Category Archives: Fresh Mercies Daily

Creating Encounter in Colour: Gertrude’s Cloak

Heather

This winter cloak is cerisely the colour of cherry pie innards, loganberries and deep Scottish heather. A long, velvet brocade that drips with the heaviness of too much wine, dizzy with its own lushness. When she sits on the gilt throne, it drapes grape-ishly along the floor, curls coquettishly into heaving shoulders of patisserie layers, as though folding in on itself in mille-feuille delicacy.

Such lightness with such weight, and the King’s silver clasp that holds it on my lady, joining across hard sternum, is thorn to its roses, ringing bells discordant at mourning, a wedding feast too close on the heels of funeral meats. A heady aroma rises and falls here, undulating like the cloth, akin to Jesus’ gambled garment, which knows no seams.

Let us not be caught unawares by the forceful fragrance of crushed petals, the impassioned poisoned perfume of ambition. Not unsexed but fully rounded, seductive, the spell of a persuasive smile and the perfectly timed drip-dropping of venom into one’s ears.

So much read that is not there, even betwixt the lines, her character moulded and imagined by so many male players and professors over the centuries. Sister to Magdalene, even she does not know how she has been played, and enfolded in plans long laid out, enveloping more than her body, cloaking her in foul deeds.

 

Text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt  Composite art by R R Wyatt  © used with permission.

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Creating Encounter in Colour: Blue Pool

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Come lay yourself down on this lilo of leisure, close your screen-weary eyes and float to somewhere lostly deep. The pool is azure punctured with zaps of lightning sun, refracted zig zags of gold lapping at the lapis lazuli tiles. All is Mediterranean wonder and bright cobalt ceramic.

Feel the celestial coolness below you, imagine how the floor of heaven must feel to feet of bronze coming home after walking the earth on a summer’s day. Let your soul right itself, a Spirit levelled horizontally as you recalibrate your centre and plumb the depths in your mind’s eye. All other measuring can be released as the foolishness it is, attention given to cool turquoise surrounding you with softly undulating mammatus clouds of water, ripples kissing your sun-drenched skin and imparting life to arid places.

text © K Dibbens-Wyatt  Photo from Pixabay

Creating Encounter in Colour: Honey

Hunny Bear

They are gentle souls we slip into like a gateway to that idyllic childhood we never had, always patiently waiting. He sits spooning hunny from one pot into another, often missing by way of his mouth.  A bear does need to eat after all, and there is quality control to think of.

Like Jonathan in the forest, your eyes will sparkle anew on eating the sacred gathered gold poured from flowers. Tea and story time is all a-drip with butter, honey and imagination, running and plentiful, deliciously treacled on toast, drizzled on scones and sustaining us through the reality of being grownups, which, frankly, is bothersome.

And in the middle of Rabbit’s rabbiting and Owl’s pontificating and Eeyore’s gloom, unperturbed by Tigger’s bouncing and Roo and Kanga’s family, holding hands with Piglet’s blinching, is rotund saffron Pooh, calmly joyful and serene, reminding us that wisdom and tolerance are better than even just a little brain.

Text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt  Composite art by R R Wyatt  © used with permission.

 

Creating Encounter in Colour: Red Shoes

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The red shoes hang on a nail by their trailing ribbons, looking innocent for all the world, though no-one is looking at them today but this tired old ballerina. She knows them only too well and will not be fooled again. New, they were the colour of nascent shell, or the inside of a kitten’s ear, all velvet oyster pinkly grey. Nude as Eve’s Edenic soles, and probably as old. Once worn and worn once, they ripped en pointe feet to shreds and quickly filled with scarlet offerings.

The world will not cease its vampiric feasting, once it has begun to make you dance to its manic tunes. Our only hope is to rip the ribbons that seemed so delightful from our calves, and tear the suckering soles from our souls. In one wrench, band-aid like tossed aside, or hung here on the wall like trophy antlers, the hooks that barbed us.  Only the free can see them for what they are, and the rest gawp at the bloodied rags, astonished that we no longer wear them.

We refuse to dance ourselves to death, and now walk healing paths in streams and forests, barefoot. If we must wear red shoes, they will be ruby slippers that have sequins missing, and when tapped together, take us home.

 

Text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt  Composite art by R R Wyatt  © used with permission.

 

Creating Encounter in Colour

Relic chapel

Shortly after I began practising prayer and meditation as a central part of my life rather than an “add-on” the Lord started talking to me about colour. He reminded me how my favourite film as a child was The Wizard of Oz and hinted that my life was soon to be transformed from black and white to glorious Technicolor in the same way that the world changes for Dorothy when she travels from Kansas to Oz. After living so many years in what seemed a grey and deserted wasteland suffering with M.E. this came as very welcome news. The Lord drew out of me the realisation that colour is something that makes my heart leap.

