The Mystic Embraces The Poet

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She writes like a poet with the heart of a mystic”, states one well-known author of another.  The words tug at my heartstrings–those melodious tendons said to brace the heart.  I brace myself, and I imagine …

If only those words were said of me,

My heart would sing an unchained melody!

With unbroken rhythms of truth & grace,

I’d find myself in my happy place!

 Just kidding.  Not really.  LOL.

Searching for my singing heart’s motive, I ask the question, “What is a mystic anyway?”

I read the definition: “One who believes in the spiritual apprehension of truths that are beyond the intellect.”

For me, that definition is … close but no cigar.  Yes, I know, a rather every-day idiom to employ by a wannabe mystic such as myself, but please, allow me to explain!

The expression, “Close but no cigar originates from the practice of fairground booths handing out cigars as prizes.  The phrase would be said to those who gave it a good try, but did not win the prize.

My faith is based on the radical belief that the Word behind all words in scripture has been made flesh.  That flesh, a man named Jesus, is Truth.  He’s the prize I get to spiritually apprehend; the full manifestation of All Truth that extends far beyond “my truths”—my human reasoning and intellect—and leads me into the higher realm of All Truth.

So I’m running my race for the prize—the prize of apprehending greater dimensions, not of truths, but of the Truth.  In the taking, the mystic embraces the poet within and something of value, something of worth, something life-giving appears.

In the taking, I center not on what is true about me, but what is Truth about me.  I choose the Way of Truth that brings Life, and I win every time.

~

Writing for me becomes a dialogue with the Spirit of God.  My heart’s response to scriptures whispering through my spirit.  This dialogue flows from John 14:6, “Jesus answered, I am the way, the truth and the life …”  May the dialogue continue in you… Love & Peace.

 

Mizrach: The Place of the Rising Sun

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“Where sky and water meet,

Where the waves grow sweet,

Doubt not, Reepicheep,

To find all you seek,

There is the utter East.”

― C.S. Lewis

 

Mizrach – a Hebrew word for east.  It literally means the place of the rising sun.  I have no doubt that my eternal heart compass orients to the east—the place of the rising sun.  How about yours?

Up before dawn, we dress in silence and head for the Explorer.  We make our way up the winding Summit Road, to the top of Cadillac Mountain—the first place to view sunrise in the United States.

A rock invites me to have a seat (yes, rocks do speak, … well, sort of).  So I do, and I wait, with eyes wide-open to sky’s still-dark border at the waters of Frenchman Bay.

Earlier in the week, a friend gives me a gift—a Hebrew tallit, named P’nai by the artisans who designed it.  (I am told that the Hebrew word P’nai translates to “the blue points of light” in English.)  I lay the tallit across my lap—heart engaged in prayerful meditation, in unison with the heavens above.  I am lost in translation—drifting among the morning stars singing in chorus.

In a twinkling, I’m back, just in time to catch sight of the most magnificent fiery-red orb emerging.  The tallit upon my lap literally absorbs the chaste white rays and mysteriously glows with the radiance of the sun.

And then, something extraordinary … with sky perfectly clear, and no clouds in sight, a rainbow appears behind me.

Reflected light before me; refracted light behind.  I am surrounded in a prism of light:  wrapped in Creation’s very own tallit … in Mizrach, the place of the rising sun.

One more mountaintop experience to add to my life journal.  An experience not meant to teach but to transform.

” …The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.”  Psalm 19:21 (NIV)

*The photo was taken by my husband, as I was otherwise engaged drifting among the stars and gazing into mysterious glows.  He also caught the rainbow behind me, otherwise I would have missed it completely.  Thank you, dear husband.  You know me so well. 

Just because I’m unique, doesn’t mean I’m different

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i am uniquely made, a one-of-a kind design
yet i choose not to believe that i’m different;
the moment i believe i’m different from my brother
i begin separating myself from the world that God loves;
and no one can be a relevant voice in this world
without community & love for one another.

“So God created humankind in his own image; in the image of God he created him: male and female he created them.” Geneses 1:27

Solid Rock

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“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.”  Ernest Hemingway

She was a natural-born paradox.  Gentle yet tough; loyal yet independent; social yet a bit of a loner.

Remembering the autumn so many years ago when we watched her free-spirit belly grow under her man-size shirt.  Surely she is carrying someone’s child, but she denies it for as long as she can.  Until one cold day in December, she delivers a baby girl into the waiting arms of the adopting parents.

She has her reasons.  Good reasons painfully drawn from the deep waters of a brave girl’s heart.  I don’t judge—I know better than that.  She shows us the birth certificate with tiny footprints and cries.

A year later, on a snowy night in January, she stands with us at the church altar as her brother and me exchange our wedding vows.  We will never see her again after that night.   Her gypsy heart and hippie spirit calls her westward where her life comes to a sudden and tragic end a few months later.  She was 22 years old, and our hearts broke.

Life goes on; 20 years pass—and then a letter, a phone call, a knock on the door.  We embrace through tears, and I whisper, “I always knew you would find us”.  And through her daughter’s eyes, she smiles knowingly.

The death of a young person brings confusion, perhaps even more so to a person of faith.  We ride the waves of grief—up & down, down & up—until eventually, somehow, we land upon solid ground.  Ground that takes us in—womb-like—and protects.  The solid rock of trust in God when there are no answers to the hard questions.  Solid ground—placental earth—protecting, revealing & healing.  Something that does not happen overnight.  Love & Peace.

 

 

 

When Faith Becomes Art

 

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Up against the wall of my own limitations, I stop and wait.  Barren soul yearning for full deliverance.

Yet just as a pregnant woman is enlarged in the waiting, I, too, am enlarged in the waiting.  The longer the wait, the larger I become & the more joyful the expectation. 

Patient productivity in the waiting.  It’s a bit mysterious, but I’m learning.  I wait it out.

It takes faith, writing does.  And in the higher realm of creativity and faith, I encounter the Spirit of the Living God, and we talk.

I always ask the same question …

Good morning, God.  How are you today?”

Always the same reply…

Good morning, daughter. 

I AM gracious & compassionate,

Slow to anger & abounding in love.”

Choosing to start with the outcome of Who God Is rather than Who I Am, my mindset takes a turn from frustration and negativity to freedom and creativity.  His words of life crown & I push. 

And something is born.  Something with spirit.  Something with life.

My soul is delivered & faith becomes art.

 

 

Author’s Note:  Writing for me becomes a dialogue with the Spirit of God.  This dialogue flows from John 6:63, “…the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life.”  May the dialogue continue in you… Love & Peace.