Meditations in Fast Times: 31. Night watch is always happening

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.

                31.

Night watch is always happening
in the garden of the soul, where
one always worries that the torch will burn out,
in the strain of that very darkest hour,
before the horizon’s eyelids begin to flutter.

Wondering, wondering,
while restlessly wandering in the dark night,
one constantly wonders about choices,
trying to learn from the uses of choice,
to remember the successes and the failures.

The random thought occurs
that past choices might be woven together
into an enchantment that could conjure or cure,
but the song of the soul gently urges against such folly;
though all time may well be the same,
each moment presents itself differently
to the individual.

Those laws of time that truly exist
lie outside our perception;
these were not carved in stone,
but lovingly touched into living flesh,
softly blown into each wisdom eye,
that the quandary of possibility
might be met flexibly
in each moment of our journey.

No challenge can be answered
with stone tablet thinking;
all answers must be driven
by the informed and intuitive heart.

Waking from the night watch,
of wonder, dreaming and prayer,
is to greet the day of our challenge
with the faith of best intention,
rising with the resolve to act,
in the assurance that our effort
will be met, as befits the need.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meditations in Fast Times: 30. There is a time for building

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.

                30.

There is a time for building,
a time for collapse,
a time of reckoning,
a time for remembering,
a time of forgetting,
a time for forgiving
a time of returning;
all these times are the same time,
past, present and future,
all apparent in the blooming eglantine,
all apparent in the salt clinging to each blossom,
all apparent in everything awaiting its due season.

We rise, we fall, we crumble;
Our old wood burns quick, hot
cinders into ash; we return to earth
and the wind carries us, like seeds,
to every corner, every place—
we are the song on the wind
as sunlight fills the empty pool;
neither shadow, nor light,
but we are there, in due season.

We are in the running rivers,
we are in the waving grain,
we are in the slowness of trees,
in the speed of the hummingbird,
we are the cries, smiles, laughter and dance
that turn to mourning and remembrance,
we are silence and sound, which together are music,
we are the songs of sadness or rejoicing—
we are the time and seasons,
and we await our due,
our return.

We are quietness at rest,
if we could be content so to be.

We are the dream,
if we could be content so to be.

The house of mirth and the house of mourning
are one and the same dream;
the clinging salt does not harm the beauty of the rose,
and the rose does not rebuke the embrace of the salty spray—
they are content to be thrown together,
for it is grand to be;
being is the grandest dream of all.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meditations in Fast Times: 29. Since we were talking about words

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.

                29.

Since we were talking about words, and words inspired us

    To perfect language and clarify understanding,

    To practice communication with using past and future,

Let me review the epic failure of that enterprise

    That we thought would bring us renown.

We spoke in tongues,
but not with the tongues of angels;
full of and with self,
we sought to be known communicants with the Divine,
rather than in community with other people,
and so our words fell flat,
spiraling downward into obscurity,
so lacking they were in music
or meaning

—if the trumpet sounds uncertainly,
how shall we understand the signal?

If we are to spread love,
it must be into the field of our life and action,
even if we never know the result of our labor.

Love of place cannot rank above love of people;
people are the servants of creation;
they are all the gardeners of Eden,
just as you are—this what memory taught me:

To be free, the self must be regularly emptied,

a sign of giving and receiving in equal measure;
emptiness is the sign of a life well spent,
regardless of any past or future claims.


Of all that I ever knew about language,
of all the words and ways,
I’d rather have just five words
that I could speak with compassion and love,
that I could be compassion and love,
that I could truly be,
and be so for everyone.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meditations in Fast Times: 28. I'm not eager to repeat

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.

                28.

I’m not eager to repeat
those thoughts and acts I now regret;
they’ve been done, and now are gone,
—let it go.

Last season’s fruit has all been et,
it served the role it’s nature met;
it’s all done, and now is gone,
—let it go.

Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go;
Help us rise up to new day, let it go.

From wrong to wrong, and then again,
we seek to find a better way;
lead us to an answer,
—let us go.

