The quiet mind dissolves, the stilled heart holds - the expanse of faith envelops now and not yet. There is no yearning, and no imagined future - the silence of God moves closer.
Therefore, brethren, having boldness to enter the Holiest by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way which He consecrated for us, through the veil, that is, His flesh, and having a High Priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.
Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful. And let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works, not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as is the manner of some, but exhorting one another, and so much the more as you see the Day approaching”Hebrews 10:19-25
A pilgrim’s lament for rural England
The thatched cottage, the dappled meadow, the ancient spire - the rural contours of this museum isle yield ample beauty and refinement. Decency is sustained by a simple frame of good manners, banter and tea. But is this today an abode for the living, as the land lies dormant and its inhabitants forget? This island has been made a mausoleum. The weight of disavowal and unyielding servitude has ceaselessly obscured the light. Here, the English pilgrim waits, with an aching heart and the company of ghosts, a witness to the unraveling of a Godless land.
To Whom we must give account
For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart. And there is no creature hidden from His sight, but all things are naked and open to the eyes of Him to whom we must give account.Hebrews 4:12
I made an idol of my life - my expression, my activity, my achievement. I polished, perfected and worshipped my creations, failing to notice that my gifts were a gift. I rightly shored up my fortress from attack, with acts of independence and power. But with such armaments, my heart was incarcerated - all forms became hollow and dry. So my folly was exposed in a thousand myriad ways, as a choreographed play of counterfeit control. As the last in line of the daughters of Eve, it was strange relief to submit and accept: my weakness, my fragility, my dependence. I am now as I always was - helpless unless carried by the stream of the living Spirit. 6th September 2020, Somerset, England With thanks to the exhortation of A.Ha.
Seed – Kathleen Raine
From star to star, from sun and spring and leaf, And almost audible flowers whose sound is silence, And in the common meadows, springs the seed of life. Now the lilies open, and the rose Released by summer from the harmless graves That, centuries deep, are in the air we breathe, And in our earth, and in our daily bread. External and innate dimensions hold The living forms, but not the force of life; For that interior and holy tree That in the heart of hearts outlives the world Spreads earthly shade into eternity.