all of it falls.

The November Angels

Late dazzle
of yellow
flooding
the simplified woods,
spare chipping away
of the afternoon-stone
by a small brown finch —
there is little
for them to do,
and so their gossip is
idle, modest:
low-growing,
tiny-white-flowered.


Below,
the Earth-pelt
dapples and flows
with slow bees
that spin
the thick, deep jute
of the gold time’s going,
the pollen’s
traceless retreat;
kingfishers
enter their kingdom,
their blue crowns on fire,
and feast on
the still-wealthy world.


A single, cold blossom
tumbles, fledged
from the sky’s white branch.
And the angels
look on,
observing what falls:
all of it falls.


Their hands hold
no blessings,
no word
for those who walk
in the tall black pines,
who do not
feel themselves falling —
the ones who believe
the loved companion
will hold them forever,
the ones who cross through
alone and ask for no sign.


The afternoon
lengthens, steepens,
flares out—
no matter for them.
It is assenting
that makes them angels,
neither increased
nor decreased
by the clamorous heart:
their only work
to shine back,
however the passing brightness
hurts their eyes.

- Jane Hirshfield


photo made available for artistic consideration by: rob lee

blessed mercy.

i'm so used to losing.
i live with open hands now.
oh, blessed mercy.

and whatever work, you are doing in me, i say, please, do it...[what is good to remember]

because You believe in me
i have grace to greet each morning sun with joy,
even when my heart is broken,
even when it seems i don't know which way to go.
i will continue on
putting one step before the other.
and i know,
you know
what it is like to walk alone,
even yet -
you are always with me.

and though i see with such limited sight,
i know,
even when my vision grows dim...
that there is a cloud of wise counselors about me,
and unseen angels who lift me up.
i have seen you move heaven and earth on my behalf.
i have seen you touch hearts and change circumstances
that seemed too hard for me to bear.
and i have seen you stand with me
through storms i feared were too great for me to endure.
therefore, i will not fear -
even when it seems i cannot see any hope for a future.

i know each moment is the whole of my life,
and it is holy.
and it is blessed.
and it is good.
it is as simple as that.

so i thank you for this moment,
for this life that you grant me,
breath by breath.
and with each inhale, i breathe in your spirit,
and with each exhale, i breathe out your love.
may it always be thus,
as i am your child.

and to love you,
and to love your world,
with a child's heart is
a great and wondrous gift.
[selah]

her name was Lung Ta, and still i trust, the Great Giver of Gifts.

So. I've been thinking a lot about my car…and how before I even drove it off the lot, I remember praying…and offering it as a blessing to the Giver of Gifts…saying, "This car is a miracle…and it is Yours. This car does not belong to me. This car belongs to You. And I am so very honoured to make use of it. And so, I consecrate it to you. Watch over it, and guide me therein to do your will." And I named my car, Lung Ta, which is to say…it embodied for me, the Great Spirit of the Windhorse…and I knew each day that my car belonged to God, and that its function was to carry me to my next level. Both metaphorically, and literally, she was my Windhorse Rising. And so, though it was a great, great grief…to…in one split second, see her beautiful, striped bonnet hood crumple over and over and over again [as it replayed in my head]…I knew even then…with such an odd sense of peace, that I could trust, even this was a gift…this was somehow her destiny, and part of her plan to bring me to the next great height in my own journey. And I remember this, as I gear up each morning…come wind, come rain…to ride to work. With each turn of my bicycle wheels and with the sweat of my brow…I trust the good that is inherent in this seeming grief. I have lost so, so much in my lifetime, and know that the more we hold on to things with clenched fists, the less we can either give or receive. And I know…true miracles can occur when we are stripped of our own glory…when we possess no strength in and of ourselves. These are the things of the Spirit, and they are more sure…and greater than we could even ask or imagine. [So even in her passing, I trust]

i think...what i am trying to say, is so beautifully illustrated as thus. it is so very good to remember.

capuchin I by debra swartzendruber

The king and the beggar's gift.

A difficult or unwanted thing can turn out to be a great gift. Frequently we receive unknown gifts in disguise. There is a wonderful old story told of a young king who took over a kingdom. He was loved before he became a king, and his subjects were delighted when he was finally crowned. They brought him many different gifts. After the coronation, the new king was at supper in the palace. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. The servants went out to discover an old man shabbily dressed, looking like a beggar. He wanted to see the king. The servants did their best to dissuade him, but to no avail. The king came out to meet him. The old man praised the king, saying how wonderful he was and how delighted everyone in the kingdom was to have him as king. He had brought the king the gift of a melon. The king hated melons. But being kind to the old man, he took the melon, thanked him, and the old man went away happy. The king went indoors and gave the melon to his servants to throw out in the back garden.

The next week at the same time, there was another knock at the door. The king was summoned again and the old man praised the king and offered him another melon. The king took the melon and said good-bye to the old man. Once again, he threw the melon out the back door. This continued for several weeks. The king was too kind to confront the old man or belittle the generosity of the gift that he brought.

Then, one evening, just as the old man was about to hand the melon to the king, a monkey jumped down from a portico in the palace and knocked the melon from the old man's hand. The melon shattered in pieces all over the front of the palace. When the king looked, he saw a shower of diamonds flying from the heart of the melon. Eagerly, he checked the garden at the back of the palace. There all the melons had melted around a little hillock of jewels.

The moral of this story is that sometimes awkward situations, problems, or difficulties are really disguised opportunities for growth.

Very often at the heart of the difficulty, there is the light of a great jewel. It is wise to learn to embrace with hospitality that which is awkward and difficult.

- excerpted from "Anam Cara" by John O'Donohue

it's still a love beyond all keeping, michelangelo, or everyone crashes down around here.

The Fall of Icarus

I looked up when Icarus came down –
but who would notice?
People are always crashing.
My neighbor's foot caught on the edge
of a furrow as he plowed
even as Icarus tumbled
headfirst down. He twisted his ankle
and tore up the ground with his hands.
While Icarus plunged down streaming,
my neighbor cursed the ants that confuse
the dirt, the feet that are blind
in their shoes and are always blundering.
The white wax ran down Icarus' arms in rivers;
he was a drenched man, a ruined,
a steaming man – I watched him fall
and my neighbor turn his ankle in the field.
That day Icarus was the toast of all the taverns.
I told everyone about the red runnels
on his shoulder where the wax plowed away
his skin. My old neighbor was there,
a cloth around his leg. We drank
a mug or two for Icarus who imagined
he could look God in the eye, another mug
for Icarus and then one for God Himself–
Here's to God's Eye which burned away
the wings of Icarus!
God's Eye! I felt wild thinking of it.
I went out to look at the sea, gilded
with the last of the light that took down
Icarus, bright as the annoyance in God's Eye
when he blazed away those wings.
I lost my head for a minute, dazzled
by light and drinks to daring and scraped
my knees when I took that tumble,
standing on tiptoe on the edge of the hill,
imagining the cut valleys, the lean spoon
of the isthmus and the shredded breezes
in the sky – how it must have looked to Icarus
as he spun down and God flicked me
off my hillock just for imagining.
Everyone crashes down around here.

-Dashka Slater-

First published in The Gamut #30, Summer 1990
Anthologized in Orpheus & Company, edited by Deborah DeNicola