A Season of Healing

Photo and text by Joe Grant © 2021

That evening they brought many demon-possessed people
and with a word he cast out spirits, curing all of illness,
thus fulfilling the prophet’s vision of one who
took on our infirmities and bore our disease.

Matthew 8:16-17

Seeker,
Who in your life is crying out to be heeded, held, and healed?

To erect a barrier,
or construct a divide
takes the effort of just one side.

But building a bridge will always require
foundations of trust
that both sides desire.

All who work with prophetic purpose
must avoid the twin entrapments;
corrosive cynicism and coercive self-righteousness.

Desire for retribution,
no matter how justified its claim,
unleashes diabolical profanities of blame and shame.

Conceding our commonalities,
receding to white-black boundaries,
steals space for understanding, depletes oxygen for dialogue.

To deny any possibility of restoration
only reinforces divisive systems that fail
to acknowledge complicity, and reverence connection and care.

The greatest and most important problems of life are all in a certain sense insoluble…
They can never be solved, but only outgrown…

Carl Gustav Jung

Where might we sow the seeds of relationship,
to sprout and surprise us with listening hearts,
sheaves of shared sorrows, and the salve of outstretched hands?

The trajectory of Spirit, like radiant sunshine,
thrusts fearlessly outward into the dark void,
reaching for communion, wholeness, generous inclusion.

But we cannot envision what we do not see,
we will not heed what we cannot hear,
till we hone the healing arts of love.

Companioning
Lean close to listen
until heartbeats harmonize
and spirit song rhymes.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

Radical resolution lies
in looking harder, listening longer,
with hearts attuned to woe and wonder.

To outgrow the confines
of all we think we know,
we must plow the furrows of longing and loss.

Those willing to live
and love with abandon,
will surely know the sting of alienation.

Boundary Breaker
Lives are hemmed by lines.
“Thou shalt not cross!” say the signs,
crossings lead to fines.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

For we cannot splice spirituality
from humanity’s deepest cravings
and darkest inclinations.

As you embrace these days with contemplative care,
may you feel, in your bones, hurts and hungers
you can never fully understand.

Even as you savor sweet unanimity,
may you recoil at the bitterness
of discrimination and isolation.

Liberated to lovingly listen,
may your eyes widen to every unfreedom;
slavery, addiction, exploitation.

We begin
the new habit, getting up glad
for a thousand years of healing.

Susa Silvermarie

May your yearning for peace of heart
illumine the failures of war
and daily desecrations of violence.

Longing to belong, may your hospital home
welcome fellow pilgrims guised as foreigners,
migrants, exiles without refuge or shelter.

May this thankful season inoculate you
with the warmth of humble great-fullness,
leaving room at your table for the surprise of healing.

joe

Visit my website: inthestormstill.com
Now available here.

Joe Grant is a seer and a sayer, a prophet and a poet. He divines the divine in the everyday stuff of life and speaks the essential truth that every place can be a thin place, every time Kairos time. Scratchings is Joe at his alliterative best, offering us a beautiful sacramental vision in which Spirit weaves us into a great, timeless community with each other and with the more-than-human world. This quiet, gentle, but powerful book is absolutely necessary medicine for our troubled times.

  • Kyle Kramer, Executive Director of the Passionist Earth & Spirit Center,
    author of Making Room: Soul-Deep Satisfaction Through Simple Living
    (Franciscan Media, 2021)

All Hallowed Be!

Photo by Joe Grant © 2021

Do not stop the little ones but let them all come near.
To the likes of these does the Hallowed Domain belong.

Matthew 19:14

Seeker,
What legacy are you leaving for the littlest?

Autumn arrives to decorate death,
and with fiery fullness lays a red carpet down
for stark winter’s dark approach.

Through this unspooling season,
we wonder and worry
about other changes still unfolding.

From the cavern of remembrances
a seasoned memory surfaces,
early echo from my Amazonian sojourn.

Once, while visiting communities
that toil in the muddy soil
of the rolling amber river,

the leader opened a sabbath gathering
with the call: “The world has changed!”
to which the gathered responded, “Thanks be to God!”

This was followed by the chant:
“The world is still changing!”
and the crowd released the cheer, “To God thanks be!”

Inner Eye
With only our eyes
so much do we overlook
that insight perceives.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

The terrors of climate catastrophe
and worsening devastations of global disease
can cloud even the clearsighted.

For the sake of our souls,
for our children and for theirs,
for the wellbeing of our creature kin,

urgently we need to listen longer
to the land from which we come
to which soon we shall return.

Over ever evolving eons,
earth has weathered
cataclysmic waves of extinction.

In a mere handful of centuries
catastrophic human “un-kind-ness”
has despoiled the soil, water, and air that all beings share.

Now, a fevered globe seeks to stem the chronic
contagion and contain the wastage of global consumer
culture. Though well-warned and informed, somehow,
we remain unwilling to weigh the cost of a consequential
truth:
Whatsoever we do unto neighborhood, we do unto ourselves.
And what, I wonder, will our children’s children say
as they bear the burden of our careless consumption?

Joe Grant, Scratchings

Weighing Worth
At what price this senseless squander,
who must pay the cost
that burdens children’s children
with life already lost?

Swamped by information,
wisdom out of view,
our scales all imbalanced,
our measurements askew.

Facing such distortion
lives no longer weigh the same,
some are offered privilege,
and others only pain.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

In an all-hallowed home
we re-place holiness that points to “perfected”
with the “wholly-ness” of being completely connected.

As northerners traverse the liminal line,
rolling from equinox toward solstice,
and enter that “thinning time” of darkening days,

may we reverence
all earthling creatures
both of day and night,

and with gentlest care
daily demonstrate
what it means to let the children near.

Hallowed all are we,
each and every one,
under a weak and wintry sun.

For we have arrived
this hallowed day
through strength of sun,
softness of air,
swiftness of water,
stability of soil,
shelter of shade,
chorus of creatures,
and warm embrace of friendship:

Holy before,
sacred above,
spirit within
homeland beneath,
inside, and all around.

and hallowed be the name
of all our earthy kin,
each a likeness of Thy image holy.

joe

Text and Images by Joe Grant © 2021

Visit my website: inthestormstill.com
Now available here. To see more: inthestormstill.com

Scratchings is so much more than a collection of poetry and reflective verse. It is eye-opener, mindfulness-maker, veil-lifter, kinship-keeper. It is a portal into the sacred arising through the ordinary, an entryway into the soul-full-ness of every single thing. Joe’s in-sight and perception not only show us, they teach us: scratch the surface of any single thing and, indeed, you’ll find it lit from within; only “pay dues of attention” to any experience and you’ll find burning bushes at every turn. If you’re wanting a quick read, opt for a different book; if you want to linger with life and swim out into mystery, let Scratchings be your companion.

  • JoAnn Gates, Director of Knobs Haven Retreat Center, Loretto, Kentucky

Table Setting

Photo and text © Joe Grant 2021

When you give a banquet, invite the people who are poor, broken, blind …

Luke 14:13

Seeker,
How do we live authentically in such divisive times?

When they were small,
our children would clamber onto our laps
each time we gathered at table.

Every conflict,
whether familial or foreign,
inevitably leads to a table.

Sooner or later
factions and fighters
convene at this woody altar.

In our mindful moments,
we set a table in the round,
holding souls open, ripe and available.

Here we leave space for unexpected guests—
wisdom, awareness, perspective—
to sit with us.

Stirring Silence
I dare not erase disquiet.
Struggles and sorrows
are not just background noise.

Aches, hopes, hurts,
gritty and global,
that always appear
are not a side-show I can choose to ignore.

For love is also a verb;
momentum to disturb complacency,
passion that pains,
burning as it heals …

Joe Grant, Scratchings

Receptive prayer
does not permit
tuning-out

but leans in,
to let in
life’s swelling symphony,

from birdsong to train horns,
sirens to serenades, protests to gunshots,
verbal disputes to quiet kisses.

In the Maker’s magnanimous lap,
whether troubled or tender,
both welcome and table are wide.