Come, labor on; when each soul prays
with heart, at break of day,
toward Your presence in the light
—help us go.

Help us go, help us go, help us go, help us go;
Help us rise up to Your light, help us go.

And when I leave my soul
out on the pure sands of some distant shore,
do not mourn my passing
—let me go.

Though beyond awareness,

I truly hope my purpose has been met;
Sing me to the heav’nly gate
—let me go.

Let me go, let me go, let me go, let me go,
Help me rise up to New Day, let me go.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meditations in Fast Times: 27. The children are swinging in the tree

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.

                27.

The children are swinging in the tree;
they have been eating apples,
dropping seeds and cores everywhere
and laughing, l a u g h i n g!

Curious and playful,
the robin cocks a quizzical head,
as if to say,
what are they going to do next?

They jump down,
grasping at healing leaves as they go,
into the soft green grass
— then they see the bush.

Let’s play!

And they enter the ring of flame.
Ring, oh ring the roses!
Then strike some fancy poses!
Ask me, ask me;
I’ll make a claim!

And they run and run,
around and around,
until at last they collapse
in the shade of the tree,
laughing, l a u g h i n g!

And thus it has ever been
in the garden of delight,
as bird and tree would tell you,
if you could hear them.

They would also tell you,
laughing with mirth, l a u g h i n g!
We are all made for this,
and that’s the Absolute’s truth.

 © 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meditations in Fast Times: 26. We only have words

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.

                26.

We only have words,
we only have words
to convey meanings
that so often only mask,
in the naming and speaking,
rather than illuminate;
words are fallible tools
that can only begin
to make the song
that is the hum and flow of reality.

We only have words,
we only have the words
with which to move mountains;
words are the only tools we carry with us,
and are sometimes only able
to interrupt and stain
the purity of awesome silence.

And this is how the question arose
about the abyss of unincorporated now.

‘The possible waiting to happen’
might be more accurate,
but the simple statement
is too small to contain
the math and science,
the magic of attraction,
the incomprehensible will
of music to form in the
concert hall of being.

Krishna tried to explain it
using Arjuna’s clumsy tools:
there is utter freedom, but not from decision;
reality is a chemical reaction
resulting from a creative attraction between
the divine and any other,
but only the other is
intoxicated with
universal compassion.

Right action is not ordered by any mandate,
nor a completely designed moment,
but an internal, intuitive idea,
that is willed and nurtured
by a commingling within possibility.

Said another way,
fun and games,
trial and error,
discovery and loss,
experience of life,
death and resurrection
can only occur
when the ardent heart
wills an authentic choice,
intuitively meeting Divine energy
in the sacred wood.

Using our fallible words,
the burning bush says,
“I’m ready to play when you are!”

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meditations in Fast Times: 25. If there is a reality we cannot bear

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.

                25.

If there is a reality we cannot bear,
it is the unknown tomorrow.

Indeed, it is the menace of tomorrow that drives
the need to consult apostles and prophets,
to follow gurus and miracle workers,
seek out faith healers, politicians,
spell-casters and semioticians.

This urge to cast runes,
read palms or plot the stars,
reaching back to reclaim
a nostalgic vision of the past
and cast it forward on a formless future
provides entertainment, certainly,
and obsessive preoccupation,
but is a wasted exercise,
in which we miss this moment.

But this moment is where science and magic lie.

The Divine can only meet you
in the abyss of unincorporated now.

The ardent heart enters the sacred wood,
answering the call of the music of the spheres,
offering the only gift there is to give: selfless self.

The right action
of the ardent heart
meets unforeseen moment
in surrender
and is nearly subsumed,
but awakens to a newer identity.

Turns out,
potential and possibility are bits of future
that comingle during the indelible union
of ardent heart with unforeseen moment;
an infinitude of such meetings,
where opposites cannot avoid attraction,
are creation incarnate or, if you will,
a live concert of the continuous music
of every iteration of the very next now.

That’s how it works.
All the rest is a waste of effort,
for time will not be outwitted.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen