This poem was written on my recent retreat day. Satisfaction is such an elusive thing in our culture but I sought to explore the connection between satisfaction and the miracles that are a part of out daily life. Finally I considered how we are made complete in life. Love is always the place where satisfaction is most at home.

Satisfaction

Satisfaction is waiting,
To see imagination
Walking on water,
Creativity loves every miracle,
Seeing with lover’s eyes,
Speaking of where hope leads.

I think I am feeling just a touch of sadness as I look at the transitions happening in my life. A daughter finishing school, a year passing, finding myself getting just that little bit older, wanting to express love more fully. All of this is happening in the midst of seeking God’s voice about a bigger plan that he has.

Sometimes I want it all to stop so that I can catch up. But, that’s not an option. I do like stopping to write briefly about it.

Sometimes.

I stopped to consider my week for a few moments. I am sure all of us could add our own words here. But then I considered what love says. I loved thinking about how love responds to what went on in my life over this past week.

A week when,
The tax bill, phone bill, electricity bill and car rego arrive on Monday,
Love says, I have enough for you,
A phone call in the middle of the night and a family is crying out for help,
Love says, welcome to my home and I understand,
Surrounded by people when all I want is to be alone,
Love says, I have a space for you,
Feeling like I missed the point in a conversation and look really stupid,
Love says, this will pass quicker than what you think,
Watching my most precious gift graduating into wondering what’s next?
Love says, trust her life with me,
Overwhelmed, inundated and feeling like failure is only a heartbeat away,
Love holds all this in hands that created eternity,
A week that asks me what must die in me now?
Love says, this is what I am willing to do for you.

I think that I am feeling some of shifts happening in our family at the moment. My kids are rapidly becoming adults and it’s all about letting go and treasuring what is now. Realising that I have to both let go and hold on to what is important. Treasuring the moments I have and forgiving myself for the moments where I haven’t got it right.

Moments

Some moments,
Last for an eternity,
They cling for dear life,
To an awful embarrassment.

Some moments,
Wait for a brief instant,
Quickly fading into the distance,
Despite my best effort to hold on.

Some moments,
Contain dark shadows,
Of places I don’t want to see.

Glimpses of life,
Belong to moments,
Seeing beyond what is here now.

Most moments,
Need patience to understand,
Asking less of it,
Then, finding more in what is now.

A moment holds eternity,
And, a speck of time,
The sadness of goodbye,
With the welcome of hello.

I took the day out today to spend discerning about life and plans for the future. I couldn’t help writing something about this.

What can I expect from today?

This day is about stillness,
Silence should speak,
When time is given to being quiet,
Too many words
hide the light,
That belongs to silence.

When not enough hours,
Are committed to nothing,
Work becomes a shadowy presence,
Filling every empty space,
Hounding me with words and questions,
Unrelenting in their urgency,
Pushing me to the brink
Despair is too close.

Unless I say stop,
I choose to escape the noise,
And, I go for a long walk,
I sit beside a spring fed stream,
I listen to silence’s sounds,
This day is rescued,
From the tyranny of work,
Silence always speaks.

Who am I?
to plan
to hope
to know
to dream
to imagine
to live fully
to love deeply
I am the unexpected surprise
of the blessing found in my humanity
A part of the wonder of creation,
That sacrifices all for love.

The shadow of a storm,
Is a rainbow,
Highlighting each unplanned drop,
Light brings the surprise,
The unexpected vibrant colours,
Reminders of an eternal promise,
Hope made visible,
Between every shadow,
Testifying to the light.

I just watched the movie “Silence” that portrays the story of Portuguese priests who travel to Japan to find their mentor who is rumoured to have renounced his faith.
In the midst of persecution on the pain of death they and the villagers they minister to are asked to trample on a image of Christ to symbolise their denial of Christ. This is a very powerful film that asks important questions about faith.
I thought he was saying, “it’s ok to tremble”. I realised later that he was saying, “it’s ok to trample”. But, I still spent time thinking about how it is ok to tremble. God is with us.