Here and now we can be,
the beloved community,
There is room at the table for everyone.

Carrie Newcomer

At its core,
contemplative living presents
the disturbing paradox of restful unease.

Settling into stillness,
ready and reachable,
we become hospital to grievance as well as glory.

Companioning
Lean close to listen
until heartbeats harmonize
and spirit song rhyme
s.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

Awaken to those awaiting relief
in the wake of earthquake or storm,
or huddled in flickering candlelight after another massacre.

Listen to wails and worries of parents and children
facing illness and loss,
violent attack or repressive force.

Visualize yearnings for peace,
etched on faces
from every faith and holy land.

Here do we attend
to crisis and cries from creature kin,
across our tortured planet home.

And adding or opening new leaves,
we stretch the surface capacity
so all can hear what it takes to care.

In communion and commotion,
in celebration and reconciliation,
may we keep setting that table.

Companions cannot afford
to accept violations
as inevitable.

Just as we carry within
some fragment of discord and turmoil,
so too we bear some measure of tenderness:

listening hearts,
inclined to the torment and tears
of families dear, scattered afar and gathered near.

Don’t hide, don’t run,
but rather discover,
in the midst of fragmentation,
a new way forward:
a different kind of journey
marked by its fragility, uncertainty, and lack of definition.
And on that path
to hold these hands
that even in their brokenness create a new tomorrow.

Peter Millar

So, as you in silence sit
to weep and wonder,
set a place for unexpected visitors.

Windsong
Tickled by a breeze,
solemn chimes softly chuckle
discord to concord.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

Crack the door at your core,
let that wilder spirit sweep in
who turns all strangers back to kin.

joe

Visit my website: inthestormstill.com
Now available here. To see more: inthestormstill.com

Joe Grant is a seer and a sayer, a prophet and a poet. He divines the divine in the everyday stuff of life and speaks the essential truth that every place can be a thin place, every time Kairos time. Scratchings is Joe at his alliterative best, offering us a beautiful sacramental vision in which Spirit weaves us into a great, timeless community with each other and with the more-than-human world. This quiet, gentle, but powerful book is absolutely necessary medicine for our troubled times.

  • Kyle Kramer, Executive Director of the Passionist Earth & Spirit Center,
    author of Making Room: Soul-Deep Satisfaction Through Simple Living
    (Franciscan Media, 2021)

Wake Up and Wonder

Photo and text by Joe Grant © 2021

God’s Realm is like
someone who scatters seed on the ground.
Night and day while
the sower sleeps and rises,
the seed sprouts and grows,
but just how, no-one knows.

Mark 4:26

(A version of this reflection was posted in 2018)

Seeker,
What will awaken you to the hidden wonders of this day?

If you are fortunate
to wake up warmly
under soft, clean sheets,

conjure the sun-drenched cotton,
gathered and washed, dyed and woven, stitched
where nimble fingers and sweat come cheaply.

For there are others
who emerge after a noisy night under a bypass,
wreathed in cardboard, nestled in newspaper.

That rumble of natural gas or electrical hum
fueled by Nature’s captured treasure,
releases long-coveted sunlight from primeval forests.

Consider those once-green hilltops,
clear-cut, gouged and blasted-bare,
and the communities reliant on this predatory production.

In order that we might live, stars in their millions,
tens of millions, hundreds of millions even, have died.
The iron in our blood, the calcium in our bones,
the oxygen that fills our lungs each time we take a breath
– all were cooked in the furnaces of stars
which expired long before the Earth was born.

Marcus Chown

Stepping into a steaming shower,
you are refreshed by waters redirected,
piped, purified and warmed,

mindful that clean water
still remains beyond the reach of millions,
who daily trek to standpipes, creeks and waterholes.

Now clad in underwear crafted in Bangladesh,
denim from Nicaragua, leather molded in Malaysia;
your body is swathed in the weary work of the world.

Cradling your steaming, morning brew,
from beans or leaves harvested in Sri Lanka or Guatemala,
you sip from a mug fired in a Chinese factory.

