A Stone, A Leaf, an Unfound Door

Thomas Wolfe, 20th Century novelist, rhapsodic on our constant search for grounding, presence, and hope . . . seek the light and go beyond.  Wolfe writes in the prelude to his novel Look Homeward, Angel:

A stone, a leaf, an unfound door; 

Of a stone, a leaf, a door.

And of all the forgotten faces.

Naked and alone we came into exile.

In her dark womb 

We did not know our mother's face; 

From the prison of her flesh we have come 

Into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison 

Of this earth.

Which of us has known his brother? 

Which of us has looked into his father's heart?

Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? 

Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone? 

O waste of loss in the hot mazes, lost, 

Among the bright stars 

On this most weary unbright cinder, lost! 

Remembering speechlessly 

We seek the great forgotten language, 

The lost lane-end into heaven, 

A stone, a leaf, an unfound door.

Where?  When?

O lost, and by the wind grieved,

Ghost, come back again.

Beehives and Inspiration

Here is a poem I love--written by Antonio Machado, the Spanish poet, who died in 1939.  The translator is American poet Robert Bly.  Pay attention to those bees!

Sweet honey from my old failures

Last night as I was sleeping,

I dreamt—marvelous error!—

that a spring was breaking

out in my heart.

I said: Along which secret aqueduct,

Oh water, are you coming to me,

water of a new life

that I have never drunk?

Last night as I was sleeping,

I dreamt—marvelous error!—

that I had a beehive

here inside my heart.

And the golden bees

were making white combs

and sweet honey

from my old failures.


Last night as I was sleeping,

I dreamt—marvelous error!—

that a fiery sun was giving

light inside my heart.

It was fiery because I felt

warmth as from a hearth,

and sun because it gave light

and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night as I slept,

I dreamt—marvelous error!—

that it was God I had

here inside my heart.

Bucharest Dogs Are Smart!

On our trip to Romania in October we saw lots of feral dogs--lying around in parks, walking all over Bucharest and the countryside, singly and in packs.  During the day they are pretty quiet but at night they hang out in packs and make quite a ruckus now and then.  Thousands of people get bitten each year--you gotta keep your distance.  Bucharest officials are trying to keep down the dog population by catching and neutering dogs--then marking them with a tag in their ears to let them know they've had "the treatment."  Here is one such pooch, with a tag in his/her ear:

I thought these dogs were really smart:  often at crowded crosswalks we saw them lining up with the humans waiting to cross at the lights.  Then when the "green man" lit up and the humans crossed, the dogs did too . . . quite amazing, learned behavior.

But then my daughter Chloe said that the dogs of Romania don't even begin to compare to the ones in Moscow:  there they have learned how to sneak up on people to make them drop their food . ..  and they've learned how to commute into the city during the day, and out again at night.

One thing is troublesome though--where do these dogs go in the bitter cold of winter?  Perhaps they congregate in the subway tunnels that aren't quite so cold as the streets above . . . or ride the trains all day??

Hope for Our Journey

Why the name "hope for our journey" for this blog?   It comes from one of the Eucharistic prayers in Enriching Our Worship.  I love this passage from the prayer, just before the consecration:  "Wondrous are you, Holy One of blessing.  All you create is a sign of hope for our journey."  

Not the lake in the story, but a lovely one just the same . . .  in southern Quebec, Lake Massawippi

I think of the time I celebrated Eucharist at a church picnic in another place.  The parish was emerging from a stressful incident and we were celebrating on the shoreline of a small lake.  Just when I got to that part:  "Wondrous are you, Holy One of blessing.  All you create is a sign of hope for our journey," a flock of geese in the background took off from the lake--right on cue.  I chose to take that as a wonderful piece of synchronicity, reminding me and others that things are as God intends them to be and that all things will be well.


Now in Redding our little Eucharistic Community of Wednesday Evenings uses this prayer often.  Even when things are stressful, even when things may be hard, still--"all you create is a sign of hope for our journey."  All you create.  Even the stressors.  Even the challenges and the things that make our pulses race.  All you create.  Signs of hope.  And I choose to remember these things and fight to hold onto them especially when circumstances point in other directions.  


Thanks be to God.