Alleluia, and Good Morning

Resurrection.jpgToday is, for many, a day without irony. It is a day one can see not just daylight through cracks in tomb doors, but can look back into what was their tomb from the satisfying light of a new dawn.

These patterns of light and dark, day and night, life and death happen so regularly that they’re almost not worth mentioning. Except, they are.

The ancients call it Paschal Mystery. A repeating pattern of living and dying and renewing that, through the eternal Christ, is everywhere present, everywhere accessible.

Faith is merely the God-given sight necessary to awaken to it. And Easter is the primal, archetypal key that opens that door.

Today is Easter. Resurrection. All that was dark, dead, hopeless, and not, is brought back into glorious harmony with God and the cosmos. Through Christ, today, we feel its warmth. Today, we know its hope.

Today is for all todays until all tomorrows are todays.

Alleluia and good morning.

_______________________

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National Poetry Month – April 18, 2019

I’ve always been a sucker for great English poets, or as some might call them, dead white guys. I thought this might be a wonderful offering for NaPoWrMo today.

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National Poetry Month – Wednesday, April 17, 2019

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National Poetry Month – Tuesday, April 16, 2019

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National Poetry Month – April 15, 2019

Monday, April 15, 2019

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the stones know something we do not

Palm Sunday. The day God said no to empire.

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the stones know something we do not

their tears now stain a palm-laden street

and cries reserved for a different day

burst out unsettled unstoppable unreserved

for today only the stones understand

who rides upon them

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National Poetry Month Daily Haiku #10

April 13, 2019

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National Poetry Month Daily Haiku #9

April 12, 2019

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National Poetry Month – April 11, 2019

Today, for National Poetry Month, I offer you the grace of these lines by fellow poet and friend, Lesley-Anne Evans. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Lament of Water

Snow this morning
after several days of deep freeze.
Slow flakes freed from sky
lay themselves at earth’s feet:
So much emptying.
This time of year the creek

I would love to live like a river flows…

is crusted, flow invisible to passersby
and their dogs, but I hear her speak.
She will transport continents
at spring break-up, downed trees,
bloated islands of of animals;
the elders, the dying.

…carried by the surprise of its own unfolding. 

I sit in my windowed room while the sun
peels back morning, each snowflake
whispers earth as in heaven.
Each day and its relentless giving,
I do not ask yet I receive what

I do not know I need.  Such gifts

I would love to live…

of shadow and of blinding light;
how much longer, LORD,

Lines from John O’Donohue’s Unfinished Poem

National Poetry Month Daily Haiku #8

April 10, 2019

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