Deep in the me-my
Mine lurks the
Self-centred
Selfish soul,
Seeking
Self-satisfaction,
Prowling in the darkness
With a nocturnal pride
Of self-focused self-seekers,
Stumbling into one another
With sharp elbows, vainly
Looking down long, long
Pointy noses into the dark
Mirror of the ego. Ergo
Life here is death here
And growth here is stilted,
Bent and troubled,
And peace and love
Are words imagined,
Because to live them would
Require the death of me –
My ego – down there deep
In the me-my mine.
Author Archives: Juan Fernandez-Arias
The place of peace
Peace is not about accepting:
Peace is about embracing.
Peace is not the absence of trouble:
Peace is the active presence which shields us from and overcomes trouble.
Peace is not a way of thinking, or an emotion:
Peace can still both heart and soul.
Peace is not an ideal:
Peace is real.
Peace is not a concept:
Peace takes on flesh and blood in you and me.
Peace is not the end of a process:
Peace is a continuing way of life.
Peace is not what we hope for:
Peace is what we make if we choose to.
Peace is not something we move towards in order to attain it:
Peace comes close to us so we can receive it.
Peace is not FROM GOD:
Peace is the presence OF GOD.
“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.”
Isaiah 26:3
Jesus is on the cross
When brother takes up arms against brother,
Jesus is on the cross.
When children are rejected and abused,
Jesus is on the cross.
When war rages and lives are wasted,
Jesus is on the cross.
When the strong do injustice to the weak,
Jesus is on the cross.
When the poor are neglected and ignored,
Jesus is on the cross.
When a world of plenty leaves many without,
Jesus is on the cross.
When so many are so lost,
Jesus is on the cross.
When hope has gone and despair abounds,
Jesus is on the cross.
When we find the truth that we need a saviour,
Jesus is on the cross.
When we need a way back home,
Jesus is on the cross.
When we want a life worth living,
Jesus is on the cross.
“As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”
John 3:14-15
Not what has been,
but what will be
In loss, in change,
In time’s decay,
In all the things
That once were
Dreams and now
Are changed,
In scars, in wrinkled
Lines which tell
A story which was
Going somewhere;
The still small voice
Calls out to ears
Now tuned to hear
The softened hush –
Like summer’s silent
Morning breeze.
And on warm currents
Chasing Winter’s cold
And drying Spring’s
Wet weeping, comes
The sound of hope in
Grass-greening refrain,
Drawing the soul
Ever-forward towards
The unwritten tomorrow:
“Not what has been, but what will be.”
The blossoming
The brown buds
Tightly strain
And swell on wiry
Finger-like branches,
Reaching outwards
And up towards
Spring’s new sun
In hope of bathing
In the invisible glow
Of ultraviolet.
Within awaits a furled
Canopy of pink explosion
Ready for the precise unseen
And unwatched moment
When they will burst open,
Announcing the change
Of season and the coming
Fruit yet a season away.
There is a time for wintering,
Budding and blossoming,
And though the blossom or
The fruit cannot be seen
Today, yet they will come,
In an unseen
And unwatched moment.
Leader
They say a leader is one who leads
But I say that if no one is following
Then you are a loner, not a leader.
In all my gifts, talents, ideas and charisms
It is the vacant gap behind me—
A huge sinkhole prepared for years—
Which amplifies the truth like a loudspeaker
That I lead no one except myself
And I go into a delusional place where
The lonesome and the ludicrous meet
To play the game and act the part.
Influence! Confront! Lead!
The lines are learnt and awkwardly rehearsed
But no one watches this performance
Ready to mimic; no understudy waits in the wings,
For I am but an actor, a charlatan
Who knows as much about leadership
As the night knows about the day.
Make the curtain call; drop it fast
That I might take my leave of
This pantomime of curated folly
And instead sit in silence; humble, close-mouthed,
And wait until I able to see what a true leader
Looks like, walks like, talks like and is like.
Maybe then I can stand up, dust myself off
And follow.
Maybe if I can learn what a follower is
Then I can know what a leader is.
Come to rest
Let the falling leaf, work done,
Come to rest where it lands.
Let the weary bones laid out
Come to rest on your couch.
Let the floating ark of family life
Come to rest as the waters subside.
Let the furrowed brow of concern
Come to rest in abandoned trust.
Let the restless, relentless pace
Come to rest in long, slow breaths.
Let yesterday and tomorrow’s tomorrow
Come to rest now in each moment.
Let everything you create and do
Come to rest in everything you are.
Let the questions, doubts and needing to know
Come to rest in being known.
Remember the sabbath to keep it holy;
Come to rest and let YHWH take care
Of the rest.
“Observe the Sabbath day, to keep it holy, as the LORD your God commanded you. Six days you shall labour and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work, you or your son or your daughter or your male servant or your female servant, or your ox or your donkey or any of your livestock, or the sojourner who is within your gates, that your male servant and your female servant may rest as well as you. You shall remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the LORD your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. Therefore the LORD your God commanded you to keep the Sabbath day.”
(Deuteronomy 5:12-15)
TRIFLE
An acrostic by Abigail
T ea time treat!
R ivers of cream.
I love jelly!
F lowing texture.
L ovely taste!
E ver loving!
Where no man has gone before
They say each snowflake
Is unique and always new,
So I tentatively tread the
Pristine whitewisp path atop
The hidden shoe-worn pavement,
And every impressive step
Becomes a mighty marker of
Where no man has gone before;
Here today, gone tomorrow.
Beholding is becoming
The following poem is my first attempt at a cleave poem.
It is made up of two parts which can be read individually as two poems or combined as one. The words on the right are from St Paul (2 Corinthians 3:18).
