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Beautiful and thought provoking words from Chris Goan this Advent

this fragile tent

A

From the place where we are right
flowers will never grow
in the spring.

The place where we are right
is hard and trampled
like a yard.
But doubts and loves
dig up the world
like a mole, a plough.

And a whisper will be heard in the place
where the ruined
house once stood.

Yehuda Amichai

A few weeks ago, I had one of those
conversations with one of my oldest friends. He had made a comment using Christian
language that I no longer hear often, and I rather flippantly challenged it.
This led to a two hour skype conversation that ranged far and wide over faith,
doubt, the origins of the Bible and the meaning of faith and doubt. Unlike most
of these discussions, my friend kept this one respectful and listened carefully
to what I said, but I honestly think he was shocked be some of…

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Radical Discipleship

IMG_0231Homily by Lydia Wylie-Kellermann at Day House Catholic Worker
Second Sunday of Advent

Baruch 5:1-9
Psalm 126

My Advent has started out differently than I planned.

As I think most of you know, my dad was taken into custody for a 12-day sentence when he refused to pay a fine for an action he was part of (along with Tom Lumpkin) with the Poor People’s Campaign on May 21. They blockaded the doors of the Department of Health and Human Services in Lansing calling out the systemic racism and abuse of the poor by the very department that is supposed to support the needs of the poor. The director of DHHS is currently facing charges of manslaughter for his role in the Flint Water Crisis. And we recently learned that Child Protective Services has started following the Homrich trucks in certain neighborhoods in order to immediately remove children from their…

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bedroom view

Before I get into sleep with you
I want to have been
into wakefulness, too.

Janet Frame
Dunedin #NZWOMANPOETS

via The Ring Theory of Kvetching

out of nothingness

I have sunk myself into the world of nothingness
It is here that I move on the whisper of the wind
I have sunk myself into the colour of nothingness
The call of the morepork travelling the ocean
The sound for telling the sun’s first strike at the sea
I fly the world of nothingness
Carried in silence on wings fashioned by the breath of the beginning
I began in the world of nothingness
The world before dawn within the consciousness of
knowing the first child hei tiki
I return to the world of nothingness
Before the beginning
Before the electricity of life that pricks my fingers
With memory

 

Marino Blank
Taumaranui #NZWOMANPOETS

David’s Cabin

Davids cabin gembrook retreat centre

The new cabin up at Gembrook is ready to host guests! A lovely property to ramble about on – the guiding values of this space for rest and renewal are of hospitality, simplicity, community and care for the land… so think woodfire stove, gas burner, solar powered lighting, tank water, outdoor composting toilet and, you know, a quiet that creeps into your soul and brings you peace. A very affordable getaway to keep in mind next time you need it, or to recommend to others… you can find more about Gembrook Retreat Centre here.

I guess this place has a special place in my heart as a writer. I need time and space to tune in to the voice that is mine and to Listen.  This is a space that has feed my heart, my soul, and my imagination and I think it can offer that to others too – whether you are looking for a walk and getting into nature,   doing deep self-work and feeling impoverished, doing a self-directed contemplative retreat (this one I was using 7 Sacred Pauses by Macrina Wiederkehr), or just want a quiet place to write, write, WRITE.

Gembrook Retreat is like a refreshing well. Come and drink the good water.

 

 

 

Raising Boys

Radical Discipleship

20180722_114619By Lydia Wylie-Kellermann. Published in Geez Magazine‘s most recent issue on Gender Flex.

“Mommy, baby is tired. I need to put baby in the pack and walk,” says Cedar, my two-year-old. I quickly design a make shift baby carrier tying his baby doll to his stomach. He walks back and forth across the house and then stops and sways. After five minutes, he heavy sighs and says disappointedly “baby is still awake.” He walks on mumbling to himself about how baby needs his milk and how the baby is too little to drink water out of a cup and baby just needs his milk.

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grown up holding hands with a child joy cowley poem bridges

There are times in life
when we are called to be bridges,
not a great monument spanning a distance
and carrying loads of heavy traffic
but a simple bridge
to help one person from here to there
over some difficulty
such as pain, fear, grief, loneliness,
a bridge which opens the way
for ongoing journey.

When I become a bridge for another,
I bring upon myself a blessing, for I escape
from the small prison of self
and exist for a wider world,
breaking out to be a larger being
who can enter another’s pain
and rejoice in another’s triumph.

I know of only one greater blessing
in this life, and that is
to allow someone else
to be a bridge for me.

Joy Cowley
Featherston, Wairarapa #NZWOMANPOETS

 

brown butterfly lands on floral dress

In the middle of our porridge plates
There was a blue butterfly painted
And each morning we tried who should reach the
butterfly first.
Then the Grandmother said: “Do not eat the poor
butterfly.”
That made us laugh.
Always she said it and always it started us laughing.
It seemed such a sweet little joke.
I was certain that one fine morning
The butterfly would fly out of our plates,
Laughing the teeniest laugh in the world,
And perch on the Grandmother’s lap.

Katherine Mansfield
Wellington #NZWOMANPOETS