Palm Sunday Tango

Posted on March 27, 2021March 27, 2021 by rita kowats

“Those who were seen dancing
Were thought to be insane by those
Who could not hear the music.” Nietsche

Palm Sunday Tango

Our cocked ears strain toward a not-so-distant future
To catch the first notes of an untamed Lindy Hop.

But now we dance a mournful marathon not of our making,
Dragging our weary bodies and souls behind us, waiting to hear
The last dreadful note.

We will dance with abandon
When the Lindy notes sound at last,
But in this time between we endure,
Faithful to the dance we hear now.

We learn the steps as we go,
Leaning against one another,
Hanging on, cheering on, crying with.
Tomorrow’s dance is for tomorrow.
Today we dance to the music we hear today-
Holy insanity.

c. Rita H Kowats 3/27/2021

*I am deeply moved by this post https://www.ritualwell.org/ritual/mourning-dancing

Respite

Posted on January 9, 2021January 9, 2021 by rita kowats

My candle batteries are still lasting. They’ve brought me light since Wednesday, but this morning I need more. So I curled up in the embrace of the two gigantic angels who always stand at my back, have my back. More than one person who has eyes to see such beings has pointed them out to me. At first I kept asking them for their names but they never told me, so I called them “Frick and Frack.” It stuck. So this poem is for them.

Respite

Standing at our backs,
Your expansive wings enfold
These unfledged humans
Who recoil from the miasma of hate
That now pollutes each breath we take
In this land of the once free.

Recoil or cower,
Which is it?

We shelter within stalwart wings waiting
For healing and spirit-washed air
To fill our lungs.

Then
We repair the breach.

c. Rita H Kowats 1-9-21

Photo Credit: https://www.jing.fm/idown/iimxihw_clipart-chromatic-angel-wings-within-angel-wings-clipart/

Find Life. Celebrate it.

Honor The Empty Space

Posted on October 18, 2020 by rita kowats

Wheel Of Fortune!

Posted on August 3, 2020August 3, 2020 by rita kowats

I looked at my cat this morning and exclaimed, “Wheel of Fortune!” capturing as much of the exuberance of “Rain Man” Ray as I could muster. Sherlock yawned in reply.

Tarot card “Wheel of Fortune,” had been my meditation. I learned again that change is inevitable and try as we may, we can’t control everything. We should just work on staying centered as we experience the spin, the fortune and the misfortune.

How could I not be inspired by the long running American game show, “Wheel of Fortune?”

Wheel of Fortune!

With a flick of the wrist
The Wheel offers up both
Fortune and misfortune.
Around and around she goes
And where she stops, nobody knows.

The trick is to relinquish control,
Relax into the spin
Learn from the landing point.
Of course
We can always call for a vowel
From the great white dove
Who wafts across the stage
Of our lives handing out hints
And glints of grace
For puzzle solving.

Photo Credit:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheel_of_Fortune_(Tarot_card)

Weeping Willow Meditation

Posted on April 30, 2020 by rita kowats

photostudio_1588278740055

Weeping Willow Meditation

My seven-year-old self often sat
Settled under the swaying, trailing branches
Of the weeping willow that stood guard
In the center of her backyard.

The wispy caresses of the supple branches
Danced on the gentle wind,
Soughing a message unheard
On the other, unsettled wind
That gusted through the house-

You are loved. You are whole.

My seventy-five year old self
Now sits before a willow weeping
For a world not supple,
A world bending to its breaking point.
Trailing branches whip and slap,
Howls replace affirming whispers.

The weeping will wane
With every sway of every branch.
Hope will caress us again.
Weeping and rejoicing are One.
Live through each,
You become the Other.

© Rita Hemmer Kowats 4-30-2020

Photo Credit: Photo by Daria Sannikova from Pexels

Advent Pilgrimage

Posted on December 16, 2019 by rita kowats

Incarnation happens where it happens: East, West, North and South, Inside, Outside, In Isaiah and in Rumi too. May this new week bring us Incarnation.

Thanksgiving

Posted on November 27, 2019November 28, 2019 by rita kowats

Happy Thanksgiving

to all Americans,

and to every one else,

I am grateful

for what you bring to our world.

Thanksgiving Card with Poem

Where Have You Gone?

