Mietzke's POST Holden Adventure

The Earth was so parched

It did not know how to receive the rain

That steadily flowed

Down from the sky

For three days

Gathering in large puddles and ponds,

Rushing down streets

And over hard packed soil

The rain was patient,

It kept hammering away

Creating cracks and crevasses

Pushing through

Permeating the soil

Expanding and filling it

Feeding it with hope of new life

Making a holy messes all over town

Sometimes,

I play the role of Parched earth

An actor

In my own long drawn out drama

Dying for love

Feeling to the depths of my soul

That love is my only desire

I would do anything to have it

I often plead and bargain

For just a taste

But when Love comes in its downpour

I play the role of the fickle fiddler

Holding onto my old songs of woe

And my attachment

To my plight against The God’s

I resist and fight

The flow of liquid love

Until I am covered and eroding

Only opening to it one crack at a time

Holding out for a landslide

What if I allowed it to fill me

Expand my surfaces

Awaken new possibilities within

What if I set down my fickle fiddle

And made new song in the rain

Scooping up mud in my hands

Holding it up in thankfulness to the sky

Just think of the possibilities!

The joyful possibilities!

The rain is falling steadily
It is making a symphony of sound
Rattling on the fence
Ping ping ping on the tables
Splattering on the leaves and on the bear earth
If you listen closely you can hear
Each drop play out its moment
One perfect note among thousands
There is a pot outside of the window
That is filling with water
The sound the water makes in it has changed
Over the course of an hour
Deepening in tone as the pot fills
The drips and drops are gathering together
A rushing can be heard in the gutters and down the driveway
Sometimes I forget the homey comfort
Of a downpour that forces you inside
To watch and listen
It gives me permission to rest
To take a moment to sit and be
I love the rain
Filling the night with sound

Every time I go outside to tend our small bit of earth

I find treasures

Small black treasures that fit in the palm of my hand

Like a wish or a promise

A reminder that life is bigger than I know

That I am not alone in the daily comngs and goings

I went out today

A rake in hand

And pulled the forks of the rake along the ground

Catching pine needles in bundles and revealing the brown earth.

With every pass of my rake

My black treasures

Seemed to work themselves to the surface

Smooth and round

Until I had handfulls of them

I spent a lot of time raking today

Waiting to see each promise revealed

Each little spot of joy hidden beneath surface

Join the conglomeration of stones

That have been gathered in the tending of our yard

I started finding them the first week we came here

Small and black hidden among the plants and in the garden path

There were three sitting beside a bush that I picked up and washed

Revealing shiny smoothness when the dirt had been cleared away

I began placing these treasures in a little spot by the pine

And now where there were three,

There is a little rock garden

Where I go to light candles and think about the day

I love to see them all gathered there

Like silent friends

Listening and waiting

I know that there will be more that are waiting to be discovered

And I know that each time I find one

I hold surprise and wonder in the palm of my hand

I think love is like that

Always being unearthed a little at a time

Giving a glimps of hope

Just long enough to keep us searching

For the next bit of cool smooth light

I love watching her face
As she stands in the afternoon sunshine
She is filled with patient sobriety
Waiting
Waiting
For helicopter wings
And tiny feet to dance
On her out stretched hand

She stood there yesterday stock still
A half an hour at a time waiting
Not daring to move
For fear she would miss her moment of communion
Then the hummingbird came
First one then another
To the feeder

Trusting this patient human perch
Whose eyes glowed with delight
And wonder
And twinkled with laughter at the beauty
Of tiny green, brown, and red feathers
And the feeling of trust
Between them

In this meeting of feather and skin
In the warmth of the sunny porch
In the quiet patient waiting and stillness,
Joy found a home

Reaching These Clumsy Wings Towards Light

They hang suspended in the sky
No strings attached
Gliding on unseen breezes
Illuminated with the light of the afternoon sun
Each gentle tilt of wing or tail
Sending them into a dance across the sky

They rise and fall like skilled puppets
Making an appearance on the stage
Each time they move they change the mood of the scene
White, black, and grey
They perform their sky dance
Air and light their props
The lonely cry of each gull is the music that guides them on

I wish that my dance was this well rehearsed
With flow, grace, and agility
I wish that my heart could respond to each tilt of my hand
Pushing me with swiftness in the right direction
If only I felt the breezes lift me
When I am sure I will plummet to the ground.
It seems that even a toad has more natural grace than I,
In this dance with life

I live black and white
but I seldom find the gray
My dance is one of comedy and tragedy
With blunder for props
And yet the music that guides me on
Is the same as the gull
My lonely pushes me forward
Ever reaching these clumsy wings towards light

I have been thinking about the practice of lent, the giving something up or taking a new practice on. There is so much wisdom in self discipline. I decided for this time of lent to take five minutes every day to notice things. As I was thinking about our time here this winter I realized that I had not been pausing for anything and I have been walking with my head down watching my footing but not taking in the world around me. I know that when I am in a space of noticing change and experiencing it I am drawn further into my experience of the divine and I am able to think more clearly.

