The reality of taking some space is that the space seems to have taken me. This morning my meditations focused on a poem by Bonnie Thurston:
Prayer is not
scribbling together
a few paltry words,
flinging them like stones
at the windows
of ineffability.
It is Gelassenheit,
letting go,
being carried on a current
toward a vast ocean
deep beyond imagining;
sitting silently,
gaze firmly fixed
on one golden,
inscrutable face,
waiting,
with the patience of love;
pouring out life,
that alabaster vial
of costly ointment,
at the feet of One
Who washes others with His tears.
Prayer is
asking nothing,
desiring nothing
but this, only this.
[De Waal, Esther, Lost in Wonder: Rediscovering the Spiritual Art of Attentiveness (2003) Norwich: Canterbury Press page 52]
I thought alot about how I have been washed and wash others with tears. The tears of tenderness and sometimes frustation as a lover, carer and parent; the tears of pride and love; the tears of joy at some ridiculously small thing that finally comes together; tears of transformation and vision - seeing a situation or person for what the person can be and is rather than how the individual sees themselves.
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