Staying Power #156: "This Time"
An original poem-in-progress as we enter the festive dark
As I write this post, it is December 1. We’re stepping into the festive dark—a time when, around the world, humanity celebrates the importance of light.
Literal light. Metaphorical light.
Light that is always with us, even when it seems to have been swallowed. Light that always arrives from somewhere. Light that is always shared.
Despite this season being an occasion for joy and grateful reflection, it can weigh heavily. The burden of busyness. The pressure of expectations. For some of us, the oppression of loss and grief. Light may seem all too distant.
Whatever the state of your heart, this poem-in-progress is meant to meet you.
I will tell you that I don’t know what to make of the last two lines. They “came through” in a very different voice. What the heck to do with them?
I tried changing the archaic “thee,” but it came back with insistence. “Not archaic,” it told me. “Sacred.”
I tried entirely rewording the lines. Then I tried deleting them altogether.
They restored themselves.
They want to be. As they are.
As do we.
I honor them, and I honor you, by leaving them unchanged.
THIS TIME Phyllis Cole-Dai This time, rounding the festive bend, let’s try not to do as we’re expected. We’re more than a series of numbered boxes checked off the calendar with permanent pen. We’re sparks of blessing in the holy dark, light sent down from invisible stars to meet the world and help make it whole, even when all seems impossible. We don’t say this fire is who we are because scriptures or mystics have told us so. We feel the fire in our spirit-bones: It carries us through even the starkest night, leaving behind trails of forever light for the sake of souls we’ll never see. What is done for us is done for thee
The Gentle Nudge
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So very lovely. Thank you. And in another synchronicity (though not as perfect as last Friday's), Jan Phillips' Bulletins from Immortality today contained her poem Sonnet of Desire.
Sonnet of Desire
The God to whom I prayed no longer dwells
on white celestial clouds aloft in space.
Against this childish notion I rebel,
rejecting, too, the lie we fell from grace.
The Holy One said we could do as he,
“Greater things than I” is what he said.
So why call out for help on bended knee
when we can heal the sick and break the bread?
Like children letting go of false beliefs
we bid farewell to creeds that we were taught
to wear the robes of healers and of priests
admitting we are one with what we sought.
If this we’d do with tenderness and grace
what hope would rain upon our human race.
Jan Phillips
Not as lyrically lovely as yours, but similarly full of truth and inspiration.
We feel the fire in our spirit-bones...
Beautiful poem and I loved reading about your process too. So much wisdom shared. Thank you!