You smear your breakfast bread,
baked in a far-flung city,
with summer fruits, gathered from fields unknown.

And, savoring the rush of sweetness,
you reflect on other hungers unabated,
for warmth, food, friendship, and dignity.

Before even stepping outside, to inhale
the morning freshness with canticles of birdsong,
already you are gift-wrapped in a wonderfully wounded world.

While you slumbered, multitudes of unseen hands
worked land, shifted boxes, mined minerals,
to manufacture the material of your morning,

while good Earth relinquished
bounty of soil and rolling rivers
all to make each passing moment possible.

Radiance enlightens every morning
with the ageless interplay
of matter and energy, mixed with travail and tragedy.

To the awakened,
every sunrise is a first
brilliant blush of brand-new creation,
each frigid breath suspended, a
sacramental exhalation in
conspiration of
spirit holy.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

Spidery filaments
of mystery, misery, and magnificence
entwine, to entangle us all in daily communion.

This tracery of holy connection revealed by dewdrops,
shimmering breezes and sparkling sunlight,
along with the frantic flapping of life, trapped in tragedy.

When next you step into the web of morning,
wearing the world and wondering about the Source,
may you be grateful for each momentary connection.

Antidotes
For the bored, wonder.
For the cynic, gratefulness.
For the prideful, awe.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

Only those who know
how blessed they are
can be blessing to others.

joe

Text and images by Joe Grant © 2021 All Rights Reserved

Visit my website: inthestormstill.com
A BOOK BY JOE GRANT

Coming Soon

SCRATCHINGS, Poems & More

By Joe Grant

Land Listening

Photo by Joe Grant © 2021

Notice the figs and other trees;
as soon as their leaves sprout
you can see for yourselves
that summer comes near.
So, when you see these things taking place,
know too that God’s Realm approaches.

Luke 21: 29-32

Seeker,
What is the land trying to tell you?

Though we might speed
through thin air
and on inflated wheels roll around

still our feet,
sooner or later,
must surely grace holy ground.

Bare your soles,
for this land
on which you stand is sacred.

Exodus 3:5

We might reduce the land
beneath and around us
to a resource, ready to be developed or exploited,

for it is foundation and
source of sustenance,
as well as sheltering living room.

We might perhaps perceive our selves
elevated, beyond earth,
supreme among beings.

And we might even harbor
the delusional grandeur
that timeless terrain is our exclusive domain.

Yet, before the stone-studded yard of graves,
the inevitability of being grounded
finally comes to rest.

For the soil beneath insulated soles
is but crumbled humus of long forgotten lives
that trod the clay before us.

And while we may ignore ground
disdain dirt, take earth for granted,
exhaust and despoil soil,

land has its own voice and,
heeded or not,
always has the last word.

If listening is love and love is listening,
then baring souls to greet the ground
becomes a radical act of adoration.

While we must toil to work the soil,
land needs to work on us,
and train us how to give and live in love.

I used to think the top global problems were
biodiversity loss, ecosystem collapse
and climate change … I was wrong.
The top environmental problems are
selfishness, greed and apathy
and to deal with these we need
a spiritual and cultural transformation.

James Gustave Speth

Whether you realize it or not,
your home is already founded
on holy land, and everywhere,

in urban sprawl, deserted plain,
seashore, wood or mountain,
sacred sanctuary craves your presence.

Neither exiles, orphans, nor accidental tourists,
but pilgrims are we
always sauntering on “Sante Terre” – Holy Ground.

Perspective

Wilderness people
see a garden in waiting,
grace-land not wasteland.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

With the land itself as hermitage,
each leaf and blade of grass
offers a wide welcome home.

And amid a daily information deluge
ageless ground invites immersion
into the deep drift of untamed time.

Wider than heady self-preoccupations,
interiority and conceptual contemplation,
listening to land penetrates us with wild presence.

Here we remember the carbon of our body
was birthed from stardust
Here, with no land left to push us off
of we create Home amongst the stars
Here, shining, whole, and a hundred
unseeable colors
We are a migrant constellation

We are home
We are home

Jess X. Snow

Though we belong to earth,
pervasive alienation reveals that
we have lost our place in the chorus of creation.