It’s ok to tremble

I tremble, tremble,
When faced with the awful choice,
Of how I could serve,
Tested by what I do,
The cry of my heart,
Speaks of courage,
But, trembles as it comes,
I commit my spirit,
I tremble,
I ask for forgiveness,
I tremble,
In its gift,
I bow.

April and I wandered through the area around Queen Mary falls and beyond a few months ago. We found places of beauty regularly. This photo was one of them. We need to allow ourselves to wander if we want to let creativity emerge. This poem also is expressing some of the gifts that are found in creating a free space.

When my heart wanders…

When I take the time to wander,
Wandering with no planned destination,
By myself and with silence allowed
to speak,
Words begin to play in my mind,
A thought forms a line on a page,
Connecting what I see to my soul,
Then my heart goes to,
What could be said in a poem.

I love that a poem –
doesn’t need a conclusion,
Can ask a question and leave it there,
Its where I can play with commas and full stops
and breaks,
Allowing words that connect with my heart,
To flow without the rules I never learned properly,
Expressing, rather than following confusing grammar,
Words scattered across a page,
Forming something that speaks clearly,
If I let my heart wander.

A poem makes me more human,
Admitting my finite reality,
Shaping creative desires,
When I don’t know everything,
So I just write something,
Sharing
Mostly what is unknown,
Knowing that I am not alone,
But realising I need to be by myself,
To allow my heart to wander freely,
To know only partially,
Content in enjoying my wandering,
Waiting for the poem yet to be written.

April and I went for a walk yesterday to that beautiful little fern gully and its waterfall that I found a little while ago. Together we came across this other path that had a broken bridge and a path that led to nowhere. This poem came out of that discovery.

The bridge

Bent from the water flowing past,
Guide rails misshapenly tilted forward,
From too much water
moving past, too often, too fast
Humanity’s discards, destroying,
Weapons carried by the flow,
Except for the forgotten bridge,
No one knows how
the scars of jetsam’s blows,
Have broken this bridge’s back.

Slowly the weeds accumulate,
Neglect gives permission to creation,
For the slow process of death and life,
To begin once again,
And, nature starts to reclaim
what was always hers,
The path not taken,
The bridge forgotten,
Is where new shoots begin.

These remnants are reminders,
That a pilgrim’s discoveries,
Are all paths taken before,
The surprise witnessed
Is through the eyes of my path,
That I walk once in this life,
The bridge invites me to understand,
Brokenness, my jetsam and its damage,
The love of discovery,
The beauty of sitting with brokenness,
Fresh shoots breaking through,
And, how brief time makes bridges,
worn paths and human inventions.

Howyagoing? Gettin there?
Isn’t asked often nowadays,
Our messaging apps
With their rapid fire responses,
Replacing the friendly question,
That reflected a gentler pace,
Where we recognised that
someone might be in the middle of stuff,
And, that the best we could do,
For that moment,
Was to keep going,
Turning up,
Gettin there.

A full stop always ends a sentence.
The flow of words and phrases,
Flowing freely from
an endless spring,
Need to learn how to stop,
Left to themselves they are unwise,
Blathering on thoughtlessly,
But, someone needs to know
How to make the mark that signifies
enough is said.

Too many words pass without pausing
not stopping to think of the gouges scored,
Through the pages of my story,
Too late a fatal wound is struck,
The final lash the lightest touch,
Love dies slowly for the lover,
Eked away by too many words,
Slow death caused from erosion,
Forgiveness is its full stop.
Marking when hate’s time is up.

Forgiveness allows a page to be turned,
In a book where I choose
A blank page to begin again
Or, to continue the story
repeating the already read pages.
Forgiveness is the transition from what
shaped everything till now,
A new page the marker that
forces me to go to a new chapter,
The full stop offering a fresh start,
With the next words I choose.

