This week in my Buddhist meditation group, we read an essay by Rachel Naomi Remen called In the service of life, about how being on the receiving end of "help" sometimes diminishes a person and leaves them feeling less "whole". Been thinking about that a lot, because humans are so driven to help those we perceive to be in need.
This poem really deepens the study of helping, fixing, brokenness, wholeness, and letting go.
Carrie - I am a late-blooming pastor and mostly provide pulpit supply to area churches -- vacations and sabbaticals -- Thanks for sharing one of my favorites of your poems -- and will offer it as part of the sermon I'll provide next week during Lent. Both of my husbands have transitioned (2000 & 2013) and the Titmouse offers the reminder of the care we all are called to offer to others. God loves every person and every living creature in our universe -- and part of our personal calling is to care for in gentle ways these creatures. Thank you for your continuing gifts through poetry and music.
A strange memory came to me of a person describing another to me. She said, “O you know her, the lights on but nobody’s home. “
I thought how sad and dismissive. I felt sad wondering about my own experience. Is the light right there and I am not at home with it, or do people dismiss one another because we are in the shadows and dark. I pray for myself that I will drain the glass and drink it down, celebrating in my liminal time, and that I will celebrate others so that we can notice the light together in whatever form even lean that way, and find home. I am learning how to walk even in the dark and know the light is still there.
This beautiful poem reminded me of my Momma's passing. I had the honor to be with both my parents when they passed away...a true gift. My Momma always kept a little electric candle at the kitchen window. As he Alzheimers got worse she would just leave it on all the time. I was sitting right by her when she passed and that light went out right after she was gone. In about 1 minute it came back on. I was amazed when it came back on. I choose to believe it was her saying my earthly light may be out but my love light will always be with you. Thank you so much for this poem. It is the perfect poem to lead me into Ash Wednesday.
Oh Robin, what a beautiful and mysterious experience. Yes, we encounter mystery all the time…but there are moments when the veil is thin, and the presence of that mystery feels so clear. I don’t know how these things work, but I can sense the deep meaning and importance of that candle light….it was a deep bow, a way to express passing and continued presence. Thank you for sharing this story. It leaves me a little breathless in the best kind of way.
Carrie, There have been several times you have said "I don't know...." and it speaks to me in such a wonderful and comforting way. Knowing that you are comfortable without knowing, that you can be happy and comfortable without all of the answers, sets a great example for me. It encourages me to take that deep, long, breath....then allow a gentle release, and allow an openness to accept possibilities from surprising directions. Thanks for increasing the peace in my heart.
I added a little more to this post….thank you Jim and Nancy for your lovely comments. It encouraged me to share it a little more widely. Namaste ya’all.
Thank you for this reflection and the powerful way you stated what I believe to be true: "But what I do know is that there was a light that came into the world with me, and while I am here, it is so important to shine that light, to express that light, to love and cherish that light in others - including a the light of a little gray titmouse - as well as I know how."
Carrie, I am a hospice chaplain and at our interdisciplinary group meetings, before I ring the small Tibetan chime that signals the reading of the names of those who have died in our care in the last week, I deliver a brief thought. As I was pondering what thought to bring today, I watched your reading of "The Titmouse" and was struck by how it captures hospice care. I will be reading the Titmouse from my copy of A Permeable Life at IDG today. Thank you thank, thank Spirit for your perfect timing!
This week in my Buddhist meditation group, we read an essay by Rachel Naomi Remen called In the service of life, about how being on the receiving end of "help" sometimes diminishes a person and leaves them feeling less "whole". Been thinking about that a lot, because humans are so driven to help those we perceive to be in need.
This poem really deepens the study of helping, fixing, brokenness, wholeness, and letting go.
Thank you.
Carrie - I am a late-blooming pastor and mostly provide pulpit supply to area churches -- vacations and sabbaticals -- Thanks for sharing one of my favorites of your poems -- and will offer it as part of the sermon I'll provide next week during Lent. Both of my husbands have transitioned (2000 & 2013) and the Titmouse offers the reminder of the care we all are called to offer to others. God loves every person and every living creature in our universe -- and part of our personal calling is to care for in gentle ways these creatures. Thank you for your continuing gifts through poetry and music.
A strange memory came to me of a person describing another to me. She said, “O you know her, the lights on but nobody’s home. “
I thought how sad and dismissive. I felt sad wondering about my own experience. Is the light right there and I am not at home with it, or do people dismiss one another because we are in the shadows and dark. I pray for myself that I will drain the glass and drink it down, celebrating in my liminal time, and that I will celebrate others so that we can notice the light together in whatever form even lean that way, and find home. I am learning how to walk even in the dark and know the light is still there.
Thank you. Just thank you!
This beautiful poem reminded me of my Momma's passing. I had the honor to be with both my parents when they passed away...a true gift. My Momma always kept a little electric candle at the kitchen window. As he Alzheimers got worse she would just leave it on all the time. I was sitting right by her when she passed and that light went out right after she was gone. In about 1 minute it came back on. I was amazed when it came back on. I choose to believe it was her saying my earthly light may be out but my love light will always be with you. Thank you so much for this poem. It is the perfect poem to lead me into Ash Wednesday.
Oh Robin, what a beautiful and mysterious experience. Yes, we encounter mystery all the time…but there are moments when the veil is thin, and the presence of that mystery feels so clear. I don’t know how these things work, but I can sense the deep meaning and importance of that candle light….it was a deep bow, a way to express passing and continued presence. Thank you for sharing this story. It leaves me a little breathless in the best kind of way.
Carrie, There have been several times you have said "I don't know...." and it speaks to me in such a wonderful and comforting way. Knowing that you are comfortable without knowing, that you can be happy and comfortable without all of the answers, sets a great example for me. It encourages me to take that deep, long, breath....then allow a gentle release, and allow an openness to accept possibilities from surprising directions. Thanks for increasing the peace in my heart.
I added a little more to this post….thank you Jim and Nancy for your lovely comments. It encouraged me to share it a little more widely. Namaste ya’all.
Thank you for this reflection and the powerful way you stated what I believe to be true: "But what I do know is that there was a light that came into the world with me, and while I am here, it is so important to shine that light, to express that light, to love and cherish that light in others - including a the light of a little gray titmouse - as well as I know how."
Carrie, I am a hospice chaplain and at our interdisciplinary group meetings, before I ring the small Tibetan chime that signals the reading of the names of those who have died in our care in the last week, I deliver a brief thought. As I was pondering what thought to bring today, I watched your reading of "The Titmouse" and was struck by how it captures hospice care. I will be reading the Titmouse from my copy of A Permeable Life at IDG today. Thank you thank, thank Spirit for your perfect timing!