On the Edge of Thanksgiving

Version 2

As this day closes
may you go gently
quiet prayers in your pockets,
perhaps overflowing.

Small blessings,
a touch,
a voice
a memory,
beauty,
scattered
on the border
of daylight and darkness.

May they unfold in dreams
fertile with Grace.
And if despair
has been caught
in the creases of this day
may it be honoured,
refolded by Love.

And may you go gently
over the threshold of this day.

Holy Wednesday

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Wednesday of Holy Week seems one of the days orphaned from its ritual parents. Swung soundlessly between  the arms of Palm Sunday and Maundy Thursday it feels unmarked in my community.    I understand the text of anointing with spikenard is often associated with this day in the liturgy and the negotiations of Judas Iscariot with the Sanhedrin.  So, following my earlier post of the I offer again these words to breathe as Christ breathes, and to touch the worlds joys and betrayals.

Sorrowing and Creating One,
You know

There has been so much taking
Of life
Of trust
Of sparkle
Of hands touching
Of dignity.

There has been so much injury
Of body
Of words
Of love
Of home
Of hope.

There have been so many images
Fast and slow
Vivid and grainy
Repetitious
and static
and terrible

And so much closing
Of minds
Of hearts
Of borders
Of doors
Of eyes.

So, we are here

For You
still
Holy

in the midst of us

We touch
in a heart beat
as we are touched.

We breathe
healing we are graced to grace with
we receive
and carry
gently as a warm egg

into these days.