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Category: Poetics

Grace/Life/Poetics

Lesser Burden

Posted on November 24, 2018 by stephen t berg / 26 Comments

In your crowded heart there’s a list:     cares, fears, hopes, loves,      dissipations, disappointments,   &n...

Love/Mercy/Poetics

Memories that arise when you’re healthy

Posted on September 30, 2018 by stephen t berg / 6 Comments

When I find joy in watching someone else’s delight I know I’m healthy, and I rock holy, and go walking about like a beatnik wearing a smile that surly looks sil...

Life/Nature/Poetics

Into the haze arms outstretched

Posted on August 23, 2018 by stephen t berg / 10 Comments

The shroud of smoke from the mainland fires is returning. The cigarette-ash grey dome is returning, with its swinging censer of bitter incense, its pewter rinse...

Joy/Poetics

I want joy to claim you

Posted on August 12, 2018 by stephen t berg / 18 Comments

I want to write for you the story of redemption, maybe not the story that comes to mind at the word redemption, but the open and flowing and liberating slow dis...

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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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