is not a new insight.
Still, don’t we hold on like granite to visions of the perfect,
the prospect of our celebrated fulfillment, our plans for pleasure,
our precise house, set like a gem in a princely neighbourhood,
with neighbours to match, and a carousel of days
with just the right amount of thrill and tranquility,
in a city, in a country, ruled by fairness and mercy?
But when the root of that fantastic flower hits the shale of reality,
the ideal dies quickly, petal upon petal.
So let’s give up on our Eden (which was an apparition),
and accept the wilderness of the world outside our door.
It’s the wilderness of the real we must work with, or,
be forever drowning in waves of disappointment,
consumed by rivers of bitterness.
Let’s brace ourselves with the bones of resolve,
scaffold ourselves with scraps of hope.
Do little things: walk into a crowd of trees,
grandly vent to those trusted ears;
collect a few rocks and build a fountain, make an icon
to drive the mind’s cynical swine over the cliff,
then cast a loving little spell on our trampled bouquet, and say,
I choose gratitude over hatred,
honest, abridged anger over venom and violence.
Pray too (no harm in it), pray to the universal Unnameable,
to help withstand the death of our dreams,
the rigor mortis of our faith, and wait, — O stabilitas —
like one of the Theresas, or the desert mothers.
Such waiting is like loving, like trusting.
It’s risky, it’s bloody foolhardy — unscientific? certainly,
to believe, to trust, that what’s being built within,
and beyond, will be better than what would have been.
And so, my lovely friend, may I be bold to say,
nothing is what it seems, really means:
that the darkness we’re in, is of a kind that helps us see.
On the morning of a death of a long-time co-worker, these words have calmed my heart a bit and make the sunrise more bearable.
Thank you.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Pat. So difficult. Sending compassion and comfort. And thank you.
A moment of ease in reading this. Thank you, Stephen
‘So let’s give up on our Eden (which was an apparition),
and accept the wilderness of the world outside our door.
It’s the wilderness of the real we must work with’
Beautiful words of wisdom, as always from you, Stephen. xoxo
Thank you dear friend.
Thank you, Stephen, for the gift of your post today, and especially these words…
nothing is what it seems, really means:
that the darkness we’re in, is of a kind that helps us see.
Yes.
Thank you so much for this, Claire.
ahhh your flipped perspective brings hope to hard truths. Thank you!
Thank you for this, Deane.
May the light we see on the horizon be more than the fires of the forests!
Amen. Thanks, Ike.
Thanks for these wise words Stephen – Please share this encouragement to the x twitter refugees now on BlueSky – they are needing it! ( I know one more social media app but… )
Thanks, Daniel. I’ll check out Bluesky. (Will be canceling X)
It’s been a while since I’ve left a comment here, though I am a faithful reader. This post puts new expression to a longing I’ve had since childhood — a longing for perfection. In my later years I have learned to embrace the tattered, broken down state of our world but I hope I never lose that longing for what I was originally made for. Someday — perfection will be my reality. Thank you for stimulating my morning contemplation, Stephen.
So grateful for your thoughts here, Valerie, and the reality and the hope expressed.
Oooh my goodness Stephen. Can you see my heart any clearer!!!!
I felt this all last year and still do. To find and retain balance through the tidal waves of the darkest changes. To learn new to find the paths that lead to a different kind of beauty and seek out the strength to remain focused on finding the light when the switch has been turned off. Remaining determined to stay fixed within the journey to BE … to be in peace.
So wonderful, always
to read your words Stephen
reading this,
an old familiar hymn, A Closer Walk With Thee
comes to mind
where today,
thee,
is
a trusted friend <3 -^-
Hand to heart, thank you, Tamara.