A Holy Awakening
I’m sitting in the shade of the crabapple tree.
The surface of the redwood picnic table is
rough and weathered–like the dock. The dock that
once gave me a sliver in the arch of my bare foot.
The dock with benches for lakeside contemplation.
Wild cranberries grew on the right, and the boat
(I think it was wooden) nested in the grass to the left.
While my parents slept one still gray, misty morning,
I rowed out alone, the oars creating little liquid tornadoes.
I’d heard my father, the carpenter, say he’d like fish for breakfast.
I’m overwhelmed to the tipping point of tears because
I smell my childhood and the fragrance of simplicity
served not in slivers but in thick slabs.
I remember the embrace of stillness rippled only when a fish
broke the surface for a skimmer, AKA a Jesus bug.
The aroma of the boomerang lilac hangs heavy in the breeze
while my memories boomerang. Yellow umbrellas dance
with soft, transparent urchins. A murder of crows holds court
in the distance. A circle of light spills through an opening
in the table, grace puddling at my feet, a holy awakening.
“Images emerge from the ether in us,” writes Harrity in Making Manifest: On Faith, Creativity, and the Kingdom at Hand. “These are deeply symbolic, and have profound implications in our personal identities. Close your eyes and focus. What appears in your mind?”
It was the dock that manifested itself. A platform of my past, still implicated in my present.
We’ve been walking together through this month, stilling ourselves so God can make Himself manifest, so we can make Him manifest in the words that have tumbled from our fingertips.
We’ve learned to see a little more clearly, to listen a little more deeply. We’ve left snippets of proof that we’ve been present in the moment.
We’ve begun to see the poetry that surrounds us. We’ve claimed the poetry God has created us to be.
It’s been a holy awakening.
“So go today, walk out, and live the words of peace that you’re becoming,” writes Harrity. “Remember that, like you, your offerings are fearfully and wonderfully made.”
This is not the end of the journey. It’s just the beginning.
In the stillness,
Question: What image appears in your mind when you close your eyes and focus?
Link up: If you’re journeying through Making Manifest this month, feel free to link up a post below. If not, maybe you’d like to share your day-21 poem in the comments. Or both.
Linking with Holley and Bonnie
Carol J. Garvin says
Once I saw your lilac no other image would come to mind. It became the inspiration for my own blog post.
It’s been a good month. I’ll need to read Dave’s book again and give it the undivided attention it deserves. But yes, “it’s not the end of the journey. It’s just the beginning!”
Sandra Heska King says
I’m so glad you came along, Carol. And I’ll be returning to Dave’s book often. Now I’m hopping over to smell your lilacs. 🙂
Mari-Anna Stålnacke @flowingfaith says
Beautiful. Just beautiful, Sandra. Thank you. Sea horizon was my mental pic. Blessings to you!
Sandra Heska King says
Something so beautiful about the sea and the way it meets the sky–blue on blue. Thank you Mari-Anna.
Charity Singleton Craig says
“I smell my childhood and the fragrance of simplicity”
I love this sentence. I have so many strong memories associated with smell. I’ve heard that the olfactory sense is the most strongly connected with remembering. Later, when you talk about the lilac, it brings back memories of mowing the lawn, of having prom pictures taken in the yard of our house, of the perfume my college roommate used to where.
Beautiful, Sandy. I’m sorry I wasn’t available for this whole series.
Sandra Heska King says
I’m always glad when you have time to pop in, Charity. We lived at the hem of the woods, and one of my strongest smell memories is of damp earth and decay and… green. I’ve never been able to describe the smells. And creosote brings back the railroad tracks across the road. I had to cross them to get to the blueberry bog. Sometimes I’d walk a ways down them. Often I’d watch the passenger trains go by and wonder about the people on them–where they came from and where they were going.
Such beautiful reflections, Sandra. I can just see those “little liquid tornados” from the oars. I love the sights and sounds of water. Thank you for instilling peace into my heart today with this “stilling ourselves so God can make Himself manifest.” Love your photos, too.
Sandra – Your words are so beautiful … so amazingly descriptive and sensory. I found the same type of imagery in Bonnie’s book – Finding Spiritual Whitespace. I have somehow lost or buried a lot of my memories from my past, but even for present moments, my words and thoughts are not as vivid and captivating as those in your post. What a wonderful gift you have. I love this thought: “We’ve begun to see the poetry that surrounds us. We’ve claimed the poetry God has created us to be.”
I used to write poetry. Back in my angst-filled teen years and then after my divorce. Those descriptive phrases seem to come more easily to me in times of pain. I haven’t written any poems in a long time. I guess that’s a good thing since it means I have not been unhappy. Your post got me thinking though – perhaps it’s time I immerse myself in the poetry around me and practice letting the peace and beauty flow through me and into my words. Great post!
Kel Rohlf says
I really enjoyed this poem and the senses you evoke from an image or a fragrance. Thanks again for hosting this holy manifesting month!