whisper with the Wren call...

I am very honoured to have a featured guest Blogger today. 

Sharon from "Holy Writing" has a wonderful Blog that I visit regularly for some Soul filling Spiritual time.

Thank you my friend, for the honour of allowing me to have you here at Current Ripple.

Journal notes at the Flint River ....02-18-12

 

Silent,still,eternal woods.Vultures circle soundlessly high above.Every stump has a past,every leaf a song.A crow calls from a tall dead tree,again and again.Water ripples,unhurried.Two beech leaves caught up in the breeze,land in the river.Deer prints in thegray sand.

 

Nothing here speaks of perfection.It is all messy,broken,twisted,full of holes,knobbed.Vine branches,logs,towhees calling from both sides of the river.Crows fly overhead heading West.Everything flows and opens like a lotus.The damp ground under my feet accepts  the rain,sunlight,the fallen light green mistletoe near me,broken,alone.

 

I am the self-apppointed abbess of this solitary spot.The leaves are my prayers heading downstream for their own purpose.This log is my desk and chair by a window.The choir?Crows,a wren and the towhees.The tall gray bare trees are a cloud of witnesses with the tops of the pines swaying to the music.The beech leaves have messages written in the veins as they flutter down.

 

The abbess sees,listen and relishes all that is here.The word hurry disappears around the bend with the current.

 

The stump with its past,its story,leans towards the tall bare tree that is festooned with mistletoe.

One day ,it too, will be a stump in the long movement of time on the river in the eternal woods.

 

The sun peeks through the branches as if a bright white candle has been lit in the chapel and placed on a high tall window sill.Lit for vespers, those praise prayers that are said every day at all times around the world.Mine added as a whisper with the wren call.

 

Unlike the monastery in Conyers,whose plain cinder block walls glow in pale blue and pink when the sun comes through the stained glass windows,the pale sun here brings only green and beige in reflection on the waters of my river.

 

I am very present to this outpouring.The Buddhists call it mindfulness.I am here with this,not back or forward,here,now,waiting for words to form.There aren't enough.   

Holy Writing can be found by clicking "here" drop by and show her some Love.