It’s the 2nd of 10 “days of awe” counting up to what is considered the most sacred day of the biblical calendar, Yom Kippur, the day of atonement.
One reason I like this space in the year is for how it gives an opportunity to count days in their original rhythm…
“…there was evening and there was morning, the first day.” Genesis 1:5
And so forth, there was evening and then morning and that is considered one day. First evening…then morning…it feels like the beat to a song I want to know how to play. I want to join this symphony so hard.
There is a radiant string of words spoken in the Jewish family this time of year too. As the holy days begin with the sounding of shofars they say it is like a welcome to the King of the Universe come down from Heaven, dwelling close and among us. They say, “The King is in the field” and the morning dew on all the leaves this morning seemed to be singing this too.
Now, it is evening again, as I send this to you. This means, already, tonight the second day is ending and the third day will begin as darkness descends. I can’t help but think this practice of keeping time in such a way holds the possibility of writing a good and real thing in our hearts; every ending is a new beginning, darkness invites us into a mystery and that is how light is always the story shadow tells.
“All things are His servant.”
So here we are again. A new moon, a moon renewed in the womb of a dark sky, closer now to the sun than the rest of the month. So. We rest, we trust, as the sliver of light always comes again, grows full again.
Yesterday I wrote of finding the ground, our stability, how we can experience support, embrace, and find ourselves safe, found, held.
It seems once we realize that it’s not long before we’re invited into leaving it all behind again, invited to fly, invited to lose and let go. How else could we have anything to release?
The birds ease in which they land and rise again matches the abundant graciousness of the seasons, how they both arrive and leave us, gently. This is not to say there are no hard lines around us, in our lives, or within the stories creation tells. Who am I kidding, even the (most often) subtle way of it all still breaks my heart lots of days.
Khalil Gibran in a favorite poem, On Love, echoes in my mind here, “…to wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving…” these are the kinds of poems that are prayers for me.
I was watching these giant emerald leaves in the wind this morning, so robust. These are poem-prayers too, beyond a reading, they invite us into a conversation.
I was stung with the thought of summer’s end, I don’t want it to end. I love autumn, but I don’t want the beauty I’ve known to pass away, not yet.
No sooner than these thoughts had grown fully pregnant did I see sister-leaves hanging there stunning me with the chlorophyll they’ve already lost. This soft nudge sending me over an edge I’d ached to anticipate, but could now view luminous with bright hope. Goodness, I’m glad we can be surprised!
What a boring life it would be, if not for the way our minds can be suspended and how we get to choose if we won’t let the rest of us follow up..up…uP away from the ground for awhile.
Here’s a poem I wrote a little while ago, for us:
First we stand on the precipice of brilliance.
Then, within the moment we mistake for an age, we dwell within the terror of limbo.
But these give way to the wondrous moment, all is light.
We can hardly know it when it arrives.
There we are, we’ve made the leap, suspended and untethered between heaven and earth.
All we can be is, there.
We can’t see how we are surrounded by angels and holy air.
It’s simply utter miracle, it is flight.
Who can grasp it?
It is only to be enjoyed, delighted in fully.
Yes, this means we will weep.
How limited our definitions are
before we know this sacred-terror-womb planting us in the dark soil called joy,
called human, called winged-but-we-didn’t-know.
And then, we’ll have landed—reborn—the miracle, flight, has grasped us,
made its home in us.
Courage, dear winged-hearts, dear humans, precious-incalculable-you—for whom the world exists.
today. here. now. even now.
I’m holding onto this at present and hope you know it too; when we are truly aware of the way the ground supports us, flight is the natural next thing. Don’t be afraid. Come home, take flight.
I think I understand a little better that this is what Yeshua (Jesus) was saying when he said this;
” ‘If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?’” -Matthew 16:24-26
Returning home, with you,
P.S. please forgive any typos in this post, sending this off to you from my phone tonight! 🙂
may you be nurtured in your grief – STAY, in the Breath
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[…] this past week, here’s the line-up… first post: may you know you are held second post: may you know flight third post: may you be nurtured in your grief fourth post: may you hear the question, “where […]