Hymn for the Hurting

Everything hurts,
Our hearts shadowed and strange,
Minds made muddied and mute.
We carry tragedy, terrifying and true.
And yet none of it is new;
We knew it as home,
As horror,
As heritage.
Even our children
Cannot be children,
Cannot be.

Everything hurts.
It’s a hard time to be alive,
And even harder to stay that way.
We’re burdened to live out these days,
While at the same time, blessed to outlive them.

This alarm is how we know
We must be altered —
That we must differ or die,
That we must triumph or try.
Thus while hate cannot be terminated,
It can be transformed
Into a love that lets us live.

May we not just grieve, but give:
May we not just ache, but act;
May our signed right to bear arms
Never blind our sight from shared harm;
May we choose our children over chaos.
May another innocent never be lost.

Maybe everything hurts,
Our hearts shadowed & strange.
But only when everything hurts
May everything change.

~~ Amanda Gorman ~~

The seeker is you…

“It is almost as if we are all playing a big game of hide-and-go-seek. We all hide, expecting to be found, but no one has been labelled the seeker. We stand behind the wall, at first excited, then worried, then bored, then anxious, then angry. We hide and hide. After a while, the game is not fun anymore.

Where is the seeker? Where is the person who is supposed to come find me here in my protected shell and cut me open? Where is that one who will make me trust him, make me comfortable, make me feel whole? Some people rot on the spot, waiting for the seeker who never comes.

The most important truth I can relate to you, if you are hiding and waiting, is that the seeker is you, and the world, behind so many walls, awaits.” ~~ Vironika Tugaleva

The Price

Ask anyone who walks this Earth, and most will say they

just want a peaceful life. A meal at the table enough to fill a

belly. A hug from someone they love. A warm bed to sleep

in. A home filled with love. A lot of laughter and someone

to share a drink with. At the end it is the people who pay for

the carnage. The mother who never sees her son again. The

father who never comes back home. The brother and sister

who will never know the joy of a shared meal again. The

aunt who returns but doesn’t smile anymore. The friends

lost along the way. A thousand homes wrecked and a million

memories shattered. All because someone else decided to

send a war to knock on their door.

~~ Nikita Gill ~~

Each second we live…

“Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again And what do we teach our children? We teach them that two and two make four, and that Paris is the capital of France. When will we also teach them what they are? We should say to each of them: Do you know what you are? You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that have passed, there has never been another child like you. Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move. You may become a Shakespeare, a Michelangelo, a Beethoven. You have the capacity for anything. Yes, you are a marvel. And when you grow up, can you then harm another who is, like you, a marvel? You must work, we must all work, to make the world worthy of its children.” ~ Pablo Casals

May we raise children who love the unloved things

May we raise children
who love the unloved
things–the dandelion, the
worms and spiderlings.
Children who sense
the rose needs the thorn

& run into rainswept days
the same way they
turn towards sun…

And when they’re grown &
someone has to speak for those
who have no voice

may they draw upon that
wilder bond, those days of
tending tender things

and be the ones

~~ Nicolette Sowder ~~

God, the hummingbird is waiting…

God, the hummingbird is waiting
while the butterfly drinks,

and I don’t think
that the hummingbird is,
impatient or irritated,

or any of the many
of my feelings when I wait
during these uncertain times…

This morning
I pray for everyone who waits —
one for a COVID-19 test result,
one to re-schedule a cancelled flight,
while trying not to touch
anything in the airport,
one finishing a job interview,
one sitting at the restaurant table
with two menus
and only one chair filled.

I pray for the family with hospice,
the college freshman
wondering whether to signup
“in person” or virtual,
for everyone in the courtroom
as the jury returns,

for women with the swelling
under the heart
of the third trimester,
and parents who listen
for a late-night car door bang
to announce an adolescent’s return.

I think about the feeder,
and pray for each one of these,

that when life pauses,
and they hover —
they feel your updraft under their wings.

amen

~~ Maren C. Tirabassi ~~

The Pandemic Is a Portal

What is this thing that has happened to us? It’s a virus, yes. In and of itself it holds no moral brief. But it is definitely more than a virus. Some believe it’s God’s way of bringing us to our senses. Others that it’s a Chinese conspiracy to take over the world.

Whatever it is, coronavirus has made the mighty kneel and brought the world to a halt like nothing else could. Our minds are still racing back and forth, longing for a return to “normality,” trying to stitch our future to our past and refusing to acknowledge the rupture. But the rupture exists. And in the midst of this terrible despair, it offers us a chance to rethink the doomsday machine we have built for ourselves. Nothing could be worse than a return to normality. Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next.

We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoky skies behind us. Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage, ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it.

~~ Arundhati Roy ~~

Prayer

God, the hummingbird is waiting
while the butterfly drinks,

and I don’t think
that the hummingbird is kind,
or patient or irritated,

or any of the many
of my feelings when I wait.

This morning
I pray for everyone who waits —
one for a COVID-19 test result,
one to re-schedule a cancelled flight,
while trying not to touch
anything in the airport,
one finishing a job interview,
one sitting at the restaurant table
with two menus
and only one chair filled.

I pray for the family with hospice,
the college freshman
wondering whether to signup
“in person” or virtual,
for everyone in the courtroom
as the jury returns,

for women with the swelling
under the heart
of the third trimester,
and parents who listen
for a late-night cardoor-bang
to announce an adolescent’s return.

I think about the feeder,
and pray for each one of these,

that when life pauses,
and they hover —
they feel your updraft under their wings.

amen

~~ Maren C. Tirabassi ~~

And the People Stayed Home

“And the people stayed home. And read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still. And listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. Some met their shadows. And the people began to think differently.

And the people healed. And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways, the earth began to heal.

And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed.” ~~ Kitty O’Meara

During difficult times…

“Grandma once gave me a tip:

During difficult times, you move forward in small steps.
Do what you have to do, but little by bit.
Don’t think about the future, not even what might happen tomorrow. Wash the dishes.
Take off the dust.
Write a letter.
Make some soup.
Do you see?
You are moving forward step by step.
Take a step and stop.
Get some rest.
Compliment yourself.
Take another step.
Then another one.
You won’t notice, but your steps will grow bigger and bigger.
And time will come when you can think about the future without crying. Good morning.”

Elena Mikhalkova, “The Room of Ancient Keys”