tear ducts

This thing you wrote, it brought me to the brink of my tears

but maybe the stitches weren’t good enough in the first place.

 

I did supply perforations instead…

see, I’m quite proud of the neatness.

 

I was kind of hoping you could just follow

the dotted lines

i wish i could remember

what door I came through

to get here.

the here of you.

I would board it up

with orange tape

strung like the scent of warning,

and burn the clothes on me

that are weft with mourning,

sewing these curtains instead,

these curtains of you imbued thread.

the windows left bare to the healing…

 

the euphoria…

evaporating from me in clouds,

raining back down

to drench me again,

even as I thought I was outrunning it,

energised by the grass under my feet

and the breath giving coldness of marble walls,

their vapour mixing with mine.

 

Their incongruous corrugation

oscillating to unheard music

helping to propel me

to the memory beyond.

 

But the hands reaching out

were not.

The face appearing

was not.

 

Confused by dream mediums

I dragged in the shallows.

The wave overtaking.

The gorgon emerging.

 

Stone icicles –

entombing my vapouric bliss.

Glistening more in the unreaching…

(self) juxtaposification

5

Rolled up in macabre
you loved/hated your web.

The self binding sinews
unknowingly degraded
by the light you exude.

You persevere…

ecstatically wallowing
frantically  swallowing,
but betrayed…

undarkness regurgitated.

Your blindness!
to the following
of heliotropic hearts…

 

Photo credit: Gilbert Hansen

hikikomori

I had the most interesting conversation with a dear, elderly friend recently. Every time I do, it makes me lament even more how our culture doesn’t value the wisdom of the elderly. There are times when I truly grieve over stories lost forever.

We talked about the fear of man…

the fear of God…

the misunderstanding of the fear of God and how radically it is exacerbated by the growing fear of other humans, the context being, that we believe humans were created in God’s image.

The astonishing kindness of anonymous bloggers, their anonymity injecting poignancy straight into my veins.

I told him about the phenomenon of hikikomori which fascinated him, but he immediately responded with words straight from his mature, listening heart, ‘no wonder people are afraid of God. We are forever doomed to create him in our image…’ or something to that affect. Ugh, my awful memory does not do him justice.

And this post does not do this issue justice. but I want to get in the habit of writing more regularly so this will have to do for now.

 

saudade

alex-at-maslins-2015-1
It’s been a word on my mind for years. Well, not the word, actually. Because I don’t speak Portuguese. (And in case you don’t either: saudade)

But we all know its colours and its scents and its sounds. We all know where to go to find its vividestness.  Perhaps, some kind of closet…

(And we all wish it were a word in English, because, I mean, Saudade!) 

One of the things I love about CS Lewis…he can take a heartwrenching word like this one and give it resolution. Not by his own invention of course, but in his descriptions of Christ realities – whether he’s taking it to another heavenly/”far-off country”/Christ longing level in the Narnia series, (hidden in a closet, no less) …or in brilliant descriptions like this one The inconsolable secret.

I so love the word. I’d love to honour it in a poem. But I can’t. I’ve tried. I blame it on everything but my writing skills. And the experts tell us that if you try and it’s too hard, then you should give up… um, is this decaf?

Besides, as much as I love the truth in negative spaces, and torturing myself with it… I much prefer what Lewis has done…you know, reminding us of what Christ has done, is doing, will do: the consolable longing…

(*Note to self: I seriously need to learn another language…
*Note to you: I may still attempt the poem…just as a warm-up, there is this: nepenthe of nepenthes)

Ephesians 5:31,32

Photo credit: my husband

nepenthe of nepenthes

Compelled to her feet
He reminded her of the Garden.
It kept her walking…

Breathed to her healing
the Leaves’ Scent from the Garden.
She exhaled
running

to Light
piercing through dimensions
outlining her shape

the distant memory of tears
welling up
and spilling
on the River drenched Fruit.

She was flying …

the-light-the-light

 Gen 2:7-9
Ezekiel 47:12
Psalm 34:18
Luke 10:33-35
John 19:34
Rev 22:1,2
Isaiah 40:31

Photo credit: Chase Miller

What does this c(h)ord do?

I didn’t even realise until my grandfather’s funeral. The first funeral of someone close to me. That so much of the time we just aren’t paying attention.

So we watched him being lowered into the ground.
It’s overwhelming isn’t it? That kind of grief.
And now you are hearing and seeing things you never heard before.
Right when you think the world should stop.

Now thanks to this artist I love, releasing this album at this time because of the loss of his child, I time travelled right back to that graveside. And all the other gravesides.

I have been to many funerals. My husband is a pastor. I have had the indescribable privilege of being at a few death beds. There is so much that I could write about. But there are already many words. And this trailer expresses some of it just perfectly.

 

Post Vocalic Stress Disorder

lake bonney

Disorders. We all have them. One of mine is that I am an Australian married to an American. I kid you not. The exact nature of this disorder is a conversation for another time.

So we met at the seminary he was attending a few (cough) 20+ years ago, and what ensued were years of discussing the ‘problem’ Australians have with pronouncing post vocalic ‘Rs’. To say we are still in pretty intense negotiations over this, well…

But it seems, the whole world is suffering from PTSD.
And yet, we continue discussing things that don’t matter quite as much… like PVSD. (Especially because we know I’m right about PVSD…)

So really, Basil, my blog instigator, is about balance. Or, at least, one of the things he is about.