Manna Meditations

two ways to read it …

The Snow
sings a song
you can only hear
in silence.

It speaks to those
who stand perfectly still,
a primal music
drumming in their chests:

Be still.
Be still.
Be still.
Be still …

I think we both know
I’m not really talking about snow.

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Manna Meditations

one for the weary …

(…because we’re all still children sometimes … frenzied… exhausted… in stubborn rebellion against that old human need for Rest…)

Blown snow.
White, not yet wet —
sifted sugar.

Airspun, storm-sung:
it beds down gentle,
tucks the lawn in tight,

settling over the branches
like a soft hand on a forearm:

Hush…

Rest now.

Just be.

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Manna Meditations

a little synesthesia …

Manna Meditations, Day 6

Yesterday.

Slate-colored sky.  Slow patter of rain.

My eyes are hungry for beauty, and as I first step outside, I wonder — in all this gray drizzle — where on earth I’ll find it.

But beauty isn’t made for eyes alone, even if (for me at least) my eyes are the most ravenous part of me… So I put my camera away, and I walk.

There is an old art to what I do next, I’m sure.

I wander rainwet streets, listening.  After awhile, my ears sharpen, grow sensitive: rain tapping gently on bare branches, or crackling crystalline against frozen grass.

A little longer, and the sound begins to take on color, too:  platinum.  Pale blue.  That faintest edge of lavender.

Suddenly I realize there’s birdsong — green wet notes stabbing through gray.

I lift my head, and as I do, a single raindrop strikes my lower lip:  a silver bell of sound.  A sharp ray of light passes straight through me, flaring like a flashbulb in my chest.

My hungry eyes consume all this — the sound transfigured to light, the rain translated to song — and I walk home, all the neurons tingling.

I’m alive with wonder, speechless and slack-jawed with praise. ❤

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Manna Meditations

what grace looks like …

Manna Meditations, Day 5

Honest words?  Yesterday, my heart was heavy.

I was thinking about a few dear friends who are suffering, quietly and without much support, and the things I knew — the hurt I was carrying for them — hummed behind my eyes like a headache.

It wasn’t a good day for walking or climbing or wandering — the cold felt like it could crack bone — and so I felt trapped indoors with the weight of the hurt… No place to go.

But.

After church, T took the wheel.  He steered the car into the blue hills, the unbroken forests, going nowhere in particular … just aiming toward the quiet.

And the quiet was there.

After awhile, I blinked back tears and saw sun — so much sun! The world was bathed in the warmest, thickest, woolen-blanket kind of light, and its sparks caught in the treetops, flickering and winking in the highest twigs. The road ahead of us gleamed wetly with it, even though the air was bone-dry.

I leaned my face against the cool of the window, and suddenly I felt my soul settle into the comfort of just … being.  Not working.  Not making — no hands on the wheel.  Just … looking.  Letting in the light.

And it struck me, how precious it was, to be in a place safe enough to just be. To lay back and receive the day’s goodness, not as reward for effort, but simply as a gift.

Manna.

I let the landscape flash past, and then after awhile I held my phone to the window and snapped without looking, believing that I was in the presence of so much wonder that any of it would have been beautiful … any of it would have been enough.

And you know what?  It was.

💛

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