Category Archives: Offerings

141: Bee’s Nest

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Sweetness dripping from heavy honey-laden combs. Heavenly hexagons filled with a million dance steps and a billion flights of winged fancy. Paniers loaded with petal-pried plenty, transformed by ancient magicks and the weaving of workers; mage and drone, queen and community. Cellular constructs rivalling model molecules, waxing fully lyrical and loaded, connected and sealed by logic and love. Lion’s belly splayed and empty, yet full of buzzing life. A nutshell riddle cracked wide for germination and the birthing of bees.

 

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

134: Bed

134 bed

Sickness prevents all effort, so this bearing body must sink with summoned gratitude into the sheets and let the light fall where it will. An imagined Heidi hayloft with eyes closed, I could be anywhere. A skylight shows me stars in the daytime and Grandfather lays out bread with cheese and apples, a rustling feast down below. But eating comes later, and now it is a quickening softness, a garnering of cellular energy that is needed. I gather grain into the storehouse and let the outlines of my shape melt away.

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

129: Depths

129 depths

Down in the turquoise blue I see shapes as I skim across the water like a winged stone. My dragon eyes pick out fossil, skeletal structures in waiting, impatient for flesh to find them. The framework is all given, ready for the making now that it has been glimpsed. For what are we all waiting for but life? And what are we all constructed of, but our inner workings? To be clothed in art, truth and glory, this is our destiny.

And meanwhile, we sit on the seabed, sleeping, on the rock shelf, straining to see beyond the meniscus. We need the mantle to be passed on, a wrapping, ravelling, a new skin, now that we are down to the bare bone.

Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

126: Expanse

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As the landscape rolls out with red carpet welcome, so vast and so sublime, there is no one thing to draw my gaze but your face. Your face filled with nebulae, dotted with novae, dusted with constellations, formed from the angle of my seeing behind the clefted rock by galaxies, and the sight is dulled and unconsummated, my being too small, my eyes too tiny to take in even one squinted panorama. Such wonder, such enormity (for size is unimportant when it is immeasurable), such an indescribable beauty that nevertheless wrestles in my brain, in my heart for recognition, even after my inner retinae have given up.

Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

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

121 cornfield

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

119 prayer 1

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

parasol 117

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