Wendell Berry

is incredible.

This is a poem by Wendell Berry. It is a favorite poem of one of my friends and has become one of mine too! Read it out loud, and slowly, on the beach (or other nature setting), for the best effect ;) The world needs more WB.

"How to Be a Poet"

(to remind myself)

Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill - more of each
than you have - inspiration
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your work,
doubt their judgment.

Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.

Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.


- Wendell Berry, Given.

i tremble as i stand on the edges of you.

i have been the wind, since i was a child,

but you - you are a tree.

and your words are like the leaves of autumn

ripe with the wisdom of age,

Flames of beauty

as they fall so easily

from your lips.

having been nourished by that deep

place in you where the God of fire dwells.

i pick them up with my hands.

all around me they begin to sway, float, dance.

O i am humbled by the beauty

of these brothers and sisters,

who combine all that life is, with a smile,

in a kind of comic, majestic, tragic mystery.

church history

I am walking in these old tracks

leading to some Wild Haven

pressed into ancient hills where

the wind's breath bears

the voices of saints.

They lead me to places most humbly ordinary
where long grasses, sour plums,
and thistles abide.

But once in awhile, they steal me off

to a star strewn height

where I'm blinded by pure
goodness, beauty, or love:
where I touch
the edge of an angel's wing,
fiery white.

Exploring the Artists

"As I understand the gift of the spirit in art, so I understand prayer...
At their best, both become completely unselfconscious activities; the self-conscious, fragmented person is totally thrown away and integrated in work, and for moments of such work, be it prayer or writing, I know wholeness, and sunside and nightside are no longer divided."


Lately I've been more fascinated by other writers than attempting to write for myself. Fortunately, this is a good thing because as I immerse myself into their hearts and minds and words, I resurface with new creative inspiration! So anyway, I am thinking of posting other voices in addition to my own for awhile. Maybe, if you check this, you were hoping I'd say that a long time ago! ;)

To begin, the quote above is by Madeleine L'Engle, from The Irrational Season, p. 122. I believe prayer, work, art, and love are all things that draw us out of our "fragmented" selves into something greater, a greater prayer, a greater art, a greater work, a greater Love... but what the source or inspiration of these things is, is key. We can have many motivations to do the things above that may be escapist. But when God is our motivation and our inspiration, they become good, beautiful, and blessed. And we, unhindered, discover joy, freedom, and fruitfulness.

Damien Rice - Grey Room Lyrics

Today I was touched by the lyrics to Damien Rice's song, "Grey Room."
Its kind of a sad song, but not without hope. My pastor gave me a cd
and this song he related to Lent... my favorite stanza is the
"have I still got you" bit, and as we have waited for the Lord during Lent,
Good Friday, and Holy Saturday we remember our longing for
His Presence, our hunger for reunion. And today is Easter Sunday!
Today we celebrate His Resurrection, His victory, His promises fulfilled to us.
The grave is empty, the door to heaven is open - its "opening time."
Music is poetry! I love it....you gotta hear this though, not just read it.

Well I've been here before
Sat on the floor in a grey grey room
Where I stay in all day
I don't eat, but I play with this grey grey food

Desolate, if someone is prayin' then I might break out,
Desolate, even if I scream I can't scream that loud

I'm all alone again
Crawling back home again
Stuck by the phone again

Well I've been here before
Sat on a floor in a grey grey mood
Where I stay up all night
And all that I write is a grey grey tune

So pray for me child, just for a while
That I might break out yeah
Pray for me child
Even a smile would do for now

'Cause I'm all alone again
Crawling back home again
Stuck by the phone again

Have I still got you to be my open door
Have I still got you to be my sandy shore
Have I still got you to cross my bridge in this storm
Have I still got you to keep me warm

If I squeeze my grape and I drink my wine
Coz if I squeeze my grape and I drink my wine
Oh coz nothing is lost, it's just frozen in frost,
And it's opening time, there's no-one in line

But I've still got me to be your open door,
I've still got me to be your sandy shore
I've still got me to cross your bridge in this storm
And I've still got me to keep you warm

Warmer than warm, yeah
Warmer than warm, yeah
Warmer than warm, yeah
Warmer than warm, yeah

Moments fly with gentle quick about me
Subtle grief harmonizes oncoming melodies.
But my heart is full of blood.

It is beating
through this small and insignificant
tree-body.
Saying:
I must love--run--run--love
another time 'round this track
til lungs burst and limbs give way
(branches break)
in order to give all I have;
breath; will; life;
-O God-
for Your sake.

my heart bursts like the first bite of an orange
exploding in my chest like that citrus
supernova's delicious turbulence in my mouth.
and in these moments I am unable to think,
sometimes even breathe
mesmerized til this reckless storm passes
and I can crawl back upon my knees
to wait on heaven - painful part -
but my eyes still laugh unable to contain
such bold and blazing hope.

love underlies this present wilderness
catching weariness with its branches
ocean waves gently bear off heaviness.
dry places are watered with dews heavy drop
on my head making me smile out loud in my heart.
paths that wind and voice occasional near
there is love, though somewhat hidden, here.
it's call hearkens of Spirit, new birth,
life, sisters & brothers, golden worth.
O Morning desire dispel evening's mist --
and in your wake leave your exiles blessed.

Come once again, thou cool winds
that blow from Calvary!
Wash over this child,
draw her home
to undying streams of mercy.

In my sorrow, Lord, You mingle your tears
In my emptiness, God, Your cries echo in my ears.
In my sin, Lord Jesus, You stretch forth a nail-scarred hand
In my lameness, Holy Spirit, You empower me to stand.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4

Hunter

I looked to the stars, mid winter's night air
I walked with the pines, wilder fare.
I knelt beside the waters, rocks struck and washed clean.
I placed my hand on green pasture to feel the heartbeat of earth.

Then I heard...

It is in Me. I give it to thee.

Daughter, you're just one more seeker
of what is lost to the many,
but it is not My desire
that it be lost unto thee.

My hands have created that you may loved-be.