So, we listen
not to save Earth
but to be restored and reclaimed by land.

With patient urgency earth aches
for us to end this self-imposed
exile from sacred soil.

So, as you listen to the land
may earth also listen through you
till you receive and share Ceud Mìle Fàilte
–a hundred thousand welcomes-home!

joe

Visit my website: inthestormstill.com
A BOOK BY JOE GRANT

COMING SOON

Scratchings, Poems & More

by Joe Grant

Gratefully Grounded

Photo by Joe Grant © 2021

How blest you lowly ones, you shall welcome the gift of earth.

Matthew 5:5

Seeker,
Have you yet realized today that it is all gift?

Lowliness presents a grounded perspective
that lays bare ignorance, illuminates frailty,
leaves space for learning, makes room for mystery.

For wisdom speaks of greatness
in small things, modest actions,
and humble people.

And respect for life (in every form),
is never, ever enough.
We are made for reverence!

You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel.

T.S. Eliot

Until we are awakened to astonishment,
upheld in awe, and buoyed by gratefulness,
though we may subsist, we may not be fully alive … yet.

From astounded, to awed, to grateful;
is the procession to wholly communion—
the fullness of sacramental living.

Humility unlocks gratitude,
so that grounded in gladness,
we might receive whatever life presents.

Antidotes
For the bored, wonder.
For the cynic, gratefulness.
For the prideful, awe.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

So much more than saying thank you,
great-fullness is the natural expression
of great-littleness.

To be grateful is to succumb
to a greater, evermore generous, bountiful Spirit
who inoculates us from profane (flat) living…

with wonder (remedy for boredom);
with awe (antidote to hubris);
with gratefulness (cure for cynicism).

Empty-handed humility
is crucial for a life
overflowing with abundance.

Gratitude fuels generosity;
the liberating giveaway of heart, mind, and spirit
that transforms an overfilled into a fulfilled life.

Humble Crumble
Tread gently the soil.
Beneath your feet, loved-ones sleep,
after years of toil.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

Here lies the key to joy,
in the welcome embrace of what is given,
rather than being by acquisition driven.

While we might manufacture fun,
joy will not be fabricated;
it is gift, pure and simple and free!

Nor can joy be contained or withheld;
it is the fruit of sharing gracefully.
Only a great fool forgets to be grateful.

You we praise, Maker of earth,
of heaven, of the seas and all they contain.
You grant justice to oppressed people,
provide bread for hungry souls,
free captives, open blinded eyes, raise up those bowed down,
love just folk, protect strangers and uphold vulnerable lives.

Psalm 146:6-9

Love is not mearsured by how much we give
but by how little
we hold back.

Heartfelt Thanks!

joe

Visit my website: inthestormstill.com
A BOOK BY JOE GRANT

COMING SOON

SCRATCHINGS, Poems & More by Joseph Grant

For more infomation:  inthestormstill.com

Let in De-Light

Photo by Joe Grant © 2021

[A version of this reflection was first posted in 2016]

If the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness!

Matthew 6:23

Seeker,
What sights have you taken in today?

Looking back to childhood,
I am struck
by how often we had our windows cleaned.

Every other week,
with ladder, bucket and cloth,
a window-cleaner appeared.

After a splash and squeaky wipe,
crystal clarity
brought into sharper focus beauty and blight.

If the doors of perception were cleansed
all would appear as it is, infinite.

William Blake

With each passing moment
countless images flicker
before ever-hungry eyes.

Such a volume of visual stimulation
illuminates optic nerves
and fires frenzied neurons in our brains.

Cascading thoughts,
ideas, visions, sensations
course through our pulsing center.

Picture the graphic noise
that illustrates
the news of just one day:

moving messages and retinal flashes,
tinted by culture, colored by ideology,
perspective refracted through passion and pain.

What today have you seen or selected,
overlooked or filtered,
blindly blocked or deftly deflected?

No eye has yet seen, nor ear heard, nor heart conceived,
what the Holy One has is store for those who love.

1 Corinthians 2:9

Whether clouded by confusion,
fogged by anger, steamed with passion,
smudged by cynicism,

or made dusty with distraction;
the opaque lens of the soul
requires regular wiping,

so we might cut through clutter to clarity,
and welcome what life presents
with the fresh bright eyes of a child.

We don’t see things as THEY are.
We see things as WE are.

Talmud

If you are intent on neighbor-keeping,
with a head for justice and a tender heart,
it helps each day to cleanse the lens.

Nor dare we disregard darkness,
or close our lids to problem and pain,
but rather rinse insight in mercy’s rain.

When the world looks only grimy,
when hope and possibility are obscured,
that’s the time for window-wiping, to let in delight.

Clean the pains with wonder and lament,
for the tears of sorrow and laughter you share,
let in delight to dissipate despair.

Create in me a wiped-clean heart,
and place within a fresh and steady spirit.

Psalm 51:10

No matter where your eyes come to rest,
may you look long and lovingly,
till delight breaks in and brightens.

joe

Visit my website: inthestormstill.com
A BOOK BY JOE GRANT

Coming Soon!

SCRATCHINGS: Poems & More by Joe Grant


Wild and Free

Photo by Joe Grant © 2021

Wind blows where it will.
You hear the sound,
and know not whence it came nor where it’s bound.
So it is with any of Spirit born.

John 3:8

Seeker,
What kind of spirit can bring you back to life?

There are people we know,
bound and bonded by grinding grievance,
compelled by forces of fear and disdain.

There are others,
animated, illuminated
liberated by fire without ire;

a twinkle of joy,
shining through sorrow
that erupts in magnanimous generosity.

There are gale forces
that tear
lives apart,

and there are
softly spoken promises
that breathe us back together.

He breathed over them saying, ‘Receive the Spirit Holy.

John 20:22

Even in a stagnant sea,
a lithe and feral spirit
in the deep swims free.

Out of stardust and cosmic debris,
out of failure and loss,
out of despairing depths,

an untamable, irrepressible,
tenacious force
groans to breach the surface.

The Celts of old,
like endangered indigenous
forest-dwellers today,

celebrated sacredness
inextricably woven through
a tartan tapestry of being.

The power of imagination makes us infinite.
When we tug at a single thing in nature,
we find it attached to the rest of the world …

So into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.
Most people are on the world, not in it …
In wildness lies the hope of the world.

John Muir

Persistent and enduring
Spirit still inspires sentience
and brings being freshly and freely to life.

In brilliance
that illuminates day,
and seeds timeless dark with sparkles,

ageless interactions and explosive obliterations
broadcast elemental energy to fertilize the void
and bring us to this shimmering moment.

We lose our souls
if we lose the experience of the forest,
the butterflies,
the song of the birds
if we can’t see the stars at night.

Thomas Berry

To those of wild wind born
the desecration of the great green
reflects a sickness of soul,

a fundamental lack
of humankindness,
that betrays a refusal to recognize

and reverence holy kinship
in miraculous emanation.
For environmental devastation surely follows nature deprivation.

I am Wind on Sea,
I am Ocean-wave,
I am Roar of Sea,
I am Stag of Seven Tines,
I am Hawk on Cliff ….

Song of Amergin

Such unfreedom is a byproduct
of beings ungrounded,
imprisoned in the isolation of individualism.

Calibrated by electronic information,
life and livelihood is no longer synchronized
to cycles of seedtime and harvest, fall and fallow.

Infected by otherworldly pieties,
that seek to flee a “vale of tears”
for a higher, purer plane,

adherents gaze heavenward,
encouraged to disregard
(soiled, dirty, mucky, base) earth and her beasts.

Such disembodied devotions
render religiosity cerebral and
fearfully disparage earthy fertility as seductive and sinful.

The radical remedy
offered by folk well-grounded in wilderness
is the liberating embrace of holy creaturehood.

May you recover the holy ground of being,
breathe a freshness to blow your mind
and set free your love for this lovely world.

joe

Visit my website: inthestormstill.com
A BOOK BY JOE GRANT