Category: theopoetics


I will re-member you

It’s late, or early, and I can’t sleep for thinking about loss.

Tomorrow, or today, I have my first online funeral (cancer not COVID) but I can’t help but want some primal scream for the research uncompleted, articles unwritten, the things you’ll never get to see or say to your kids. A voice – silent. A light – extinguished.

Around the world right now that’s happening – lights extinguishing.

The current COVID death count based on available information is at 903,473 worldwide. Do the modeling on that to factor in the families, friends, colleagues, neighbours impacted. How incredibly precious is each life.

In, Rubem Alves’ The Poet, The Warrior, The Prophet, a body washes up on the shore in a fishing village and the villagers try to hold funeral rites the way they usually would, but no one knows this person to remember them. There is a void. And in the end, the void is filled with the stories of who this might be. The void is full of possibility.

The other night, my partner and I watched Pixar/Disney’s Coco together (I’m not crying, you’re crying). In the Mexican tradition of Día de Muertos, the memory of our family is kept alive by the images and stories of them we share. Each member of the family might have a different story about an ancestor, each have a different inheritance from knowing and sharing that life. It’s why when we tell each other, we are so enriched by the remembering. Or Alves’ “re-membered” because it almost seems as if that person is alive to us once more with the telling. With lockdown right now, those friends, family and colleagues aren’t able to gather to share their stories, to share their grief. There is a void.

I haven’t been wearing rings much during the pandemic, everytime I notice my bare hands it seems like a stark reminder we are in different times, see – I usually put them on just as I grab my lanyard for work and leave the house… I’m not going to work. I’m not leaving the house. The experience of living through a pandemic (we refer to it as riding the coronacoaster), sometimes is ok and at other times it’s the steep drop of noticing each tiny rhythm or ritual that we don’t do right now layered up one on the other. Like… thinking of what to wear to the funeral, what stories we will tell to re-member you to each other and celebrate your life, who of our mutual acquaintances will be there to see and catch up with, participation in a ritual not necessarily reflecting our beliefs but those significant to you who are at the centre – the reading and singing together, eating and drinking together, the sharing grief together.

I’m realising that today, I will do that on my own. There’s no one else in my household that knows you. There is a void.

I think I’ll wear a ring to your funeral.

And somehow, just like that, in the void… there was possibility.


…The Prophet speaks not to the dead but to the Wind.
He names what he does not know, he says what he cannot do.
Before the Mystery: grace.
He enters the woods, he dives into the deep waters…
He invokes something which is beyond knowing and doing: God…
The only thing he has is a wound in his flesh: the pain of Desire: longing. Restless is his heart…
Inside the Void, a universe slowly makes itself visible: dreams.
What is not… And they are beautiful: a Garden… The same Garden which lives in the entrails of the Victim. And they blow with the Wind, and in the graveyard, life appears. A flower in the desert. The secret of messianic hope.


Rubem A Alves – The Poet, The Warrior, The Prophet

My faith community are looking at the Aaronic Blessing and suggested we have a go re-writing it, see The Aaronic Blessing from a Hebrew Perspective by Jeff A. Benner for insight and inspiration…

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May the Creator that drew, knew and grew you

Enfold her in her arms that feel like home

May her peace abide in you and bring you to

stillness in the knowledge of being wholly loved and loved wholly

Reflect: Expressions of Her, expressions of you, expressions of Her…

wonderfully Made.


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The Bright One, Maker of the made and all the made ever made

invites you to regard Them and be seen. To know yourself in Them.

Under Their gaze, there is no loss, disappointment, separation, brokenness.

The communion loaf holds many-in-one. Whole.

See. Be Seen. Be.


women'sliturgy

Wisdom, may her light guide and guard you, pouring love, supersize, not subside. Do you hear Her Voice down inside you? Live it out loud, be proud, never subdue. The wholeness is calling for you, speaking for what’s true, naming the whole you into being. Seeing, freeing, we are undone and one at the same time. Truth is hard-won but I can see in the dark. Spaces, places, all of her faces – shine. And I can see in the dark. Spark. I can see in the dark. Wisdom’s calling me home, I’m known and whole. Under the cone, in my heart, it’s safe to make a start. Enfolded in the keep, I can sleep. Smart enough to know I need more, to restore, to adore her more. Her love is at the core. Hit the floor, raise my gaze, begin another day. It pays to know she’s on her knees at the door on the floor too. She knows the score on being poor. Destitute. Restitute. Resolution. Do it better than before. Not alone any more. This is what she made you for: Be. Love her more and love you. Be loved. Spark. I can see in the dark.

I hold the cosmos

Wake

This cup is yours

overflowing communion cup itellyouarise

Breathe. Exhale.
Sip and sigh. Sing and cry.
You can’t change the world, only yourself.

Talitha. Talitha.
Talitha.

itellyouarise
That is what this life is for.
That is the cup that pours.
How the song goes and that cup overflows.
You want the world to be different?
It is, because you are here.
You breathe, and be and bear.
I’ll take your tears and fears and trade you Grace.
See my Face? It’s also yours.
That is the cup that pours.
Breathe and be and bear.
Come near, come here.
This is the cup that pours. This cup is yours.

Talitha Fraser

I have healing hands

hands touching colourful crotchet balnket talitha fraser nz poet

I have healing hands
did you know?
They heal when I hold you,
they heal when I reach out for you.
They heal, these hands;
hole, hold, whole
They heal, these hands
when you hold them.

Talitha Fraser

Nestling

tree with nest

Winter exposure…
The secret now in sunlight,
Some measure of growth
And the seasons moving
Inexorably forward.
Vacate that home too small for you
And fly.

 

Talitha Fraser

The Chapel

What words are here?

What silence?
I brought hope and fear with me
I yield both to You
And still have eveything.

Do you hear the bells ring?

westword lmaw vigil 068

Do you hear the bells ring?

They are calling you to church.

They ring for Kiribati.

Do you hear the bells ring?

They are calling you to church.

They ring for Gaza.

Do you hear the bells ring?

They are calling you to church.

They ring for Sulawesi.

Do you hear the bells ring?

They are calling you to church.

They ring for land never ceded.

Do you hear the bells ring?

They are calling you to church.

They ring for Manus and Nauru.

Do you hear the bells ring?

They are calling you to church.

They ring for you.

Talitha Fraser