Blessed the eyes that see what you see!
Luke 10:23
Seeker,
How are you startled, surprised, stunned by the wonder of being?
As a wee lad,
growing up in Scotland,
I wanted to believe in “faerie folk,”
convinced that lonely places would reveal
mischievous manifestations of nature:
a flash of color, a mournful song, a flittering light.
Rambling the outskirts, I ran into a rusty fox,
cradled a stickily hedgehog ball, caught an orange bellied newt,
studied speckled trout, squinted at hovering kestrels.
While chasing tiny flying dragons and damsels,
I heard a moaning in the wind,
and sensed a sigh in mist that makes everything mystical.
Though a working-class boy
in a post-industrial town,
I fell under the spell of wildness.
holding you here
Thomas A. Clark
leading you there
the song of a blackbird
the prints of deer
Charmed by nature’s muse,
transported to land beyond boredom
or detached observation,
choosing enchantment rekindles childlike curiosity,
sets the mind a-wandering,
lets imagination entertain other dimensions of being.
Disenchantment, first blush of cynicism,
denies the disturbing delights
of surprise, wonder, and humbling awe.
Even miserable moments
are lightened by lark-song
and tormented souls find solace in the wilds.
Are we not born breathless,
Joe Grant, Scratchings
out-of-our-depth visionaries
made for mysticism
wrought for reverence?
Indigenous imagination
evokes enchanted engagement
with a world still mysterious and magical.
Allured by natural beauty,
fascinated by resilience,
spirits echo the ancient song of gratefulness:
We have arrived
at the bright gate
of a gifted day
through strength of sun,
softness of air,
swiftness of water, stability of soil,
firmness of rock, shelter of shade,
chorus of creature kin,
and warm embrace of friendship.
Holy before, sacred above,
Spirit within,
homeland beneath, inside, all around.
It is good to be here,
with all of Thee
in the fullness of now.
Amid beauty and blight,
here are we remembered,
brought back where we belong,
Sacred is all, including us,
single, sacramental tapestry
saturated in soil, singing in trees.
Now at last are we home,
dearer and nearer
to every green and growing thing.
Falling in love with land
is but a first step on the
path to reclamation.
May enchantment expose you
to the magnanimity of nature,
with an expansive sense of soul.
For ours is the story of the land,
ours the song of the sea,
ours the saga of the sky.
joe
Scratchings invites one to explore a world of meaning delving deep beyond the surface to something truly human, truly spirit, truly personal. Challenged to ask the hard, difficult questions, the ones that come when you are deep in silence, or tending a garden, I found that Scratchings takes you on a path not necessarily where you will find the answers but to a profound engagement in the on-going and evolving search for truth. Your own. Touching a yesterday that opens gently into a tomorrow. A safe place to remember. A wonderful place to Dream.
- Sr. Sue Scharfenberger, osu, Lima, Peru.
In the Storm Still 