I’m entering a simplicity I didn’t anticipate,
this (blessed) aging is changing
chores into privileges:
to have dishes to wash,
a house to clean,
a path to keep clear,
a deck to stand on, at dawn, my God! a coffee in hand,
and praise on my lips,
at the first stirrings of a chinook.
Once I thought philosophy was paramount. Silly me!
and its cousin, theology, a ladder through the clouds. Ha!
I dismissed, or rather missed, here at ground level,
beneath my feet, all the flowering forms of love:
the humanitarianism of smiling,
the philanthropy of humming,
the charity of not winning a point,
the valour of refusing to fire back,
the cultivation of inner stillness
the compassion of moral anger
mutual dependency,
human equality,
community,
humility.
And I want to believe these flowering forms of love,
like a squadron of garden beds, are breaking up
the clay heart of our collective trauma.
I know there is evil in the world,
minute upon minute an injustice,
every hour, a new method of hatred,
every bloody day, a fresh mode of cowardice turned outward.
Dear Lord, help us to remain human, scald our complacency,
let it reach the edges of our anger,
until we shout, Stop! the bloodshed! Stop! the suffering!
Stop! using our money to make weapons!
I know there is sorrow in every city;
we’ve all been touched, if not today, then tomorrow.
In my own household, I’ve seen suffering
that all the theodicies in the world can’t touch.
And I’ve seen tenderness in the eyes of a nurse
that would shame the heavenly sum of pious sermons.
And I’ve watched the pain that medicine can’t reach,
lessened by a care-laden glance.
And still, I wonder at my luck, to live, and not worry
where the next missile will land. My luck at not being the father
cradling his child in yet another air strike,
“Oh my little Jameelah, don’t tremble,
the bombs can’t see us in the dark.”
A warm meditation on the extraordinary gift of our ordinary moments
Thanks for that, Ananda.
Right to the heart Stephen, once again, thank you for your deeply personal perspective. Our humanity connects us all. I appreciate this reminder that goes beyond theology and philosophy. Best wishes to you and your’s on this almost shortest day.
Truly appreciated, Kirk. I always value your comments. And Happy Solstice.
Thank you, Stephen, for again giving us perspective — and hope — in a way that only you can. Wishing you all the best this holiday season!
Thank you so much, Cara. And thank you for your poetic encouragement.
Those last lines made me weep, Stephen, yet still we can praise His name and rejoice in His birth, that extraordinary event that changed everything.
This juxtaposition of one life with another has always been a mystery to me because of the way He shows us that somehow we are all connected, one in the suffering, one in the joy. And must always have praise on our lips.
Thank you for your reflection, Marcia. Praise, to the Mystery.
So hard to hold the paradoxes and not be crushed under the effort, the realness of “the flowering forms of love” and the toll of suffering, both within and all around. This piece feels like a prayer that we can hold both, full of the compassion of the Lover. Thank you, Stephen. I do so want to stay human.
I’m with you, Ann. O…to stay human, and accept the hard inner and outer work of it. I find too, that there is less and less distance between prayer and poetry. Thank you for noticing. Thank you for responding.
“Less and less distance between prayer and poetry” :). Yes. Stephen!
“I’m entering a simplicity I didn’t anticipate (at 96). This (blessed) aging is changing chores into privileges!” Who would have thought?
Who would have thought, indeed. 🙂 Thanks, Ike.
Oh my goodness Issac…those words completely described my own metamorphosis on becoming an aging kinder version of myself.
Thank you.
Those moments of goodness in the every dayness, coffee in hand under a Chinook, and the growing clarity of what matters as we age… while our hearts break for our brothers and sisters in Gaza. You describe the dissonance (now, also carrying an every dayness) so poignantly. Thank you.
Thank you, Karen, for these insightful and kind words.