Currach

My boat and my body
are ready.

There are currents calling
from the deep sea,
singing from the crest
of the running wave.

I have left
the hearth of home,
turned my back
on the place of shelter.

The ocean is my mother,
the flowing air my father
and I will ride
the calms and storms.

I am surrendered
to the turning tide,
I am directed
by the untamed wind.

They are the breath
and breast of God.

(Notes – the peregrini were Celtic monks who undertook a kind of pilgrimage or peregrinatio on the sea where the purpose wasn’t the destination but the voyage.  It was about the inner journey, about finding the wilderness in the ocean, to be alone without normal supports so that God could fill every moment of their day.  And it was about exile – leaving their homeland (usually Ireland) voluntarily out of love for God and allowing the winds and currents to bear them where they would, abandoning themselves to the mercy and providence of God.  The currach is similar to a coracle, a boat made of hide stretched over a wooden frame, but bigger.)

The Dark

In the dark
there is a gift
I might have missed
in the bright of day.

Being here

Being here in the space of this moment, heart and breath the markers of this time, I find a living presence, an inward and outward peace connecting me to myself and to this vibrant world. Under the dark trees are tongues of green still curled at the tips, smooth to slide the rain down, catching light like promises.

A door to another place

The garden has come alive in the sun and welcomes us in like honoured guests. It bathes us in green, it greets us with carpets of daisies and joyful shouts of buttercups. It soothes us with birdsong and the breath of a breeze. It knows how to spin beauty out of its myriad forms and fancies, changing each day with the seasons and the weather. It conspires with the sun to offer us an Eden that tranches the entanglements of the world so that time stops and all is good, all is delight, all is honeyed. The garden is a door to another place.

Soft sun

Hallo morning sunshine, hallo mellow peace of a Sunday garden. Welcome warm breeze, welcome singing birds. I have found a spot to sit in the sun so I can draw it into my system, let it ooze through my clothes and my skin to my bones. It has been a while. The sun seems gentler here than out on the street, here it is surrounded by green, filtered through air that is the living breath of leaves. It is hard to stay tense, all tightness drains away in the soft sun.