The 60-Second Sabbath

Suspension

Occasionally
we put ourselves on hold.
We say,
"For this period of time,
I do not matter;
    this task,
    these responsibilities,
    the needs of these people,
take precedence."

And a part of us knows
this may not be healthy,
perhaps, isn't necessary,
but it's all we know to do,
believing that we will,
when the time has passed,
return to ourselves,
our life,
our purpose.

It's okay,
this suspension of living.
It will pass;
we shall resume.

Text and image © 2016 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

You Here?

Are you really here?

"Get out of your head,"
suggests Anthony de Melloa,
"and return to yourself."

If much in your head,
you avoid yourself,
and yourself
    --even as you struggle to accept this truth--
is a fine, thrilling place to be,
a place of simultaneous sanctuary and vision.

Try it.
For just awhile,
retreat from your thoughts
and come back to your soul-centered self.

This is a returning,
a restoration,
a deliciously satisfying homecoming.

"Get out of your head
and return to yourself."

Text and image © 2016 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Presence

Live in the past,
and you have ceased to live.

Live in the future,
and you have ceased to live.

God isn't yesterday,
and God isn't tomorrow.

God is only today.
God is only now.

Life isn't then (neither past nor future).
Life is only now.

You are only now.
You only exist now.

Text and image © 2016 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Particular Grace

Grace shapes itself
for one's tradition.

We see, experience and embrace grace
shaped to fit our unique empty space,
space created
by our particular culture,
    particular faith,
    particular family,
    particular experience.

The more malleable heart
receives grace
shaped for others:
bonus grace, if you will,
expanded awe,
an extra helping of understanding,
    compassion,
    insight,
    wonder...

Our world is filled
with the unexpected shapes of grace.

Text and image © 2016 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

 

 

Jenga

I have a friend
who hates the popular game "Jenga,"
the one with the stacked wooden blocks.
"Too stressful," she says.

Nerve-wracking
to rearrange those pieces,
trying to keep them balanced,
knowing that
eventually
the tower you've so carefully tried to preserve
will come crashing down.

Like life? 

Text and image © 2016 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

What would you prefer--
to be studied, examined, analyzed
by those whom you love,
or to be embraced by them?

It is always easier to observe something
than to engage with and experience it.
Observing and categorizing
keeps us at a safe distance--
the moon through the telescope,
the eagle through binoculars,
bacteria through a microscope.

So too with God:
"What I want is your friendship,"
God might say,
"to walk with you,
    laugh with you,
    cry with you,
    hold you.
I don't want to be the object of your study;
I want to be one with you.
I want to be the source of your amazement,
    joy,
    affection,
    breath.
Know me not from without,
but from within."

Text and image © 2016 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

The Storms

Don't wait for the storms to pass,
for all of this to blow over.
The storms never pass;
in every life,
storm follows storm.

    Last week I spoke with someone
    who recently moved to Denver from Phoenix,
    where the thermometer on his patio
    maxed out at 120°.
    "People in Denver," he said,
    "complain about the afternoon rains we've been having,
    but I went walking in the rain--
    got soaking wet.
    My skin sucked up the water."

And I thought to myself,
I can hide inside
until the storm passes,
or I can head outside--
arms wide,
face lifted--
to dance.

So much to grieve,
so much to fear,
so many reasons to hide,
but then life is gone,
and how many chances to dance
will I have missed (overwhelmed and afraid)?

Let it thunder.
Let it rain.
I still am called to life.

Text and image © 2016 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Aliens

And there
at the Denver Botanic Gardens
I found proof of alien life,

a tiny purple choir
sang songs of longing
for their distant planet.

So now you know:
they do exist;
they are among us,
and all they want
is to go home.

Text and image © 2016 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Now and Then

One can rejoice
    in the right now
and still love
    the not yet.

Text and image © 2016 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.

Copax Dei?

Are you copax Dei, "capable of God"?

Are you empty enough
    to be filled?

Are you quiet enough
    to hear?

Are you innocent enough
    to marvel?

Are you fluid enough
    to move?

Are you capable of God?

Text and image © 2016 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.