As a child one of the most exciting things I could possibly find in a shop was a set of colouring pens or pencils. The range of pens all lined up shouting out their colours like a packaged rainbow was thrilling to me. It made me joyful. As an adult I had my capacity for joy stolen from me for a long time, due to this long and terrible illness and a crushing divorce. For years, my only consolation was doing cross stitch. The huge range of colours of embroidery thread were soothing to my soul, as was the act of creating. Next came a new, loving husband, thank God, and my new hobby, crochet, and although I could only do a very little at a time, the colours of all the yarn were balm to my wounds.

For my 40th birthday seven years ago, my parents bought me a retreat at Aylesford Priory in Kent. This was before my latest relapse which has left me almost entirely housebound. But back then, when I was sitting in the Relic Chapel which has the most beautiful coloured stained-glass windows (see my photograph above). I was thinking about prayer and colour when I felt the Lord strongly imprint a commission on my heart and I knew it was to be a writer. The first thing he wanted me to write about was colour. I duly wrote a short book which brought me great joy.  I’ve not yet been able to publish it, since it needs colour printing which is very expensive!

Three years ago, the Lord brought out of me a talent for art, and no-one was more surprised than I! My passion for colours had finally found its full outlet. I am deeply grateful. A few times over the years I have come back to writing here and there about my heart for colour, but now seems a good time to marry that with my love of art and photography, and my blog about Creating Encounter with God on our Lakelight Sanctuary website, as well as resurrecting bits and pieces from that very first book.

My intention, God and health willing, is to post a piece a week on both that blog and this, of my trademark poetic prose, reflecting on colour as prayerful meditation. I hope that you will find your heart lifted and enjoy my little offerings. See you next week for piece one!

God bless you,

Keren

 

Art Exhibition for M.E. Awareness

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Hello lovely readers! You are invited to an online art exhibition running for a week to raise awareness for this hideous illness that has stolen 22 years of my life. Artists with M.E. like myself, many of whom are housebound or bedridden, will be contributing pieces over the seven days.

12th May is M.E. awareness day when the M.E. community, our allies, friends, family and carers will be asking why so little is being done to help discover what the cause of the disease is, and what might alleviate or even cure us. We need governments and health services to take us seriously enough to invest in research and support. We need to be seen and heard! One of the campaigns running highlights just how many of us are hidden away, housebound or bedridden, or living half lives, often in a world of one room.

#MillionsMissing #CanYouSeeMENow?

To view the exhibition, click on the link below and then on “Discussion.” Thank you!

https://www.facebook.com/events/249755015596764/

 

picture from Pixabay.

Happy Easter!

I hope you have enjoyed this Lenten journey through my reflections, photos and art. Here we are on the day of Resurrection, and I wish you a very Happy Easter!

God bless you,

Keren x

 

Three Days Later

Three days later small

 

Blood curdles into the grain

Mixes fresh with old

Responding, the sap sings

Though long dead and now discarded

Roughly hewn and unplaned

Yours the only carpenter’s hands

It has ever known

 

Sings then, and rises

Green shoots writhing

With untameable life

Curling, encircling the rusting nails

Budding in split beams

Filling the cracks with flowers

Rising from wooden wounds.

 

Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt

Lent 40: Easter Saturday

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Here you are again then, Lord, between the worlds. As from conception to birth, womb and tomb, you are sandwiched twixt life and death, neither one thing nor the other, and yet both at the same time. As yesterday, you span both east and west, height and depth, making the sign of the cross with your Spirit. Today with you in Paradise and at the same time hearing your voice and the rattle of your keys in the dungeon doors of hell, all encompassing, omnipresent, everywhere Love, you are. Thank God nowhere is safe from your unleashed, unstoppable Grace.

Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018

Lent 39: Good Friday

Good Friday from Ramanand Dao small

Blackness of sky, redness of agony, bloodied sun, cracking clouds.  There is no doubt to anyone who has ever stood at the foot of this dark shape, looking on this tortured man in perfect obedience, that this is the centre of the universe. Here is the fulcrum of history and the turning point in all relationships. This is where the questions are asked and you are never found wanting, unlike those who have fled but will return. The women, and the man who loves you, becoming a new family at your nailed feet, churched by the anguish of love.

Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018

Lent 38

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And on this day of all days you choose to waste your time washing our tired, pungent, dusty feet. Should a king stoop so low, and have his back bow down with all our ills? It does not seem right. And when we are sat, later, breaking your body further as bread, and drinking your blood down along with all those bitter herbs, the symbolism lost on us for now, shall we kick off our sandals under the table for a brief moment, and savour the rarity of soft, cleansed and sweet-smelling skin?

Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018