{Adagio: A Poetry Project} Born in the Night

Today I give you a second offering of Adagio: A Poetry Project. Perhaps you saw the first poem? The one where Elizabeth Marshall and I each strung words on colored threads and then wove them together into one unified piece. That idea, of writing collaboratively, was what initially launched this project and it is the heart and soul of how we see this project growing.
But just as its name suggests, an Adagio is a dance between two partners. A dance in which there is a lifting, a balancing, a turning. So, today, we are dancing as individuals to the same music. There is a poem from me, here, and another poem from Elizabeth over at her place. Together and apart, we are writing from the same prompt, the hymn "Born in the Night, Mary's Child."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It is night when you come

We have not made it to a place that makes sense

a place proper 

a place right

But still 

you come

First

there is darkness

so

much

darkness

But then

you burst forth

pulling on skin and bone and sinew

and the light

it 

drips

molten

from your face

You

who at once

knows nothing

and

everything

You

are the one

that will tell us

that

God is good

even while

all around you

that early darkness

swirls

black

Hope

grips at your heels

a streamer

dancing and flapping

on the wind

and it

leaves

kingdom dust 

on the streets

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Writing is, most often, a solo venture, a process worked deep inside the confines of one’s heart and soul. But when two pilgrim poets turn towards each other and embrace the tension that lies between, something new emerges.  A writing “pas de deux” is born and the two begin weaving their words together, in and around, over and under, into something bigger than themselves. The writing becomes a lifting, a balancing, a turning…and the words on the page become an Adagio.

We would love for you to enter into this project with us. Please feel free to leave your own poem in the comments, either here or at Elizabeth's place. We welcome your choreography on this endeavor and we long to hear your offerings on the prompt.

Where there is life there is love

image credit: Flickr "Christmas Lights"

In my last two posts, here and here, I shared about being open to the hope and the wonder of this Advent season. I mused on long darkness and piercing light and holy spirit smoke. I swelled with anticipation.

It's amazing how everything can change in a day or two.

My first week of Advent has been ripe with hard conversations, thwarted goals, and deep soul walking. There has been no lighting of the Advent wreath, no dwelling in Words of life, no mighty nesting instinct spurring me on to small acts of preparation.

Instead, there has been life.

And it has been drippy and sticky and complicated.

I lost every ounce of patience with my children, closed the door to the world and lamented my fate to the skies. And never fear, there was much cursing and clenching of fists.

I surveyed my house on several occasions and wondered how I could possibly want for more when I was already drowning in piles of paper and trinkets and dust.

And as people near and dear to my heart spun like dervishes in the wake of their own deep churning, I felt the strain of impotence.

But that is not all.

For "where there is life there is love" and this week delivered that, as well.


I learned the spiritual discipline of letting go... of control. of unrealistic expectations. of perfection.

Every year since we have been married, I have put up the Christmas lights. Not to take a stand on equality or anything else noble like that. No, I have always put up the Christmas lights because I am a control freak.
But this year found me committed to another task on the 65 degree December weekend that simply insisted be dedicated to donning holiday lights. And my husband and two boys needed something to do together. The answer was simple=put up the lights.
The lights did not go up in the order or manner they were supposed to. There were colored lights hanging all willy nilly from columns and door frames and I didn't understand the arrangement and it was.all.wrong.
I was just about to intercede on the behalf of Christmas lights everywhere and offer some constructive criticism when I felt my tongue freeze heavy in my mouth. Something stopped me. It was not because of anything generous in my own spirit. No, my mind was busy talking my body off the ledge of Christmas madness and encouraging deep breaths and closed eyes. No, something bigger and greater and wiser than me was taking over. And it was winning.

That is what love does. It wins.

And the other miraculous thing? I didn't put up a fight.
I let love win this one.

Something hard and brittle broke in me that day. A rigid cast of contention that I had made my uniform for all these years, it simply fell away.

And in its absence I could move. And breathe.

And now my sweet, little house shimmers with color and beauty and glory and I had absolutely nothing to do with it.

That has been my Advent lesson this week.

quote: Mahatma Ghandi

Hope

*********************************************************

Standing on the edge of darkness

so deeply hushed with quiet through and through

I can feel the surrounding

the holy rushing, silent

whispers of spirit smoke

trailing

It is upon me

this swelling hope

grafting my detachment

to its pulsing

center

for it believes

This hope

it rolled in atop 

the mighty words of prophets

springing forth day from night

life from death

Rejoicing

And here it is now

billowing on the edges

of my coming

and 

going

reaching for my hand

with wonder

and blessing

both

The silence

it is upon my lips

while my mortal skin

trembles

I must keep awake

for

He

is

coming

 

Joining

Tweetspeak Poetry

and

Word Candy

in sweetening the world with poetry words.