My soul feels tight
Like a ball of yarn
Wound around itself
Strand by strand round and round
Until no redemptive chink
Admits light or air.
Ego clamors to unravel and reveal
As if knowing alone can extricate and redeem.
Instead
Spirit takes this Jonah by the hand
And descends into the belly of the ball
To sit in her light and breathe in her air
Until the beginning strand finds me,
Wraps me round and catapults me
Into divine spaciousness.
© rita h kowats 7-16
Spirituality Without Borders: Reflections on Spiritual Practice 
Such rich images! Lovely!
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Thank you, Mary. I wanted to use the image of a pending thunderstorm as well, but alas, the poem could only hold the one metaphor!
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I appreciate the hope I feel as I read this. I don’t have to stay sunk in my dark morass.
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But, ahh…Waiting for the beginning to find us is not easy, is it?
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Yes indeed, thank you for sharing. Where are we going?
Pattie Bastian, CDPE, SRES Keller Williams Realty 253-988-8001 cell Bastianteam.com Assisting buyers and sellers, always!
On Jul 11, 2016, at 6:04 PM, Spirituality Without Borders: Reflections
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We’re in this together Pattie. Thank you for visiting. It’s always good to commune with you in the spaces between the lines.
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