To Each and To All

When cloud dappled sky speaks
to light dappled earth,
We are a unity.

Bodies dash about,
thronging like the tides,
some huddling in pools,
while the greater array
eddies and ebbs, then flows.

All that might be planned
harbors no certainty,
but we forge ahead with intent.

Every measure, every moment,
is a work, a furthering, a passage
to any next, any new, any now.

Ships that sail do not all land,
but those that find harbor
disembark with gratitude,
blessing the firmness of land,
sending praises to Providence.

Settling in foreign places,
sometimes leaving all traces
of “home” behind,

Natives might eye with suspicion
these arrivals for signs of danger,
or threat of infection;

But, when the quake comes,
the fire, the flood or storm,
Everyone joins together.

When people-dappled life sings
to assuage a disaster-torn world,
We truly are a Unity.

And thanks be
to each and to all
for that gift, that blessing.

© 2015 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

\\

As a descendant of families who arrived on the Cape Cod shores of North America in 1620, I see today’s refugee crisis as somewhat parallel to that bit of our history. Refugees from foreign shores are fleeing tyrannies and oppression, in order to find a better life, or at least a place where they can be free to practice what they believe. To feel “at home” and to “be safe”, these are rare and precious gifts. Our history continually reminds us that we are most human when we share. So, on this day, tomorrow, and all the days that we are privileged to live, let us share what we have and what we love with one another. 

Meditations in Fast Times: 18. The deer thirst for those brooks

Note to Readers: “Meditations in Fast Times” is a devotional writing experiment for the Season of Lent. Each day during the season, I am writing a poem as a meditation on, taking as my inspiration and intertextual basis, T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets”, as well as incorporating the daily office, current events, and other readings—some the same as those Eliot used while composing his seminal work and others.

                18.

The deer thirst for those brooks,
whose waters are diverted by crooks,
who then waste them away or pollute.

Likewise, my soul longs for that draught
surest and purest, wild and without craft;
rich and intoxicating while dilute.

Tears instead have been my cup,
the only food on which to sup;
I am derided as one of ill repute.

I am empty; my soul is poured out,
haunted by thoughts filled with doubt,
my distress, like my thirst, is acute.

From one voice to another, deep woe calls;
amid the white noise of distant falls,
it echoes among the rocks: permute!

Is the call from Another or my own voice?
No matter, it does indicate choice:
hope must in a different path or pursuit.

Now to have found pristine riverbanks,
sorrow is set aside; I give thanks
for this gift, and fare forward, resolute.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Add Light and Stir

Hear ye, hear ye! Mercantile and personal greed meet in the newest American reality-show, “Black Thanksgiving; the pre-pre-pre-Holiday Sale Event of the Year!”

This can only be further proof of the madness of crowds, but it also confirms something I have thought for many years: I live in a sick and dying culture.

Never in my wildest dreams could I have envisioned people camping outside department stores on a holiday, in order to fight their way in to fight over bargain-priced mass-produced (in China) consumer junk. But, this is the twenty-first century, and here we are, with tent cities emerging in shopping malls, days before the National Thanksgiving Holiday.

Skewed priorities? Understatement. There is no more pitiful commentary on the American public than that it has been bred and trained to shop and spend. The appropriate Pavlovian response to “bargain pricing” is buy more.

The camping shoppers are a horrible contrast to the tragedy of homelessness. The shopping centers will be providing port-a-potties and security for encamped shoppers. Homeless will be rousted from their encampments and charged with loitering, unless they can find a shelter that has room for them.

Thanksgiving is an American Holiday; oddly enough, it is about giving thanks. (One would think that self-evident.) One can set aside the history of the occasion, but not the intention. This holiday is not about overeating, watching football games, and sitting around, but if it is not about those things, then it is certainly not about shopping.

Truly, we should be giving thanks each and every day for the many blessings that we are lucky to enjoy. So many people live the delusion of self-sufficiency and the caricature of “self-made” that it is hard to consider that we actually have no hand in most of the blessings we receive. Yes, yes, yes, we work and we earn, but we are constantly rewarded—even when we do not deserve to be—with beauty we have not created, plenty we have not earned and kindnesses we take for granted.

The Holiday of Thanksgiving should be about thanks, yes, of course. But more it is about giving. The thanks resides appropriately in giving, or in giving back. Said another way, to paraphrase Patrick Dennis’ larger-than-life “Auntie Mame”, life is a (pot luck) banquet, where everyone brings something to the party, each according to their ability or talent. It’s not about me, it’s not about you; it is about all of us, together, giving a little here, doing a little there, to keep the whole train on the tracks and running smoothly down the line.

The blackness of Black Friday (now turned into Black Thanksgiving and even Black Wednesday, in many places) is all about balancing the end-of-year financial books of capitalism. This blackness is indeed blacker than black; it belies the truth that life is not money. Life and living require the giving (with thanks) and receiving (with thanks) of integral use and the attendant reciprocity of generous renewal. The greater American public is really good about using, not so accomplished when it comes to generosity or renewing, much less with properly cleaning up after itself.

We need to do something about this blackness. We need to add light, generously and to taste; we need to add light and stir.

How do you bring light? You bring light by giving, generously, audaciously, unexpectedly, continuously. Smiles, hugs, food, gifts, right-of-way, all of these gifts and more  are waiting to be given and graciously received by someone. Our better natures need a good diet, light and exercise!

Are you the light of the world? Prove it. We need your light now, more than ever. Light the lamp of your soul and pour it out generously. Show us all how to dispel the blackness of our soulless society.

Hear the words of the old Rolling Stones song:

May the good lord shine a light on you,

Make every song you sing your favorite tune;

May the good lord shine a light on you,

Warm like the evening sun.

May your Thanksgiving holiday be filled with thanks and with giving and with the beautiful light you bring to share at the banquet of life.

May the good lord shine a light on you, so you can shine your light on the world!

As a descendant of those families that brought you the Thanksgiving holiday, in advance, I give you thanks for all that light you are about to recklessly strew about.

---

Shine A Light lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, EMI Music Publishing, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, ABKCO Music Inc.

Gratitude

thanks,
such a small word
to exchange for
the magnificence
of glittering pools of light that,
spilling through
all the mornings of my life,
stir me first to wakefulness,
and then to rapture,
at the illumined beauty
of the world;
of family, friends &
familiar places;
of tactile relationships &
flavors on the tongue;
of music to the ears &
flower scented air;
of being empty &
then being filled, full and
fully satisfied;
of being busy,
in work and in play,
then to stop for rest &
for the sleep that renews—
all of this in daily doses,
for a lifetime of wonder
—thanks,
this word so small, so humble,
is really all that can sound
from these lips,
awed by life’s beauty,
the so far & the more

I know is yet
to be revealed.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen