Weed Seeding

Photo by Joe Grant © 2019

God’s Realm is like someone who scatters seed on the ground, then sleeps and rises night and day, while the seed sprouts and grows, no-one knows how. Luke 4:26-27

Seeker,
Have you witnessed the re-creative power of Nature?

Most of us, much of the time,
are so busy getting THERE
that we fail to realize we are already HERE.

In essence, prayer is no more or less than this:
a desire and determination,
to be HERE and no place else.

HERE is the stage
upon which the unfolding field of relationships—
God’s Realm— is set.

We see the light everywhere but where we are, and chase after what we think we lack, only to find humbly, it was with us all along. Mark Nepo

For sure, we each have a part to play,
for good or ill,
in the drama of our days.

Yet we are not
the author of this
eternally unspooling story.

And HERE is neither the beginning,
nor the end
of the journey.

HERE is another Artist at work—
Presence unbounded, wider in mind, wilder in heart—
on an immeasurable canvas.

Like seed grain, packed with possibility,
the Domain of Mercy germinates by its own power,
in its own good time.

We do not make the garden grow.
We awaken to it; tending to spontaneity that surfaces,
enjoying fruits that sprout of their own accord.

Though we do not make it happen,
we can choose
to dwell HERE, or not.

This weedy ground-of-being
will not be controlled or contained.
It is mystery; too broad for narrow minds, too deep for shallow hearts.

With what could we compare the Domain of the Divine? It is like a mustard seed, the smallest of all seeds; yet when sown, it grows into the greatest of all shrubs. Mark 4:30-32

Neither a territory, nor a State,
God’s Domain is an ever-new state of being—
in relationship with everything.

This encompassing horizon that recedes before us,
beckons the awakening
of consciousness and connection.

With ways and means far beyond us,
our Mysterious Maker
works around, sometimes through, and often despite us.

And those people and places
we overlook and undervalue
arrive laden with God-Realm potential.

For this is no trickle-down Reign from on high.
It is an eruption,
beneath our souls.

The lower we go,
the closer we come
to the humble seeds of possibility.

I have great faith in a seed. Convince me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders. Henry David Thoreau

We cannot farm weeds.
They thrive in the wilds,
in outlands neglected.

Left alone,
they crack the hardest crust
to transform dereliction into diversity; a shelter for abundant life.

No life forms—from the rain-forests to phytoplankton
who give us this day our daily breath—
lie outside the cosmic sweep of creativity.

Perhaps we have no handle
on this Great Field
because it has no door.

May you take the path
that HERE opens,
and wildly scatter weedy seeds of forgiveness.

joe

Sacramental Spring

Photo by Joe Grant © 2019

God’s Realm is like someone who scatters seed on the ground. Night and day while they sleep and rise, the seed sprouts and grows, how, they do not know. The earth itself produces first the stalk, then the full head of grain. Mark 4:26-28

Seeker,
How have you received and celebrated the sacrament of today?

Sacraments are not magic.
They are majestic, messy and,
at their core, mysterious portals to the eternal.

Prolific though they be,
we just don’t see what we won’t see.
In the face of resurrection’s springtime release, how blind can we be?

Pollen to irritate the eyes,
perfumes and bouquets resplendent
to overwhelm the senses.

And still the miracle fails to arrest us,
draw us out of our own heads,
teach us humility, and school us in awe.

This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never dry all at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor is ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.
John Muir

But first, we must be freed
from fractious fears,
and self-preoccupations to become self effacing.

For every day is Earth Day,
when we open wide the soul’s window,
let in the bird-song Psalms,

and intentionally practice that holy communion
of breath-receiving-and-returning—
first and final sounds we ever make.

In the face of our original inhalation,
and in the wake of our ultimate exhalation,
surely all else pales.

Prayer is our humble answer to the inconceivable surprise of living.
It is all we can offer in return for the mystery by which we live.

Abraham Heschel

I went one day
for a walk in the woods,
and time lost track of me.

So, on I amble and sometimes stumble,
knowing less and less about anything,
but more and more sure about everything.

Don’t we need to lose sight to regain vision?
Knowing our blindness might cause us to reach out
and lead us into the path of another’s pain.

Amidst the meditation of mountains, the humility of flowers –wiser than all alphabets— clouds that die constantly for the sake of God’s glory, we are hating, hunting, hurting. Suddenly we feel ashamed of our clashes and complaints in the face of the tacit glory in nature. It is embarrassing to live! Abraham Heschel

In all this wildly
wonderful and woeful universe,
love alone endures.

We understand this best
in the act of letting-go
what and whomsoever we have come to love

For we do not manufacture compassion.
We only welcome it,
make room to receive it, and express it with abandon.

From first breath to final,
this is our sacramental mission,
love is not attachment; it is release, outpouring, falling, letting-go.

How strange we are in the world and how presumptuous our doings!
Only one response can maintain us: gratefulness for witnessing the wonder. For the gift of our unearned right to serve, to adore, and to fulfill. It is gratefulness which makes the soul great.
Just to be is blessing. Just to live is holy.
Abraham Heschel

joe