the soul reveals
its presence
and through secret pressure
changes sorrow into water.
The first budding of the spirit
is in the tear,
a slow and transparent word.
Then following this elemental alchemy
thought turns itself into substance
as real as a stone or an arm.
And there is nothing uneasy in the liquid
except the mineral
anguish of matter.
So much of what we live goes on inside– The diaries of grief, the tongue-tied aches Of unacknowledged love are no less real For having passed unsaid. What we conceal Is always more than what we dare confide. Think of the letters that we write our dead.
Because I do
not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?
Because I do
not hope to know again
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again
Because I know
that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice
And pray to God
to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us
Because these
wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.
Pray for us
sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.
II
Lady, three
white leopards sat under a juniper-tree
In the cool of the day, having fed to satiety
On my legs my heart my liver and that which had been contained
In the hollow round of my skull. And God said
Shall these bones live? shall these
Bones live? And that which had been contained
In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of the goodness of this Lady
And because of her loveliness, and because
She honours the Virgin in meditation,
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
It is this which recovers
My guts the strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions
Which the leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn
In a white gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.
Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.
There is no life in them. As I am forgotten
And would be forgotten, so I would forget
Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said
Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only
The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping
With the burden of the grasshopper, saying
Lady of
silences
Calm and distressed
Torn and most whole
Rose of memory
Rose of forgetfulness
Exhausted and life-giving
Worried reposeful
The single Rose
Is now the Garden
Where all loves end
Terminate torment
Of love unsatisfied
The greater torment
Of love satisfied
End of the endless
Journey to no end
Conclusion of all that
Is inconclusible
Speech without word and
Word of no speech
Grace to the Mother
For the Garden
Where all love ends.
Under a
juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining
We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each other,
Under a tree in the cool of the day, with the blessing of sand,
Forgetting themselves and each other, united
In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye
Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity
Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.
III
At the first
turning of the second stair
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitul face of hope and of despair.
At the second
turning of the second stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.
At the first
turning of the third stair
Was a slotted window bellied like the figs's fruit
And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene
The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green
Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.
Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,
Lilac and brown hair;
Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind over the third
stair,
Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair
Climbing the third stair.
Lord, I am not
worthy
Lord, I am not worthy
but speak the word only.
IV
Who walked
between the violet and the violet
Who walked between
The various ranks of varied green
Going in white and blue, in Mary's colour,
Talking of trivial things
In ignorance and knowledge of eternal dolour
Who moved among the others as they walked,
Who then made strong the fountains and made fresh the springs
Made cool the
dry rock and made firm the sand
In blue of larkspur, blue of Mary's colour,
Sovegna vos
Here are the
years that walk between, bearing
Away the fiddles and the flutes, restoring
One who moves in the time between sleep and waking, wearing
White light
folded, sheathing about her, folded.
The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem
The unread vision in the higher dream
While jewelled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.
The silent
sister veiled in white and blue
Between the yews, behind the garden god,
Whose flute is breathless, bent her head and signed but spoke no word
But the
fountain sprang up and the bird sang down
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
The token of the word unheard, unspoken
Till the wind
shake a thousand whispers from the yew
And after this
our exile
V
If the lost
word is lost, if the spent word is spent
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word without a word, the Word within
The world and for the world;
And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.
O my people,
what have I done unto thee.
Where shall the
word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the voice
Will the veiled
sister pray for
Those who walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee,
Those who are torn on the horn between season and season, time and time,
between
Hour and hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait
In darkness? Will the veiled sister pray
For children at the gate
Who will not go away and cannot pray:
Pray for those who chose and oppose
O my people,
what have I done unto thee.
Will the veiled
sister between the slender
Yew trees pray for those who offend her
And are terrified and cannot surrender
And affirm before the world and deny between the rocks
In the last desert before the last blue rocks
The desert in the garden the garden in the desert
Of drouth, spitting from the mouth the withered apple-seed.
