ARTISANS

12 Nov

Fr. Richard Rohr (22 Aug 21): … When I use the word “mystic” I am referring to experiential knowing instead of just textbook or dogmatic knowing. The difference tends to be that the mystic sees things in their wholeness, their connection, their universal and divine frame, instead of just their particularity. Mystics get the whole gestalt in one picture, as it were, and thus they go beyond our more sequential and separated way of seeing the moment. In this they tend to be closer to poets and artists than to linear thinkers.

Pastor Liz Miller (09 Oct 21): I am not a poet. My grief sputters out in awkward, defensive, half sentences. In the moments that I withdraw my porcupine quills enough to share my sorrow with someone else, I silently pray they don’t add to it by trying to make it okay or by comparing my wound to theirs.

Loretta Ross (15 Sept 21): You in that Old Ratty Sweater

Aim for the simple

hidden acts of love

which keep time ticking

like tiny golden gears

in the pocket-watch of the stars.

Reach for the ordinary goodness

that rarely makes the news

but forms the loamy ground on which we walk.

Paths our ancestors wore in the living of their days

now yield to our imprint, gently propelling us

out of the gravity of singularity

to leap beyond ourselves and see that I am

because they were and we are.

Take the unassuming

nondescript scrap

tossed by the wind across the parking lot

holding the list written in your hand

bread, eggs, fruit, mustard

milk

and

the essential

worker

driving the bus, behind the counter,

leaning over the patient.

Care little for pithy memes and what is trending now

or the preening of curated selves

in your reflection on the screens.

It is you in that old ratty sweater

rising up

to lean down and put on your shoes,

pouring milk on your cereal

praying for your children

you

whom I am trusting in and living for.

The woman in the red hat

waiting at the corner for the light to change

waves back when I wave.

For a moment, an eternity,

the struck flame of connection

crackles between us

tugs us from our separate cells,

uniting to say

we are one here on this corner

and indeed, we are made of miracles.

Every day

communion is served on a corner near you

eucharist pours from heaven

runs down the street

children jump in the puddles –

maybe you do too.[1]

Me: Yes, and… I still have not found sanctuary for my work.  Our story has turned into a book-script (which I’m still working on), but there’s nowhere to share where the scroll is received as having any value in community.

Vince Amlin (15 Sept 21): “What? Why?”

Pastor Liz Miller (09 Oct 21): On this night the hall was cloaked in thick silence save for the poet’s voice. This was not a lecture. There would be no Q & A at the end. The invitation was to listen and bear witness.


[1] Loretta Ross (15 Sept 21): You in that Old Ratty Sweater | The Praying Life

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