Posted on November 7, 2019 by rita kowats

It has been two days since I visited my sister-in-law in the memory care unit. An intense collage of feelings have mixed with tears as I struggle to make sense of the unsensible.

GONE WHERE ARE YOU MOMENTS OF TERROR HUMOR GRIEF UNLESS YOU BECOME LIKE LITTLE CHILDREN YOU CANNOT ENTER THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN WITHOUT THE ABILITY TO THINK…IS THERE A SOUL it’s all there.

Phyllis was diagnosed with Alzheimers two years ago and now after another fall and a broken hip and a move, the disease has progressed dramatically in a short time. I am grateful that my brother hasn’t lived to witness this.

At last this morning I was gifted with a measure of sense and hope:

Photo Credit: pexels.com

Wounds As Tender Tinder

Posted on October 17, 2019October 21, 2019 by rita kowats

This poem follows on the heels of yesterday’s prayer. It dogged me with the tenacity of Heaven’s Hound until this was born. Ponder with me.

A Timely Mandate: Play Your Heart Out

Posted on September 27, 2019 by rita kowats

We are called to play one another
into being
with the instrument we’ve been given.

RHK

Photo Credit:

“SoulCards” by Deborah Koff-Chapin. The technique Deborah has created is called “touch drawing.” The cards come in two decks of 60 images and can be used alone or with others as reflection tools. They have enriched my meditation for years and have helped those I companion with. www.soulcards.com

Used with permission from the artist

Spirituality Without Borders: Reflections on Spiritual Practice

This blog reflects on human concerns and offers spiritual practices to deal with them.

spiritual poetry

Palm Sunday Tango

Respite

Honor The Empty Space

Wheel Of Fortune!

Weeping Willow Meditation

Weeping Willow Meditation

My seven-year-old self often sat
Settled under the swaying, trailing branches
Of the weeping willow that stood guard
In the center of her backyard.

The wispy caresses of the supple branches
Danced on the gentle wind,
Soughing a message unheard
On the other, unsettled wind
That gusted through the house-

You are loved. You are whole.

My seventy-five year old self
Now sits before a willow weeping
For a world not supple,
A world bending to its breaking point.
Trailing branches whip and slap,
Howls replace affirming whispers.

The weeping will wane
With every sway of every branch.
Hope will caress us again.
Weeping and rejoicing are One.
Live through each,
You become the Other.

© Rita Hemmer Kowats 4-30-2020

Advent Pilgrimage

Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving

to all Americans,

and to every one else,

I am grateful

for what you bring to our world.

Where Have You Gone?

Wounds As Tender Tinder

A Timely Mandate: Play Your Heart Out

We are called to play one another
into being
with the instrument we’ve been given.

RHK

	agyntatarigan on Life In Three Acts
	Agy Yudhistira on Long Time No See
	Acacia Honey on Long Time No See
	Anonymous on Long Time No See
	Anonymous on Long Time No See

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Weeping Willow Meditation

My seven-year-old self often sat Settled under the swaying, trailing branches Of the weeping willow that stood guard In the center of her backyard.

The wispy caresses of the supple branches Danced on the gentle wind, Soughing a message unheard On the other, unsettled wind That gusted through the house-

You are loved. You are whole.

My seventy-five year old self Now sits before a willow weeping For a world not supple, A world bending to its breaking point. Trailing branches whip and slap, Howls replace affirming whispers.

The weeping will wane With every sway of every branch. Hope will caress us again. Weeping and rejoicing are One. Live through each, You become the Other.

© Rita Hemmer Kowats 4-30-2020

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Happy Thanksgiving

to all Americans,

and to every one else,

I am grateful

for what you bring to our world.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

We are called to play one another into being with the instrument we’ve been given.

RHK

Share this:

My seven-year-old self often sat
Settled under the swaying, trailing branches
Of the weeping willow that stood guard
In the center of her backyard.

The wispy caresses of the supple branches
Danced on the gentle wind,
Soughing a message unheard
On the other, unsettled wind
That gusted through the house-

My seventy-five year old self
Now sits before a willow weeping
For a world not supple,
A world bending to its breaking point.
Trailing branches whip and slap,
Howls replace affirming whispers.

The weeping will wane
With every sway of every branch.
Hope will caress us again.
Weeping and rejoicing are One.
Live through each,
You become the Other.

We are called to play one another
into being
with the instrument we’ve been given.