O my people.
VI
Although I do
not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn
Wavering
between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings
And the lost
heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth This is the time of tension
between dying and birth The place of solitude where three dreams cross Between
blue rocks But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away Let the
other yew be shaken and reply.
Blessed sister,
holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry
come unto Thee.
WHATCHA GET?
INTRODUCTION
The title of my
homily for this 8th Tuesday in Ordinary Time is, “Whatcha Get?”
I found out that
“Whatcha” can be spelled, “WHATCHA” or ‘WHATJA”. Whatcha….
WHATCHA GET?
Whatcha get? Is that the life time question - or is it something else?
How many times have
we looked at a babies skull or head or into their eyes and said, “I wonder what you are
thinking about in there?”
How many times have
we looked at a babies hand and we noticed it’s closed - like a fist - and we
open up his or her fingers - only to discover there is nothing in there. They
are holding onto nothing as if it is something.
What we don’t know -
because we forgot - is that God asks
each baby in a mother’s womb from time to time, “Whatcha Get” and the baby
says, “I don’t know yet, God. It’s dark and squirmy and liquidy in here. I hear
sounds and I feel taps from the outside at times so I kick back and sometimes I
hear ‘Ouch!’ or sometimes I hear prayers, ‘Wow! Praise God! New life.’” That’s what I get.
What we forget is
that at our first and second birthday we get all kinds of cute gifts from
grandmas and aunts and uncles and cousins - and God asks us before we fall
asleep, “Whatcha Get?”
And we tell God
about Rubber Duckies and toys and shoes and a teddy bear and a neat hat - but
we don’t want a new blanky. The one I got - I don’t want to ever forget.
Then time moves on
and we forget about that inner conversation God has with all of us from time to
time and now when we get home from school our mom and dad ask us, “Whatcha get
in school today?”
And we tell about learning colors or letters or numbers or a neat picture book
- or this new friend whom we met in the playground.
Time moves on and start
getting report cards and our mom and dad ask us, “Whatcha Get?” If it’s a good
mark, we’re happy to report - if its really bad - the temptation to forgery
becomes every kid’s temptation.
We go to camp. We go
to go on vacation. We go to a new school. We play a basketball or a Little
League game. Then when we get home from time to time we still hear the
question: “Whatcha Get?”
Whatcha Get? It’s
the question of a lifetime.
It’s great when we
hit 70 and we look back and we realize we got a lot - good kids - but
especially the best husband or wife possible. It’s a bummer when life doesn’t work
out - and things fall apart - and we didn’t get what we wanted.
It’s sad when the
answer to “Whatcha Get?” is: “Too many
disappointments - too many hurts - too many failures.”
CHRIST
Then the day comes -
hopefully long before we die - when Christ says, “I’ve been with you all these
days - Whatcha Get from me? Whatja think I was saying and teaching and doing
for you?”
And it’s great when
we can answer: “It took some time, but I got you Lord Jesus. I got you. You are
my first and you are my last.”
It’s sad when we
have to say, “Well, I tried to be first and I ended up stuck in the middle or last
every time. Bummer!”
Jesus laughs when we
say that - because that could be the beginning of his wisdom - especially as we heard it in today’s
gospel.
It’s only when we
put everyone else ahead of us - that we begin to see - first of all - that we
are part of the whole human family - part of everyone else as Jesus is saying in
today’s gospel. It’s a grace and a gift when we say, “When I gave up wanting
everything - I got everything.” It’s then I see that everyone is my brother and
sister - and we’re all children of God - and we then get Jesus on the cross. We
look at his hands and we see they are empty and it’s then we realize he got the
whole world. [Cf. Mark 10:28-31]
CONCLUSION
Surprise! When we
die - when we’re standing on line to meet and greet God, we hear God saying to some, "Whatcha get?" and to others,
“Whatcha give?”
We step back and ask
ourselves, “I wonder which question I’m going to get.”
