The other day I was congratulated by LinkedIn (such intimacy) for owning my “business” (Grow Mercy) for 14 years. It’s a nice number. No less employed by the gospeller Matthew for his generational division of history. In any case, every year around Easter (this blog’s birthday) I rethink, and ask if it’s time to return my writing licence, expecting no refund. So far, every year, there’s been something more to say (ironic benefit of a squirrel-like attention span?). This year the something-more-to-say came in the form of a poem (surprise!) inspired by the late Thomas Lux. But it also seemed to give me — when comes the time — an appropriate end piece for this blog. At which time I will repost (I’m sure with edits). But if I forget, or can’t, well then, it’s already here in all its prescient deficiency.
Dear Citizen Reader
Everyday I rise to the work of walking
further out than the day before.
For this, I gave up a pension. But would consider
it worth the loss if I could meet you.
Everyday I rise and go down to the sea
and out to the bridge, the town folk call Grand Fantasy;
some call Horizontal Babel;
and still others call —
having never seen a soul arrive from the other side —
Mocking Pier.
Everyday I pack a lunch and walk out on those old boards,
raked beneath by gale-crests of waves,
splintered by sun and salt,
until one day I walk too far to go back
and have to spend the night.
I awake to a grey morning and choose —
as though there was choice —
to go on under the target of time, under the yoke of yearning.
Guided by a sound (I think I hear) from some distant shore,
and imitating the faith of those Magi, I risk it all
on some remembered arrangement of stars.
“Shoot for the moon!” I shout into the fog, and walk.
Now, far from my home in the bay,
far from villagers planning a memorial,
I walk, mist-blind on slippery wood, stepping over missing rungs,
calling on every name I know, praying in symbols,
and speaking these few words into the wind.
But it’s not about the words. Not these. Not any.
It’s never been about looting silence
for a hope chest of glittering verse.
It’s always been about the bridge.
Me, hanging on to the cable,
straining toward you,
hoping for two small things:
To connect.
To communicate.
It’s the modest goals that consume your life.
You have just confirmed, it’s too soon for “the end piece”!
Well thank you Ike!
Please, please keep walking. We all need your expressions. You light up the fog.
Thank you so much Joan, truly heartening!
Each of these brilliant pieces finds me, connects us, re-members what was dismembered. Thank you.
Such kind and generous encouragement. Thank you Joyce!
Dear Stephen, You have been one of only a handful of “neighbors in the world” for me in the cyber/blog-o-sphere of this virtual world, which I suspect will always have at least a slight strangeness to those of us who are your contemporaries (certainly for me), and I have recently learned is more “real” than what we might call “the real world” to many under the age of 25, and will be ever more so after this prolonged isolation where nearly everything in our daily lives is virtual …other than those walks into nature’s embrace, and walks on suburban streets where decades-long neighbors are actually greeting one another for the first time. For me, you have consistently illuminated the contours of that essential bridge between the cybersphere and the natural, physical world, and certainly today’s poem is a sure measure that your gift is undiminished. You do this by allowing yourself to be a channel for the Word: that place where both worlds merge, that place of e-mergence, whether we choose to call that spirit, love, living, being, or that spark of divinity where evanescence meets wood, soil, rock, sun, rain, moon, stars… and allows each of us to share the inner songs that connect us to one another and the soaring of imagination that always connects us to the heart of everything. You will always have more with which to nourish the world you live in and the people you share your life with. I hope that will include us in some continuation of this blog through which you have shared your gift with such generosity. But if not, you will have our gratitude and our love always. Namaste, life-sustaining human who has blurred the boundaries between friend and stranger….
Elizabeth, I hardly know how to respond; except to say your note is in itself a life-sustaining gift. Much, much gratitude! Thank you for connecting so eloquently and meaningfully.
‘Every day I rise to the work of walking
further out than the day before.’
Stephen, you may recall I had spinal-fusion surgery five months ago. These gorgeous opening lines are my literal reality right now. Five minutes of walking became six minutes, became 10, 12, 15 minutes now that winter is (mostly) gone and the sidewalks are free of treacherous icy spots. I’m almost up to 45-minute walks (still with cane), which is a really big deal after back surgery. Your piece today truly resonates with me. It also features bridges … which rank right up there with trains in my personal word bank of metaphor, imagination and romance. Please keep blogging!
I do recall that Laurie! A huge deal! And I’m ecstatic about your progress. Thank you for your always wonderful encouragement. I’m walking with you. And I love trains!
???
Oh, dear, that was a Heart when i pressed Post. Not question marks! Namaste
I will read everyone of those question marks as great big hearts. 🙂
Your grip on the cable has communicated through verse a creative spirituality that sustains me as I struggle with the uncertainties of previous certainties that the recent loss of my soul mate has occasioned.
Hoping for more Easter anniversaries as “I walk mist-blind on slippery wood…”
Raymond, “uncertainties of previous certainties” plucks a chord within me. It also reveals your own spiritual wisdom. I’m honoured by your response. And I grieve the loss of your “soul mate” with you.
You always reach me Stephen. Thank you. Don’t stop.
Thank you Ana Lisa.
As I have before said, my vision (or lack of same) limits me. However, God leads me to read occasional mailings from your desk… Today was one such day. It took time and effort, but was well worth the expenditure of both. Such careful reading means I appreciate the words as well as the sentences. Thank you for letting me see what otherwise would not have been seen. You have indeed both connected and communicated. Gratefully…
Thank you Liz. And I’m truly grateful you took the time.
The two small things – to connect and to communicate – are not that small. May we find the bridges we need, or build them if they’re not there….
And … Matthew has three 14s…. Press on, brother!
Thanks Sam!
And if by some sad circumstance,
we should not meet upon this bridge
how very lacking
the rising of the sun
would seem
Always with my gratitude to you Stephen,
for the words and thoughts you so generously share.
So lovely. Thank you Tamara!