that ever elusive, fading moment)
A river quieting my soul,
that is my choice
Can I hold space for the prayers unanswered,
the not-yet, the pain, and the grief
Can my words solidify
the rock I sit on-
Made of atoms, moving undaunted leagues apart
as solid as it seems, what a feat of mind-blowing reality
Can I hold space for myself, to simply be?
With me, beside me, attuning, witnessing, accepting
What a posture; moving at love's pace
I am the place I've been waiting for, a space of stillness and grace.
I have a ready pen, a brush, a word,
But to sit still, oh, that's a hard task,
That's a big ask.
When I have 1,000 birds to paint,
A world to write,
So much to do, to feel, to think.
Pausing is discouraged when you're on a moving on the walkway
Maybe I have to get off.
Maybe it will take time.
Maybe it will be worth it.
Maybe stopping is the way forward.
God, I surrender my black and white thinking,
Good guys and bad guys gaming,
Us and them theology blaming,
Believers and unbelievers shaming.
You are the judge
and get to say what's good
Your voice is love
You are all that is good.
My seat of judgement,
I surrender it to you,
Judge and King, merciful and true.
And tomorrow, I'll do it again, too.
When I judge, I go up and high above.
I look down on my selfish, frustrated self, jealous and keeled over in pain, so messy and honest and wrong. Discouraged, mosquito-bitten and panting in the heat.
Instead of compassion, I feel disgust. "She's BAD." What a pitiful creature! So pathetic. Ha, I gorwl with contempt.
It's easy, I learned it early. And it even feels so righteous and justified to criticize, it feels right, even while in that pattern I die again and again.
I gain power, I get to be the first one to criticize... then no one else's words and rejection can be as powerful.
I lose so much; this self-rejection that decays my soul, the deep shame that leads only to more pain, a purgatory of torment with little escape.
What a road system, leading to a tunnel with no light. Will I chose to keep entering, beating up myself? Or will I turn around and take flight?
Learn a new language, sounds that will be foreign on my tongue, unpronounceable (at first) until those sounds assemble and create new meaning, new pathways, new patterns of feeling, new ways of dealing?
Will I learn this way of self-love?
D e b r i e f i n g - being invited to process, understand, sort, and discover meaning.
Taking time to feel and think through these questions is work. It takes energy to process. Yet the clarity and vulnerability you enter into will be worth it. Holding space for yourself and your thoughts and emotions is worth it. The story you tell yourself about this relationship matters, and it is crucial to weave together truth and compassion. May these questions bring new insight and clarity in your journey.
G u i d a n c e
-Don't rush. You can do this in bit size chunks.
-Do this in a safe space so you can freely express yourself through screams, sobs, and silence.
-Give permission. Speak out loud to your body: "body, I give you permission to release the emotions you've stored inside" This can help release the stored stress and tension in your muscles
-Feel your emotions in your body. Be aware.
-Respond with compassion. (Validate, acknowledge... "it makes so much sense I feel...")
-Speak the truth ("the truth is....I tried my best...I am worthy....I am loved...")
-Rest. (Seriously, try and give yourself permission to nap, go to bed early, and give yourself time).
-Repeat.
-This is not a one-size fits all instruction, it is a starting point for processing. Take it where you need to go.
-This is not a one-time exercise (check that box and I'm done, woo! I wish), and you don't have to put a timeline on when you're "over it." There are no right timelines. It will take the time it takes. (Yes, that can suck).
-If you find yourself "shoulding"- judging, condemning, ridiculing, or criticizng, just pause. There is likely some shameful lie that is taking over. Return to breathing and seek out the truth- "what does unconditional love say to this?"
Q u e s t i o n s
What are 1-2 things I learned about myself through this relationship?
How was I invited to grow and change in this relationship?
What did I gain in this relationship? (i.e. new perspectives, appreciation, companionship.)
What did I give up in this relationship? (i.e. sacrifices, things minimized)
What does the future look like- and what might God be saying about it?
Bisa Butler inspired
The Empty Cage
The future, will it be okay?
The bird
Will it escape to sing outside?
The bars and the tears
The lament and the fears
I do believe
She will break out
Her song will rise
The Princess
She has a pillar inside her
A strength to hold her a loft
Across oceans, languages, cultures,
A rhythm that will sustain her
Defiant and brave
The princess
Does not fear
the future, she rises
She will make her own way.
Your body
This is us
your covering
We surround you
This ordeal, rite of passage
This blood, like your mother
Like all women whose bodies are torn
Tears ripped away
Tearing away, the unclean
Scarring away, the unseen
Glory
The dignity
The glory of blackness encompassing
No white gaze interpreting,
Interrupting
Telling the story that needs to be told
The beauty, the boldness, the brilliance
Sewn into fabrics, patterns of distinction.
Tell this, tell this story
Tell of the rising
And One more
Monet
300 water lilies
100 Londonscapes
20 Haystacks
And thousands of palettes
A carefully controlled image;
Marketing-impressionistic-white-male-privilege
Exchanging Interchangeable women
For an esteemed reputation; erudite, master
Beauty undermined by a heart so callous