Advent

When the feasting is done,
the workers return to the fields,
the householders return to the hearth;
the boards are swept of the leavings,
and actions return to sameness.

Is this indeed our lot?
Is this what all the celebration was for?

That being abounds in sameness
is a misapprehension
of our purpose.

The Divine One sighs.

Celebration,
it should be a sending forth
into revolution,
nothing less than
a miracle of conception,
that will be nurtured
with warm and loving hands,
an alchemy of all the elements
and all that is unseen.

Life cannot be measured,
cannot be calculated
into minutes of this,
hours of that.

Life is even beyond
the measure of the mead
that raises warmth to the cheek,
that raises the inner spirit toward
the unexpected.

Life is the journey,
pushing beyond all boundaries
of the known and comfortable,
to a place wholly unknown.

There is no arrival,
but expect the abyss
to be open before you,
waiting.

A divine bridge will appear
for all who have the courage
to step forward.

This is the morning after,
the Dawning Day of Next,
wherein we meet God
in the work of creation.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

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

Sabbath Rest

Oh, for a quiet day,

a day where there is no rush at all,
because there is no place to go
and nothing that needs doing.

Oh, for a quiet day,
and a ramble over frost-frizzed fields,
tracing a circle that begins and ends
at a hallowed hollow called home.

On that quiet day,
we can contemplate all we have done
and all we that might yet to do,
within the spectrum of desires.

But this is quite a day,
for there is no expectation of doing,
accomplishment, planning or plotting;
today, all that is beside the point.

Oh, bless this cold, quiet day!
Day where all the world finds rest
away from all trials and tasks, to bask,
in the unexpected warmth of the sun.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Passages

An image forms in my internal spaces,
brought by a sudden breeze off the water,
a message from a twin being
somewhere, beyond the seas
of my imaginings
            and of quantum realities.

My thoughts break from mundane patterns
to recourse themselves
along deeper channels of my knowing,
to weather among more ancient longings,
connecting earth to sky and ocean.

Where I am embedded in this life's frame,
the meaning of the message is perplexing.

But where my unseen roots in the earth
reach depths beyond fathoms,
where my invisible wings soar
to heights beyond the moon,
I know, my dear, I know.

It is from those places
that a song wells up for you,
a return message sent up, out and over,
back on the changing breeze,
back through the waters
that bind and sustain us.

© 2010 Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Black Friday: In the Vale of Retail

The term “Black Friday” is only endearing to big business. This is the day that launches the annual ritualized cultural insanity of consumerism that lasts until the New Year, and keeps most companies afloat, if not overflowing.

Historically, the term “Black Friday” started out as a description for the stock market meltdown of 1864, but was, in 1966, used by law enforcement in Philadelphia, PA to describe the traffic management problem that was on their hands—holiday shopping mob control.

Later on, accountants were able to see the silver—or gold—lining in the ugly term. Ka-ching, ka-ching!

We all know what it means, but do we really understand what it does to us?

Crowds will jam the malls between now and Christmas, like ants on a hill. When I worked in retail, we called these people mall maulers. They were pushy, nasty and rude. Driving anywhere becomes a drudgery, most especially if you are not headed to shop. Drivers are pushy, nasty, rude and full of rage.

People will be rushing to buy the very latest gizmos, not to mention clothes and brick-a-brack, for themselves, as much as for others.

Psychologically, many of us talk ourselves into it because it is supposed to be all about an event; our obligatory gift giving is supposed to commemorate the alleged gifts that wise men apocryphally gave to a baby, after whom a religion was named, thousands of years ago. We imagine ourselves kings and queens (perhaps not wise persons) when we flex our buying power, don’t we? But is this spiritual? I think that if it is spiritual, it is most clearly defined as spiritually material.

Another aspect to this is that we must have it NOW (or “off with their heads!)”

Some people talk themselves into this madness by pretending that they can purchase everything they want for prices that are lower than they would be at any other time of the year.

However the incantation goes that allows people to join the grasping throngs, this is all really nothing more than rampant consumerism, and it is inexcusable. Everything purchased is overpriced, over-packaged and overblown—which is to say that it will all blow over, and the gizmos du jour will be yesterday’s news very shortly, and stacked in your garage or the nearest landfill not too long after that.

What is this collective insanity worth? Of what value is it? How can this be an expression of gratitude or faith—or love—when it lines the pockets of some and renders others destitute, as well as damages the earth?

I want you to think on these things, as you follow in the footsteps of millions of other drones on this Black Friday death march through the vale of retail.

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

From Scratch

Ah! The rains pour down

their balm for the earth,
and in the night, cold
brings on a freeze
that will break
the buried seeds,
when spring finally leaps
out of the womb of winter.

Morning is announced
by a blazing sunrise.

This calls for
Celebration!

Warm the ovens;
oil the pans;
bake ye the bread of life!

Start again from scratch:
chopping onions,
adding herbs,
roasting roots and meats,
tossing a mild salad;
in all things,
be the salt
you sprinkle
with care,
the sugar added to balance,
and test the flavors
as you go!

At last,
fill all the glasses
to their fullest
from any flagon
stayed upon you
[setting aside the best for later]
and place baskets of apples
on the candlelit table.

The time has always been Now!
But, see, you are ready:
Fling wide the doors,
with welcome
and with Love.

Warm embraces of greeting
will lead us to the table,
where we may
fill our hands with
the blessings of this day,
and delight
in the bounty
we all share
that is Life.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen