I’m still high on my Scott Cairns encounter a couple of weeks ago. The “poem” below comes from his book, “Love’s Immensity” in which he translates and adapts the works of early church Christian mystics. I love this stuff…take this one slow and let it slide over you a few times before deciding what you “think” about it.

Beckoning Beauty
St. Denys the Areopagite (translated and adapted by Scott Cairns)

It is forever so-
unvarying, unchanging-
beautiful but not
as something
coming into birth
or falling into death,
and not as what
might grow or might
decay, nor is it
beautiful now and otherwise then.
It is in itself and of itself
the uniquely and eternally
beautiful, and the great creating
cause that bekons
all creation, and holds
all things in the pulse
of its existence,
bears them, keeps them
by the longing within them
to share in what it is- which is
to say, to share in what is beautiful.

For those of you who asked to hear the music to The Shore here ’tis. Please bear in mind the fact that I recorded it into my laptop without fancy equipment…seriously….and in fact, the whirring sound you hear in the background at some point is my computer’s hard drive. Nice touch, huh? I will also tell you that yes, that is my fine beginner guitar work there. It’s coming along.

One day, I will master this and I shall rule the world of technological things….either that or I will hire someone to do this for me.

I’m thinking a great deal this week about love and faith and even “religion” as I understand it…so…I thought it right and proper to put this out there and shine a little light on it.

There is this little book, “The Quotidian Mysteries” that was recommended to me long ago by my wonderful friend Karen. We both harbor a real love of Kathleen Norris’ work. This book was originally a lecture given by Ms Norris on Spirituality and it centers around the idea of embracing the “quotidian.” This is a delicious word, “quotidian” and I work it into blog posts and conversations as often as I am able.

The “quotidian” refers to what we would identify as the mundane, the ordinary, the everyday tasks. The word, however, is much much richer than we give it credit. Prayer, is quotidian…just as housework is quotidian. I’d go so far as to say that Love is quotidian. It must be revisited every day. It must have commitment every day.

This passage from the book puts it so well as it relates to my faith so I rest here for now:
“Laundry, liturgy and women’s work all serve to ground us in the world, and they need not grind us down. Our daily tasks, whether we perceive them as drudgery or essential, life-supporting work, do not define who we are as women or as human beings. But they have a considerable spiritual import, and their significance for Christian theology, the way they come together in the fabric of faith, is not often appreciated. But it is daily tasks, daily acts of love and worship that serve to remind us that the religion is not strictly an intellectual pursuit, and these days it is easy to lose sight of that as, like our society itself, churches are becoming more politicized and polarized. Christian faith is a way of life, not an impregnable fortress made up of ideas; not a philosophy; not a grocery list of beliefs.”

Food for thought. Prepared lovingly. I shall be chewing on this as the week progresses.

I know I’ve been posting a lot of “media” lately. I am not shunning my literary duties, truly. I just keep finding the best stuff.

Maybe you have seen this already. So get a tissue and watch it again.

What IS it about this that stirs my soul so? It just cuts right through me, I tell you.

I’m finding more and more that not only am I a “night person” I am also a “night parent.”
It’s hard to explain so I wrote it as a poem. (what a shock, right?)

Not my usual bag for poetry, this subject, but I’m branching out…

Late Night Parent

it is here
in these small hours
cicadas provide the soundtrack
the breeze
cool now
untouched by the sun

and it is here
that I,
while on night shift
thank God
with each forehead kiss
and each whispered assurance
that everything will be
alright

Whilst listening to the radio on my late night drive back from the airport recently I heard this artist performing a cover of a Massive Attack song that I like a whole lot.  What struck me first though in this live performance was Newton Faulkner’s sense of humor.  He’s hysterical in his banter and in some cases his choice of covers.  During a 35 minute drive I heard him perform (in addition to his fabulous originals) “You spin me round” by Dead or Alive and even Queen’s  ”Bohemian Rhapsody,” which was unfreakin’ believable…no lie.  It was amazing.  

Massive Attack’s “Teardrop” doesn’t suffer a bit from his treatment of it, I can tell you.  The video is pretty cool too.  Shall I draw the metaphor here?  Nah.  Just watch and listen…balm to the soul, people…balm to the soul.

I’ve been thinking today about writing. I’ve been thinking quite a lot about it.  I thought about it rather well. When the time came to actually put something down on what Luci Shaw referred to this weekend as the “democratic white page” I faltered. My fingers fumbled. Keystroke-like movements started and stopped.  I thought about the look of the dogwood trees blooming and could not come up with words to describe them with any honor large enough. This went on for most of the day and into the evening.  

I thought about the sound of the quiet, interrupted only by the uneven tapping on the keyboard when an idea came then followed quickly by the rhythm of the backspace key beating time with measured regularity.

It seemed so much more certain of it’s job.

At last all I am left with is the astounding realization and perhaps the appreciation finally, of the unfinished things.

that’s all.

A few days ago someone googled, “metaphor for kissing” and found me.  I have no idea which post they found, probably it was “The Holy Kiss” but who knows.  That got me to thinking though about kissing as metaphor and metaphors for kissing and of course that led me to thinking about the assignment I shall give this week while I’m at the Festival of Faith and Writing visiting my poet crush, Scott Cairns and soaking in the smell and feel of the written word.

So in light of that, it’s that time again…How long did you think it would take for us to roll around to the use of “euphemism” in our studies?  Ok, ok…I know you are all excited about this one but let’s take a moment and just explore this a bit, shall we?  

Some of us, when we think of the word, “euphemism” perhaps go straight to the gutter and think of words or phrases substituted for sex but in reality, according to the dictionary a euphemism is:”The act or an example of substituting a mild, indirect, or vague term for one considered harsh, blunt, or offensive.”So you see?  I’m not going to limit you to something as pedestrian as “sex” while creating or sharing your favorite euphemism.  You can feel free to use any harsh, blunt or offensive subject.

Hey, you’re welcome…I know you’ve been itching to try this one.

I could model this for you but I’d rather share with you a website I stumbled upon recently.  Be forewarned…it might get a little harsh, blunt or offensive, euphemistically but there were a couple that cracked me up pretty good and a few that made me blush.

make your own euphemism

best of luck to you…but remember, we do get underage readers in here once in a while…try to contain yourselves…

now hit me with your best shot

I’ve been working on a line in my head for a couple of months now, was not sure where it was leading but it turned into a song last week and I thought I’d share that with you all.  Those of you who know me in real life can guess what sparked these lyrics I’m sure.

THE SHORE                                      

Maybe a little house in Bristol

Maybe a palace city bound

I only have this moment now to find the way

Maybe four walls and a dirt floor

Will simply do the trick

I only have this moment now to work it out

Maybe I do not own this voice

And perhaps I never did

I only have this single word upon my tongue

Maybe it isn’t mine to say now

And perhaps it never was

And that will make all the difference

Because I am not the shore

I move, I feel, I shift

And that is just enough to do

As long as I am not the shore

I move, I feel, I shift

I drift

further out

Because I am not the shore

No matter how far out I get

I see it there before me

and I know

I am not the shore

I move, I feel, I shift

I drift far away

And wonder

How I got here?

With my tired limbs and lack of air

And sky above

Maybe a little house in Bristol

Maybe a palace city bound

I only have this moment now

To swim for it

Hmm.  Anger management, anyone?  

I can’t criticize too much.  I FEEL this…deeply, babe.