Spiritual Mulching

Sodden, mottled mulch
Mercurial Meanders
Lush feast for Gaia

(soul feast for the divine)


www.spiritualitywithoutborders.blog

Photo Credit: pixabay.com

Surprised By Presence

Two crows canoodling
On a fence
Sound the mindfulness bell,
Calling me back to presence.

I snuggle into sister soul
Canoodling with the divine,
While warmed by gracious grace.

c. Rita Hemmer Kowats August 29, 2021






In Need Of A Lullaby

After the onslaught of wolves and worries hurled at me on the news channel. After dealing with a sick cat and a sick me. I cuddled around my re-membered blankie and settled in for a reassuring lullaby. “Silver Birch” restored me, as I hope it does you as well.







“Silver Birch
a lullaby”

…Round and round the dangers prowl
-wolves and monsters, worries, witches-
but the birches stand like churches
as the dark around them surges,
Circles, crouches, clutches, lunges-
but breaks its power on birches’ branches,
Held at bay until at last the sun emerges,
warms the pines, the larches,
lights your yawns, your stretches,
there among the silver birches.

from the lost spells by Robert Macfarlane and Jackie Morris

https://www.thelostwords.org/lostspellsbook/


Light In August


In William Faulkner’s Light in August, Reverend Hightower marvels at “how that fading copper light would seem almost audible, like a dying yellow fall of trumpets dying into an interval of silence and waiting”* 





In the embers of an August day
I stroll through rows of magnificent dahlias,
waning sun casting muted light on a kaleidoscope 
of unexpected patterns of crimson, yellow, orange and pink.

In the last hurrah of summer
this rich contrast of muted light on dazzling dahlias
is an unexpected harbinger of hibernation,
A time of soulseeing by fresh angles of light,
waiting for outside sun to rise and warm again.

Summer still.
Yet I stroll through this “interval of silence and waiting”*
expecting the gift of harvest and the calm of the cave.


c. Rita H Kowats 8/9/2021

Spiritual Listening

It becomes increasingly more lonely to live a life of presence in today’s world. We try to listen deeply and the other drinks in the empathy we channel.  Then when we need deep listening, it is often not to be found.  We are greeted with a barrage of self-absorbed words tripping over more words. We survive by leaning into the constant presence of the divine that informs and sustains us.  

We desire to listen as an unconditional gift, even making it an intentional spiritual practice; however, our humanity longs for reciprocation. May we live into a bountiful space where deep listening defines our humanity and each one is blessed with a generous listener.

Constant Spirit Sprung

My young self shook
with sheer terror
in the Disclosure Confrontation Marathon
where they likened me to a monkey
swinging from bar to bar
shrieking,”Look at me, look at me!”

A constant stream of words
“saying nothing worth hearing” until,
the truth I sought so desperately
welled up from Constant Spirit

“I don’t love anyone because I don’t know how.”

Redemption.
Relief 
to know a starting point for growth.

Disclosure Confrontation Marathon-
No deep listening here.
Trauma aside, it pushed me onto the path.
How much better to have been led to it.

c. Rita Hemmer Kowats 7/31/2021


photo Credit: Pexels.com

The Gift Of What Is





He was pinned to himself to die,
a royal tern with a black crest blown back
as if he flew in his own private wind….
We borrowed a clippers, cut and drew out the hook.
Then the royal tern took off, wavering,
lurched twice,
then acrobat returned to his element, dipped,
zoomed, and sailed out to dive for a fish.
Virtue:  what a sunrise in the belly.

Marge Piercy “Gracious Goodness”

I hadn’t been to the little dock at Echo Lake in two weeks and I eagerly anticipated seeing the ducks and Great Blue Heron, my long time friend. Perhaps a few cormorants as well.  Imagine my disappointment upon arrival, seeing that the reeds and spindly cottonwoods had taken over my view of the lake. For a few futile minutes I yelled inwardly at the park department for not maintaining this little spot that gives such great joy to so many of us. 

Then my ear caught that familiar flapping of tiny hummingbird wings and I watched one after another drink from the blooms of a tree that blocked my view of the lake. One bright red dragon fly hovered at an apparently fecund tree stump, while a two inch zebra-stripped one landed on the railing beside me. Another smaller dragonfly, the color of my blue shirt, landed on my arm seeking a like-minded creature, perhaps. My favorite red-winged blackbirds were sadly silent, avoiding the midday sun rather than serenading me with the song I love so much.

“Virtue: What a sunrise in the belly.” See divinity where it is, not where we want it to be.

Letting Go of Trauma: A Prayer

Artem Beliakin/Pexels


Letting Go Of Trauma
A Prayer

Fly we must
Over the canyons of our despair
Spare
Spare 
Spare us from echoes
Of shame and blame
That twist in and out
Of our honeycomb hearts.

Fly we must- 
Surviving until we thrive.
Surviving until we let you pluck us
From the safety of flight
And set us down on
The holy ground of your love.
Root us in you, Holy One.
Mute the voices of shame and blame.

May it be so.




Spiritual Walkabout

Ezekiel 37
Vision of the Dry Bones.

[a] 1 The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he led me out in the spirit of the Lord and set me in the center of the broad valley. It was filled with bones. 2 He made me walk among them in every direction. So many lay on the surface of the valley! How dry they were!

5 Thus says the Lord God to these bones: Listen! I will make breath enter you so you may come to life. 6 I will put sinews on you, make flesh grow over you, cover you with skin, and put breath into you so you may come to life. Then you shall know that I am the Lord. 7 I prophesied as I had been commanded. A sound started up, as I was prophesying, rattling like thunder. The bones came together, bone joining to bone. 8 As I watched, sinews appeared on them, flesh grew over them, skin covered them on top, but there was no breath in them. 9 Then he said to me: Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, son of man! Say to the breath: Thus says the Lord God: From the four winds come, O breath, and breathe into these slain that they may come to life.[b] 10 I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath entered them; they came to life and stood on their feet….





As I walkabout the valley
of my soul today, 
I gather scattered skeletons 
I’ve discarded in shame.

Remnants of missteps dangle from dry bones. 
Brushing them bare, breathing 
forgiveness and compassion into them,
I rise yet another day.

Redemption 

c. Rita H Kowats 6-20-2021


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