In Greek mythology Echo sought a lover who could never respond to her love because of his self obsession. I wrote this poem as I reflected on the confusion that comes when in such a relationship. It’s hard to understand the confusion when in the middle of this type of relationship until it’s told to stop and then slowly clarity returns.
I hear this story again and again with people that I connect with. The pain that is caused because love when distorted by self obsession is always destructive. The best advice that I have discovered when in such is a situation is to stop engaging with this false love. This can feel like the hardest decision that is ever made. But, it’s the only way to make the madness stop.

Echoes

The mistake isn’t self love,
No,
The mistake is the golden rule,
Gone badly wrong,
Believing if more love is given,,
Then love would return,
It was never going to happen,
No,
Hardwired for a caricature of love,
A pale imitation of the real thing,
Confusing everyone,
The only conclusion to madness,
Is to stop.

Never start by questioning love,
It’s not at fault,
No,
When captured by our image,
Of what is believed to be true,
Paralysed by death’s source,
Discovered in self obsession,
Madness,
Makes a home with us,
Escape seems impossible,
Minutia,
Is used as a weapon,
Confusion,
Is the daily attack on reality.

Drawn to a false beauty,
Hollow words of promise,
Echo,
Falling on deaf ears,
Ears that don’t hear pain
Silence,
Is the response to emotion,
Too much is too intimidating,
Friendship,
Quickly forgotten,
Or, never really known,
Pretence,
Disguises the stage act,
But, it never lasts,
Echoes continuing,
Until the madness,
Is told that it must stop.

image credit: http://njdmythology.blogspot.com.au/

I woke this morning,
Thinking this day can only
go from good to great,
Seeing my blue ocean of opportunity,
Stretching out beyond the red shoreline,
Swimming with the starfish,
Not a spider in sight
Totally belonging with my tribe,
The purple cow people,
Giving myself An “A” in creativity
For seeing the art of possibility,
Beginning my day with gratitude,
Knowing that this will help me escape,
The happiness trap,
And, not becoming one of the mighty fallen.

I went to my business coach,
Who gave a set of outcomes
I went to my mentor,
Who spoke timeless wisdom
I sat with my spiritual director,
For hours we explored higher callings,
But at the end of the day I say to myself,
There must be one business book,
That will point me to the answers,
That elude my restless quest for excellence.

The lean startup is always hungry for time,
My schedule only ever allowing,
Time for a four hour week,
I am not sure if I need 5 questions,
Or, to do nine things differently,
Maybe just ask “why?” more,
So that I can live meaningfully,
While still getting things done,
Using the power of two,
And, the lessons learned from,
One thousand repetitions,
The truth is not a myth,
The E-myth is really true,
Processes are the keys to freedom,
Formed by irrational humans,
And, the crazy decisions we make.

I went to my business coach,
Who gave a set of outcomes
I went to my mentor,
Who spoke timeless wisdom
I sat with my spiritual director,
For hours we explored higher callings,
But at the end of the day I say to myself,
There must be one business book,
That will point me to the answers,
That elude my restless quest for excellence.

I have more than one obsession,
There are actually four,
They are the temptations,
Every leader must fight against,
These four obsessions are reduced to,
Three imperatives of being the boss,
What have I been thinking all this time?
I should be ashamed for not
Engaging in deep work….
Getting rid of distractions,
Results, results, results,
Influencer, rework, Servant leader,
Anyone can do this,
Just be an intelligent entrepreneur,
And make your ideas happen.

I have been fortunate to have worked for nearly 40 years in a range of workplaces. Some have been good and some have nearly destroyed me. I talked with someone yesterday and was reminded again of the true cost when a business or organisation sees people as objects from which they can extricate value. Strip mining them for the commodity they seek and neglecting everything else. And, leaving behind an environmental catastrophe.
This poem touches on some of those themes and the ways in which we cover up and justify such behaviour.

