Much work against

the grain has lent

a bite so spent and worn.

Yet spits again

sweet dust and then

fuel for the fire is formed.

My husband spends many an hour harvesting wood for our wood burner. He will not fell a living healthy tree, but rather transforms what is already diseased or fallen into logs to heat our home. He has a deep respect and love for both trees and the wood – he tracks the grain with his fingertips and breathes in deeply the fragrance exposed by the rending of a trunk.

The chainsaw is a powerful tool, and it needs maintaining to keep it sharp and effective. Oil lubricates the action, and the occasional attentions of a sharpener hone the teeth. It’s use can seem a brutal reduction of a once majestic structure, and yet it is a process that re-purposes, and so honours, all it has to give.

Sometimes I hope that cutting across the way of things, when the sap has secretly stopped flowing, will eventually be seen to change and re-invigorate a structure I have much loved and respected.

And new shoots may be discovered in the spring season, arcing up from the old stump.

Contracted space inverted –

we may enter but we bring

the choice to be expansive,

space of possibility brims!

I’ve been grateful for those close to me, who have transformed a place of constriction within my heart and mind into one of expansion. I, of course, must also be mindful of how my demeanour and assumptions affect the spaces I move into.

Stories of contrasting characters in situations of conflict have risen before me many times in recent months. David, Saul, Solomon, Joseph, a tyrant king and mysterious mystics have all laid out their patterns – within and without. Attitudes and atmospheres intertwine, and outcomes may be redirected and reframed. Overcoming the instinct to simply defend our own interests is aspirational, but gritty realities can be so deceiving and constraining. What is beautiful and alluring though is the wonder of what might be, beyond the moment’s limited perspective. It invites us all to be courageous and generous.

Expanding my boundary has been promised to me. My capacity to cope with the discomforts that imposes on me is ever pressing back. The extent to which I choose to allow the possibilities is open before me. I hope I will step into that space more often.

No shadows, no shining,

‘neutrality’s’ prime on

acceptable likeness-

not character – chosen.

It took a number of attempts to get a photo that passed the criteria for my passport renewal. There was so much rejection, followed by further attempts to conform! It needed to be ‘me’, but only within certain parameters. What I recognised was that sometimes security is encapsulated in too narrow an image; in community we may demand this of ourselves and others, and it is a false idol. I am made in the image of one so multi-faceted and free. My snapshots will reflect that wild truth, and will take me far.

Line drawn,

for which I mourn.

Light of dawn

pierce like a thorn,

draw grace there-from.

I made a decision recently which hangs heavy within me. In the news this week, again, has been much about toxic cultures which flourish and perpetuate because of bonds of silence and cover-up. It is only when someone finally uses their voice that restorative justice has a real chance, and healing may truly come, in time.  It is a daunting thing to do, but may be a catalyst for change that would not otherwise come. It strangely protects.

I do this while very mindful that compassion is needed for all parties. ‘Hurting people hurt people’ isn’t always true as imagined – and it isn’t always the most obvious ones with sole purview on this playing out. I ache for the hidden wounded ones who need immense understanding and care. I ache for a tending of their wounds too. I yearn for the patterns and undercurrents to be changed.

I await the gasp and wince from the harsh prick of enquiry. We may bleed some more, but I will keep vigil for a flow of good purposes to begin seeping through.

I’m razed-rebuilt upon the rubble

(reconstruction’s not so terrible)

Abiding clay not crumbling mortar

constructs new purpose as it ought to.

Being taken apart is frightening. A sense of fear and failure can overwhelm when only seen in the present.

We are told that we were made from clay, that from the earth we came and to the earth we’ll return. Our essence remains though the form changes.

I’ve allowed so many temporary things to hold my life together, to define its shape. I’ve been afraid when those things have been torn down in my life. But like a city razed then raised again, I see the essence repurposed even as the old constructs fall away.

The good bricks have been salvaged and a new build has begun.

Dark confines of that veil entrapped

my being and suggested that

my form and purpose were amiss.

What lies! Truth splits the chrysalis.

Change can be hard and much misunderstood. Disassembly of what was may invite lament, it may provoke derision. What is to come may be unexpected and unenvisionable. Only waiting will bring us to revelation.