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Category: Beauty

Beauty

Unwitting

Posted on August 7, 2007 by stephen t berg / 5 Comments

Streaming sunlight,bridge to solitude.But not alone.Free fallinginto the lightspilling off broad blades of grassonto my lap onto the pageand into my soul.For th...

Beauty/Spirituality

Observations on Cook Street

Posted on July 31, 2007 by stephen t berg / 0 Comment

Coffee on Cook street in Victoria. It’s early. A feathering of light is dusting up some pleasing green on the backs of trees. Magnolia trees on the boulev...

Beauty/Peace/Spirituality

Secret to LIfe

Posted on July 26, 2007 by stephen t berg / 2 Comments

Perhaps this post might be an encouragement and even a shot of hope across the bow of your life. You see, I’ve discovered the secret to lif...

Beauty

Andrea House better than ever

Posted on July 23, 2007 by stephen t berg / 0 Comment

Andrea just keeps getting better. Caught her at the Axis cafe Friday, along with an intimate crowd of friends and new comers. With her husband, Chris ...

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Over the coming months, I’ll be slowly retiring Grow Mercy. This Easter marks 20 years and some 1500 posts. (And here, a deep bow to you, for reading and/or responding.) I’ll not, however, be retiring the impulse behind Grow Mercy, but will be shifting, exploring, following a hybridized urge, and a genre to suit. For me, what these decades have increasingly revealed is how writing is a spiritual path. Now, for whatever time and energy remains for me, I’ll be tilting more toward The Ragged Psalmist, still inchoate, but the handle feels like it fits. I do hope you’ll subscribe.

Why — The Ragged Psalmist?

Because some stubborn ember, still warm, compels me to write some cobbled songs — praise and lament, cries and sighs — and sound them back to the sacred Mystery.

To throw a wrench into a world geared up for business; to resist the moneychangers in their corporate temples — because poetry is political, and light is its administrative wing.

Because old lies and old words screw us over and must be remade to tell the truth; because our glossary of mockery needs burial, and the lexicon that’s left needs anointing.

To strive to honour the life of a sparrow; attend the spell of a dead star — whose light we still see; to feel, down to the bone, the quantum foam, we all flail in.

To thicken compassion and thin out aggression; to oppose injustice and hate in a way that excludes no one, not even the hater.

To let failure, discouragement, suffering and perishing have their say, without any spoon of bromide; to let joy, delight, and beauty come as they may.

To penetrate darkness and delusion — and so discover all this love in us.

Because mindfulness and mercy need constant oxygen.

Because in the time that’s left I want to tattoo the implications of our “forgiving victim” on the body suit of my heart.

Because reality points to unity — and we must hurry to catch up.

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