Monthly Archives: August 2015

123: Beach

123 beach

Free and wild, newly released, here you stand still at first, on the edges of the ocean, where the sea meets the shore. What is there to do then, but close your brown eyes in wonder, let the salt tang whip through your mane, and bow your head, ready to charge at the future? Run, canter, gallop, the wet sand flying up behind you, the curves of tide seeping back and forth over your hoofmarks. Raise your neck and whinny in the pleasure of vast fresh horizons.

Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

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Day 122: Loch

122 loch

Calm expanse, mosquitoes brooding over the water, rippling where the cold Scottish breeze rolls in, my imagination skip-skimming across the dark surface like a stone. Salmon resting in your nooks, and who knows what monsters lie beneath, in the soft muddy dark, or how deep you really are? Swallowed plumb lines and carelessly held fishing rods, a few fallen oars too, no doubt, laying at the bottom in the rocky crevices, like meal remnants in the teeth of the real Leviathan, who breathes in the glittering light and dives in the dusk, the spirit of the loch.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

Day 121: Cornfield

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Light and dark growing up together, the wheat and the tares alike welcoming in each new dawn, each new dusk. Brother and sister, soil siblings, rising up from the same earth, basking in the same sun, dancing in the same swirls of breeze, refreshed by the same rain. Bringing forth difference stood side by side, some sailing petals, some harvest food, blood red and golden ears, all beauty, all belonging, altogether.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

Day 120: Stream

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Rivulets running like ancient roots along the veins of my dabbling feet. Not seeking to dig down but only to flow onwards. Unconcerned by anything but living the dance, how it takes you in the current that moment: sparkling in the sun; washing over a minnow; swirling slow in a shadowed eddy. Never set in stone but eroding it, channelling your way playfully into the rocks of ages, pirouetting on a pebble, jeteeing from a salmon’s mouth, on pointe gazing up to the noonday sun.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

Day 119: Prayer

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The soul cavern, deep and sonorous, where the wild things echo as their jaws stretch wide at the perimeter, howling to be heard. Edges barely held back, vines curling around anything and all things. The light is palpable, even blinding, and all that is not Spirit squints and shuffles away from the centre. Here is peace of a new kind, golden solicited silence, like ice-cold ale poured into frosted glass chakra. Here is sitting, palms upwards, smiling soft and true.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

Day 118: Greening

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Today is a greening day. A day for sitting back and watching the fullness arrive. A day for the beginning of ripeness, when the sap sings as it travels, and the roar of fruit coming can be heard. A day for things to take shape right to their very edges, and for smoothness of round apple bellies to groan in satisfied stretching.

 

 

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

Day 117: Sunshine

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The heat of the sun beats down on the wicked and the good. My grace working like beams of light. My glory-goodness too rich for some, sheltering Jonah-like under their unappreciated plant-parasols, or under handkerchiefs with knots tied at the corners to remind them that the world is flat.

All this brightness and need for shelter is too much for one head, let it flow on to others so all may bask in the heat of my love; my love that withers sin and tests earthly patience and understanding. Let Nineveh too, have her share and be glad.

  

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

Day 116: Pebbles on the Shore

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Here on the sinking soft sand, place the pebbles of your problems, the stones that mark your failures, your inadequacies. Are they so very many? Let them sit a while in the golden grains, in preparation for what is to come. Lean back and watch the gentle wave ripple in and over these confessions, washing them clean.

What was dry and rough is now smooth and sparkling in a new dawning sunlight. There is nothing to be ashamed of here, only transformation, an offering given up in honest examen and left for me to tend to. Freshness abides. Stones sing Amazing Grace in the ebb and flow of living water.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

Day 115: Forest

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Here is a forest, our forest. Dreaming beneath green pine spires and rusting oaks, the coolness of shade-bathed feet as they stand on the leaf-spattered, needle carpet ground; bare toes sheltered under tiny toadstool parasols. Leaf siblings, higher up, haloed in sunshine as it winds and bends through arboreal barriers. Here we open and close our eyes with each breathed breeze, and find our calm delight.

Words and art © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

Day 114: Meadow

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I see a meadow, our meadow is coming. A place where the butterflies of grace flit to and fro by unearthly rhythms, and the grasses are clothed in splendour. Where cornflowers explode like blue star fireworks and the poppies sing in zinging red robes.  Sky and blood and gold move in the Spirit’s breath; the dandelion roars God’s praise, and the humble daisy sways, eyes closed in pink-edged prayer.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt