that the drama of mottled clouds
stirs the iffy places in our souls?
that skeleton trees create space
for soul seeing?
that the snare drum dissonance of leaves
announces the death of misconceived decisions
and promises life conceived in hope?
that the pungent odor of garden leftovers
wafting on crisp autumnal air
promises a resurrection like none other?
that the threads of November’s spider webs
emanate from the same spiritual fiber
that weaves one soul to another soul to another?
© Rita H Kowats
How will I mark the place of my living today?
Here is the path. Walk it.
Waiting for Hope
From the grip of all that is evil, free us.
Into the womb of the Sacred deliver us.
Brood us, Lifegiver.
Warm our crippled core
with the elixer of your hope.
The immalleable membrane of despair
Stretched to the limits against
We dared to imagine-
© Rita H Kowats 4-10-2017
(Inspired by The Lord’s Prayer, New Zealand Prayer Book)
The video takes a few seconds to begin…don’t give up!
Photo Credit: Lynn Schooler, Juneau AK
Photo Credit: See-Through-Cathedral on a Hill Outside of Brussels, Belgium
There will be a highway leading out of Assyria for the remnant of the people that is left, just as there was for Israel when it came up out of Egypt.
For Jen who summoned us with her “Up”
Hunkered down in this frigid forest of defeat
We cling to the last vestigages
Of light and warmth trying to remember
Who we once were.
What with the wailing and gnashing of teeth
(Not to mention the rending of garments)
We have forgotten the power of the Left Behind-
The holy remnant who diffuses the Light.
“Up with you!” comes the call.
Retrieving the pieces of our cast off garments
We rise. We begin.
© rita h kowats 12-8-2016
Check out Jen’s blog where you can feast on a treasue trove of thought beautifully crafted:
It is 25 degrees F. in Seattle this morning. The sheets of rain have given way to brilliant sunshine. I let loose a hopeful sigh that soon our spirits may shake off despair and emerge whole and enlightened.
Messenger of Sight
I would send a raven to your window with a green blade
to show you the flood that blinded
is gone down and my eyes can see
the torn sinews of the impoverished
earth gasp in this white, winter light.
John O’Donohue in Echoes of Memory
This poem emerges from a recent conversation with my dear friend Linda in which we commiserated and celebrated our entrance into the stage of The Velveteen Rabbit, scars and bald spots our glorious trophies. Especially the inside ones. Enjoy.
Old people like old barns
Lure light through weathered
Planks in sagging frames.
It spills in speckled streaks
Onto the foundations of their souls
Where young visitors can sprawl
And play at life.
© Rita h kowats 12-2-16
Photo credit: Rebecca Staebler http://www.hubbubshop.com
I dedicate this post to a friend whose death is close. He has chosen to die at this time rather than wait. Being kept alive by extraordinary means at an advanced age seems counterproductive to him when he could be dancing with the dead!
Enjoy this extraordinary film of the life cycle of nature in Alaska, remembering that we are nature. Today is a day to celebrate the cycle.