Tag Archives: silence

Lent 9

 

Ruach from LaDawn Martin and Allison J Weir small

How deep the breath that makes this silence roar, and how soft the stillness that sits patiently for moments and aeons, emanating love to us in such small hope of any return.

Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018

 

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Heavenly Haiku 1

In experimental mode today 🙂 Wrote this haiku and then played with the graphics. Love to know what you think and if you’d like me to create more such shareable things with you, dear friends! If so, do leave me a comment……

honeycomb snip

Veil of Tears 98: Disappointed

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“They are distressed, because they had been confident; they arrive there, only to be disappointed.” Job 6:20 NIV

When we get to our destination, and after all those hours travelling, that tearing of hair and yelling at the kids, having spent weeks washing and sorting the right laundry, waiting around in airports, and we find the hotel is infested with cockroaches, we are disappointed by circumstances.

When we put our all into something, maybe our heart into writing a poem, and no-one notices, worse, someone gives us harsh criticism, or we put our best efforts into a friendship and the friend ditches us at the first sign of someone who is better connected, we are disappointed by people.

When our dreams are tied up in frazzled nothing days where there is no time and we can’t get motivated, or the procrastination or our own self-doubts stop us from even thinking about beginning, then we are disappointed in ourselves.

And when our prayers seem to go unanswered and yet more difficulties come, and there is only silence where we were hoping for loving words and affirmation, then we can also find ourselves disappointed in God.

Hopes and dreams are wonderful things, but they are also deeply painful, concealing as they do, great pits of despair and disappointment which we fall into time and time again, the golden boughs above us laid as if purposely criss-crossed above the top of the hole, luring us into expectation and letting us fall flat on our faces. Life really can feel like that a lot of the time.

But the Lord does not give us hopes in order to cause us to fall into despair, and he does not give us dreams in order to have them break our hearts when they arrive in a different form to the one we imagined. Our God is a God of “endurance and encouragement” (Romans 15:5) and though often he works through miracles, we see over and over again in the Scriptures and in our lives, that he works far more frequently through the process of blessings. A growth and a blossoming, with all in its rightful place and season.

If the Lord gives us silence, or a no, then that is in some unfathomable way, what we need right now. It is sometimes, of course, that our own emotional pain is so loud we cannot hear over it, or through it, but where the silence is God’s, it is sent gently and with love. Perhaps it is an opportunity to exercise faith and patience, or an invitation to simply sit and learn to listen in a different way. Maybe it is a direction in itself to see the Lord in other things, to experience him in his creation, through other people, in our own actions and self-love, in liturgy, in any number of different ways rather than in the ways to which we have become accustomed and which are now, not enough on their own. The Lord is always wanting his relationship with us to become deeper, and wider, greater, more and more full, and more centred around his Trinitarian personhood. There are many times in our spiritual lives where a painful epiphany needs to move that forward. At such times, disappointment can be a catalyst, like a stick of dynamite that shifts some rubble and allows us to enter a new place, a new level of intimacy, a new room, perhaps of Teresa of Avila’s Interior Castle. We are downcast, disheartened, and so we move deeper into God, into that one necessity, that one being who is love, and who will, at the end of the journey, never ever disappoint us.

 

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt

Photo from Pixabay

 

158: Still Water

mf AriKedonpera still water 158

Your deep peace is found in still waters, where rolling waves and whirling pools have ceased, paused momentarily, and the roar of your waterfalls is staying its breath, just for a short while. For this centre cannot hold for long, and is only part of the dance of flowing water, which is Spirit. So we stop, at the height of a pirouette, a slow-mo jeté jetty on the river of life, and see you, and smile. That loving gaze returned and all is set to rights, the wave unfrozen, the breakers roll on.

 

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

155: Sleigh Ride

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The ever jingling bells only stop when we do, falling quiet as a disciplined choir at rest, waiting dutifully for the next note of the troika, the baton and the whip raised and ready. But we rest here for a moment, silent in the snow as more drifts down to cover our tracks, like a downpour of feathering grace, wiping out the meandering misdemeanours of our errant rails. And the way ahead, so pure and full of promise, glistening in the Light of the World now to come among us, is calling, beckoning bright and full of Christmas cheer.

Right here, right now in this moment between worlds, the pause before the new beginning crescendos, like a swollen belly breathing deep through the pain, resting on the straw floor of an inn. There is a faint tinkling, the angels inhale, a slight sensation of movement readies us, and so it begins.

 

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

145: Grove

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Ent moot caught in-between groanings, a petrified pause pregnant with soon-to-be sighs and nearly nothings, the circle of trees waits, bent-boughed, towards the centre, knowing the whispers will come. The wisdom is carried in by rustling breezes, softer than wings, truer than words, weaving through pliant leaves and welcoming bowers. Here then, is the place to be found, silent and whole, till the light hits the sacred spot where you sit, when you may smile and give thanks, before heading home.

 

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

135: Log Cabin

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Frontier wilderness, a stepping stone into the silent fray, this incongruous structure stands, like interlaced chocolate bars, waiting to melt or be eaten by the grizzly natives. Back garden or pioneer’s prairie poustinia, the point is the placement; on the edge, before the wilds, set in flailing grasses that bang their heads politician-like on the windows, or in trimmed perfect lawn, it does not matter. Only the quiet and the stillness can be heard, and the world fades.

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015