The Raven

Today the raven flew overhead
His black wings pushing the air aside
He gave a chortle as he glided up the hill
And the sunlight gleamed on his glossy feathers

He is always busy around the village, like the rest of us,
But he seems to take it in stride in a different way
He calls out time and again
His voice can be heard early in the morning
It is a sound of greeting whenever I walk out my door

The raven doesn’t seem to miss a thing
His keen eyes taking in every little movement
He knows the village through and through and
During lunch he glides outside the Hotel windows
Looking in, and connecting

I am often comforted by his presence
He is constant
Riding the air waves like thoughts
Pushing some aside and claiming others for his own
His wings gliding in communion
With all of the elements around him

I know that I will see him in the morning
Taking it all in
Never letting the moment pass him by
His freedom is in the connection
And the feel of outstretched wings on the wind

They came,
First one child then the other
To the box with the candle in it
The Youngest knelt, head down
As the candle illuminated her face
A small tear made its slow trek
Down one cheek

The older came
Then stood behind the younger
Standing at the edge of the light
She stretched out her hand
Resting it on her sisters shoulder
Together they were held in stillness
Illuminated
Each child separate in her thoughts
Yet together moved

The older one then knelt down
She began to pick out the pebbles
That lay in the box of sand
She began creating a labyrinth in the box with the stones
The younger lit a candle and placed it
In the center of the path of stones
Then the older took her sisters hand

Together they traced the path to light
And the one lone tear dropped to the floor

It is beautiful
This village silent and illuminated
With a veil of moonlight dreams
And the mountains stately and tall
Coated in blue and silver
A thin veil of spirit
Weaving magic
In our midst
How many sleep, enfolded in this nighttime bliss
While I, awake, try to hold all the magic
In my broken cup
And watch as each drop of moonlight
Spills quietly to the floor

The moon shines regardless of my mood
Brightly pulling me out of my evening sulk
Out into the light of the divine
I want to hold onto my discontent
To sink under the cover of my own mask
And hide away from the blue light cascading over snow and ice
As much as I like my woes
I can’t seem to hold onto them
When even of a sliver of silver light
Comes through the cracks in my curtain
Beckoning me out into the night
To be amazed at the tops of mountains
And dance in the shadows that play across the path
At a point I find myself without my worries
Without loneliness and to my surprise
I have become heaven to myself
Basked in light and mystery
Forgetting the consumption of fear
And turning my face upward towards light
And still the moon shines regardless of my mood

I have been thinking about the silvery drifts of snow
that pile high up here covering up the tailings,
the insides of the mountain that have been ripped up
That now lay exposed and contaminate the creek.
I think of the parts of me that have been ripped out,
to lay naked and exposed to the elements,
Those ugly truths that are my life
and the beauty of the small trees that take root in spite of the contamination.
Life that comes from nothing,
renewal over time,
and seasons that cover the imperfections,
making new the surface,
healing and eating away
at everything that once lay hidden within the mountain of my own suffering.

I sometimes forget that we all have those mountains
And the tailings
That we are all wounded and exposed
That if we could take the time to look closer we would see
the true Nature of love
alive in the pine seedling
that has taken root in the center of our own bareness
Is the rocky soil really the place where God wants to plant a seed?
How can that be?
There are some really nice compost piles around
where that precious life could grow much quicker,
but somehow that seed found itself here in me
and its roots have wound themselves through the rocks
establishing a strong hold
giving and taking from this rocky environment
that my soul provides
Every morning when I wake up to my own bareness
When I feel the desert
dry and foreboding
When I think that maybe nothing could flourish here
I feel the roots buried deep
And I see the healthy green
And I know the sap runs through this tree that has established itself in me.
I sometimes wonder…
What was God thinking?
And perhaps I shall never know.