Meditations in Fast Times: 22. We are born of time

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.

                22.

We are born of time;
surely it is time
that makes the river of life.
This river of unstable water,
drop upon lively drop,
carries our substance
from one and another adventure,
then on to each newer start.

We are woven of time;
surely it is time
that writes the book of life.
Life is written in
the language of experience;
death translates our essence,
by a more complex language,
into the stardust of creation.

We are the Music of Time;
surely it is Time
who writes us into songs
that dance with rejoicing waters,
drawn from saving springs!
The Book is full of our songs,
therefore, sing! Sing, for you are
the undying music of the Music-Maker.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meditations in Fast Times: 19. Time and again, before and after

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.

                19.

Time and again, before and after,
Time and again, betwixt and between,
Time is eternal witness of timeless now,
a sweet, through-composed music
interwoven through the give and take
of every atom that constitutes here and home.

The part that is singular awareness
may be a guess, but it is a gift,
and nothing mere.

Sadly,
too many moments pass unattended,
too much of the mystery is missed
for the unnatural thrill,
the unfit distraction.

Many who claim to seek the
impossible union
miss the point
entirely.

Naming,
seeing,
practice,
reflection
and action
are, each and all,
the manifest,
vibrant and musical
intersection
of all that is.

Here is the sweet music
that stirs the rose petals
and each blade of grass,
while lulling tired eyes
and sweet dream bliss—
Here and always,
here and now,
and how!

Here and now is,
and is incarnate in everything,
Time and again, betwixt and between,
Time and again, before and after,
timeless here will always be now and home.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Flights of Fancy

Gifted by the sun

for the full measure of this day,

the soft strokes of pollen-laden branches

along the side of this house

invite honeybee and hummingbird,
alike and united by a love of unfailing sweetness,

to rejoice in these dwindling days of summer.

Lifted from some glum

thought or worry or hurry,

the loft glows with sun-drenched particles

that, spiraling, seemingly long to find freedom

beyond the windowpane and sash,
much like muted, even urgent thoughts

tend to curl gracefully upward and outward.

Sifted, as through dun

and drear, merry and colorful thoughts contrast,

the toft now billowing with rising and sprightly intimations

of what suspended moment could hold—

if not being this brief encounter with bliss, then what?

—and one wonders why one doesn’t

surrender more frequently to such flights

—Which thought intrusion, of course, breaks the tender thread…

Pointed

Words and numbers are pointers
leading to infinity,
asking to be traveled long and well,
poetically.

Points are not fixed;
they cannot stand still,
but shimmer and fly,
depending on the weather.

The relative atmospheric pressure
depends upon Mind and Soul,
and an apprehension of Tomorrow,
the child of time and timelessness.

Gathering creative wool,
the planets roll in search of nextness,
being points not fixed,
bur rather poetical.

Meanwhile, the unspeakable mystery
casts its pointed light on All,
making visible the invisible
for all that are poetically ready.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen