Garden at twilight.
Everything pruned back
cleared out.
No barren wasteland.
There’s fecundity
in this emptiness.
Seemingly harsh cuts
make room to grow.
Resting
in a space
of gratitude
for the sharp edge
of shears.
Sohbet – The Sharp Edge of Shears
Wandering Wayside…
“My friend, wait by the wayside. Linger a while by the wayside and see, I’ll come wandering by there in no time. Wait by the wayside for me.”
I’m so drawn by the call of these lines in the opening of Scott Cook’s song Wayside. I’ve been lying these hot summer nights, staring at the shadow of trees on darkening skies with this song playing over and over. I am so caught up in the idea of tangents and journeys and what you find when you are drawn aside. Continue reading
Sohbet – There Are No Words
“A pen tried to write the word LOVE and it broke”
Stretched thin in its desperation Like travelling at light speed the past and future pulled apart Lost in the space between .
There are no words for this There is nothing here… .
…and everything .
Both at once .
There are no words .
The Space Between the Notes
I have a friend who works as a chaplain providing spiritual support for people in mental health crises – as an aside, I’ve been wondering what the difference is between a spiritual crisis and a psychiatric one, but that’s a whole different article. Anyway, he was telling me about someone who asked him what he thought a good symbol for God would be. Continue reading
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