Figuring Out Life While Aging
If God is a question calling me, I evade but yearn to answer. If God is an answer, how can I live with what I can’t understand? If God is a promise I made under water can I hold my breath in the desert? If God is the whole and holy world, how can I birth myself within?
Marinating in a sad mood, Searching for reasons, heavy and low.
If God is a question
calling me,
I evade
but yearn to answer.
If God is an answer,
how can I
live with
what I can’t understand?
If God is a promise
I made under water,
can I hold my breath
in the desert?
If God is the whole
and holy world,
how can I birth myself
within it?
Wanting spring or the summertime lake, I mourn this pandemic winter. Netflix doesn’t solace, Zoom only teases, and constant craving defeats joy. I yearn for comforting news, for boring times, and a “normal” that will never return.
My tongue, seeking textures, tastes the flavours of lonesomeness. I must sit in solitude, my breath composed, awake and aware the space between our rough edges opens in quiet time alone softly present sweetly touched by grace..
Someone I love is burning incense for a holy day I don’t observe. Someone I love is waiting for results that may delay sorrow. Someone I love is writing poems to grasp a transient moment.
Like the farmhand during a church sermon
dozing
and the housewife planning
grocery lists,
I meditate
imperfectly.
Composing poems and
prayers,
resisting
resentments,
Seeking God,
seeking
peace.
Slow death and muffled grief
drum
their long passage,
marching me through
the parade of my life.