Strip mined business

Row upon row
Stripped bare of any potential,
Leaving nothing,
Then moving on quickly,
Ready to plough a new furrow,
Destruction hidden in a survey,
That says everything is ok?

The value scraped off,
Doesn’t show,
The contamination seeping,
deep below the surface,
Unseen but,
the source of life,
Is poisoned,
Slowly creating death,
Beginning as true believers,
Ending as disillusioned castoffs.

Rape is a crime,
But, strip mining makes money,
So we continue to do it,
Raping again and again,
The tally growing with our success,
But, excusing everything, saying,
the economy made me do it,
Broken hopes cast off,
Because they didn’t believe enough,
In the meantime we all wait,
For when the full price will be paid.

The pause is my slap in the face,
To the demands from my idols,
That are always crying, “Me first!”
Their greedy selfish ambitions,
Climbing over each other,
Only caring for themselves,
Murderously pushing each other down.
Always trying to win at any cost,
The pause takes me to humility,
Declaring to the world,
I no longer believe I am God.

The pause stops my selfish ascent,
It brings trust to the fore,
When I am too scared to stop,
And, I want to bury myself in work,
Just because it says, “I am first!”
I can spend all day worrying about
My growing pile of unread information,
Making me live in fear In case I miss out,
The pause says I am no longer afraid,
Knowing this day will bring enough activity,
If I remember to pause for long enough,
To know when it’s time to stop,
Remembering why I was created.

Most of my life is lived around conversations. Increasingly I desire to see things differently and hope that this will shape my conversation. I desire a different conversation to the one that I have grown used to. I don’t want to settle for the busy conversations that centre around what we do. Or, to ask someone to do something for me. This poem was a settling of some of those thoughts.

Mystic eyes

Eyes that see through the heart of prayer,
Change everything,
Nothing escapes
Everything is transformed from ordinary
to a prayer of hope,
Every sunrise is first a prayer,
Each sunset a benediction.
In between, each step
brings forward new prayers,
In each word spoken,
Understanding life as a poem
That caresses the conversation,
With words that connect the heart,
to what is spoken.
Mystic eyes look closer
Searching out the truth in another,
Bringing a question to be unanswered,
Allowing prayer to do its work,
Not forcing unwanted graces,
Willing to wait with someone,
Seeing only the poem,
That lives in this conversation.

Grace, open your heart to me,
Look kindly on me now,
Give me the eyes of a mystic,
Today.

I must take time to breathe
so what is natural can be understood,
I must make space in my life
so I can appreciate the life in each breath ,
I must breath deeply filling my lungs,
so I remember to live fully,
I must wait and watch carefully
so I can witness God’s breath,
I must stop, ceasing all busy activity
so I can feel another’s breath,
I must celebrate each breath I take
so others can join with me,
I must learn to love another’s breath,
so together we can share in hopeful dreams,
I must appreciate each neglected breath
So the gift of life can renew my soul.

The secret of walking
Is to set out,
Take a step forward,
Explore the unplanned path
Be open to discovery,
Noticing who choose
To walk with you,
Join with their presence,
Mostly it’s silence that speaks,,
Because, talking would interrupt,
What is heard in the quiet,
Stop to celebrate the views,
Remembering the solitary path,
Is never taken alone,
There are always companions,
Who share the adventure,
If we remember to stop,
Wait and imagine,
Where the next steps will lead.

A walk brings understanding,
Why the time was right
Two thousand years ago,
The secret of the Kingdom,
Was found when walking,
Without a Nike gel sole,
To soften his steps,
The Kingdom coming
With each step taken,
The courageous path
Leading to brokenness,
Mercy pouring out his heart,
Eternity touching humanity,
Choosing to walk with,
Those willing to fail,
And to be forgiven,
Time and time again,
Their walk giving time,
For the conversations,
That we all waited for,
And now are asked to join.