false comfort, treacherous joy

Photo Brian Federle: Candles 2014

Lights dancing
In evergreen branches

bright birds perched among
golden ornaments —

false comfort,
treacherous joy!

For this season of life
refreshes my tears,
renews my pain.

Winter Solstice

Image from The Sunrise Blogger

Driving down the arrow-straight road

I'm blinded by the sudden flash

in my rear-view mirror.

The burning disc,

orange flame

rises over low eastern hills,

I  look away

into the dim west,

to the moon,

setting cool and deep,

hovering low

over Jamison Canyon,

soft

in the blue morning.

It was smaller

when I saw it last night

hanging high

over my gleaming roof.

Then the moon owned the night

and drenched the grey lawns

with mystic light

transformed

our pale houses,

into windy mythic temples,

sheltering whispering shades.

Now the fierce sun claims

his wide, waiting world

as the supple moon

coolly descends;

But for a moment

across the brightening sky,

they gaze like lovers

from horizons in equilibrium,

in this perfect movement

of time.

(12/21/2010)

New Wine into Fresh Skins!

Renew me, wash me
in deeper pools open my
righteous, narrow mind,

for your wine over-
whelms, rends ancient seams, blood streams,
my weakness reveals.

Make me a new man
and I'll hold your wine within
my fresh, new-made skin.

**********************

"...nobody puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and the wine is lost and the skins too. No! New wine into fresh skins!" Mark 2:22

(19 Oct. 2012)

Camping at Lake Berryessa

My children sleep
on the thin vinyl floor
while above our tent,
just past the dark tree-line,
the Milky Way glimmers
like cool waves breaking
on the black coast
of the deep mountain sky.

All night
the lake whispers softly
under gentle western winds
as egret and owl
keep guardian eyes
on the sleeping
human shore.

While watching my sons sleep,
I hear the low murmur
of wild turkey and possum
scuffling through dry dust and leaves,
searching our campground for leftovers
peanut butter crusts, hot dogs and beans,
any careless, easy meal,

when I feel rolling pressure
pushing insistently at base of our tent,
and, alarmed, hear quick, powerful,
exploratory snorts.

Holding my breath,
I gaze into the deer’s
questioning,
fearless eyes,

and wonder
if we campers
are part of this
ancient community,

or welcomed,
honored guests,

or simply curious,
rude intruders.

(30 Jan. 2011)

The Light in November

Photo: Brian Federle,  Oregon, 2012.

The light in November slants low.
It fills my eyes as I glance
askance through amber trees
and see the leaves descend in
gold flashes
past my open window.

The autumn sun skirts
my low Suisun hills
casting deep shadows
along the ebbing marsh

where wading egrets probe
still, black waters

and finding their prize
rise to blue heaven,
white, slender wings
elegantly beating
the softly falling sun.

(2012-2017)

Leap of Faith

You decided

that you want me,

and so commanded

flashing angels

to invade my night.

With blind bliss 

to contend,

and weary with seraphic strife

I gave in:

(a pious moment

here and there,

a sign of the cross,

a whispered prayer),

until, patient Father,

in bright dreams you called

and led me high 

up your holy mountain

promising

that I will rise

and never,

never fall.

(24 Dec. 2011)

"The Gift" by Mary Oliver

Thanksgiving

Full from the feast

table laded

with fragrant dressing,

steam of onion and celery,

tender turkey and

five kinds of pies

The family gathered.

My parents smiled

at our busy banter

brothers

and sisters nudging and

teasing,  beaming

in the glow

of that happy day

so long ago.

Now you and I gather

our sons around us;

again we pause, pray

and eat the bounty

of this bright Thanksgiving Day.

They say that some things,

kind hearts,

hearty laughs,

enduring love

are so good

they persist long down  

the thankful

generations.

-----------
(for Brian we are so thankful)

Passage: Sunset. Photo by Brian Federle, 2016

Paradise

Deep inside

I carry paradise,

A bright flood,

pours through

my soul’s veins,

but like those blind fish,

I cannot see

the holy river

running through me.

On a good, clear day, though,

staring hard beyond,

I can almost see

God’s holy fire

glancing off

my boundless sea.

(3/30/17)

In Contemplation of Seeking

….contemplation is simply the “experience” …. of God in a luminous darkness which is the perfection of faith illuminating our inmost self….. a flash of the lightning of divinity piercing the darkness of nothingness and sin. Not something general and abstract, but something, on the contrary, as concrete, particular, and “existential” as it can possibly be. It is the confrontation of man with his God…    Thomas Merton, The Inner Experience: Notes on Contemplation

+

In my darkness I seek you

through deep caverns I run;

my dying flesh yearns for

your fierce, piercing love.

Through darkness I see

you’re glowing so bright,

but always receding,

deeper than night.

I fear that I’ll falter,

betrayed by frail will

when softly you whisper

“my child, just be still.”

(3 Dec. 2013)

November Sky

See the perfect sky of November

cloudless, cool, southern sun,

garden of blue eternity

vaulting over rioting trees, leaves

shouting that life is good

as they fall, and with red cover

the green world

with perfect red

as in perfect blue

life turns inward,

like the planet,

pursuing

the fleeting sun’s

fading hue.

(2013 - rev. 2017)

The Feast of St. Francis

Sisters of St. Francis of the Neuman Community

from "Canticle of the Sun," by St. Francis of Assisi: "Be praised, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air, and clouds and storms, and all the weather, through which you give your creatures sustenance."

Bird-song rises 

in clear, liquid waves

as golden leaves arc

twisting

to the ground.

Heavy gold

must fall.

October heat

gives way 

to winter rain,

yet inevitably life flows

like the breeze

rising from the broad sea

to the high Sierra;

grey clouds rise

and heavy snow falls.

All the living waters

give praise.

(10/4/2013 - 10/29/2017)

Fall Leaves

Photo: Brian Federle, Camping, March 2010.

Wind-ripped leaves
cover my yard

severed flesh, leathery
fingers splayed
grip the brick walkway.

Flush winter roses
drop petals,
red shrouds cover
glistening gold veins
sundered
from ravaged trees.

Yet the trees survive.

mimicking death’s
grey angularity
oblivious to the wind,

nude limbs
lean into the howling storm
and dream of June breezes,
singing green afternoons,
the faithful thrush
thrusting new life to flight.

But for now
black clouds gather

the winter wind sings dirges
for these sacrificial leaves
nourishing the famished earth.

(11/18/2010)
re-post 10/25/2017

Miserere

i

In October

golden days suddenly fly

as unexpected,

brutal

nights arise.

ii

You died last spring

when love seemed

to promise life

never ending.

iii

Thirty-one years before,

when I first held you,

your bright eyes

gazed on me

with wonder,

my son —

my love at first sight!

iv

But the cruelty of March

surpasses even winter’s rage.

I prayed for God’s mercy

On that bright, green day.

but bereft in my soul,

only bitter darkness

remains.

Wildfire Close to Home

“The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another. “ Thomas Merton

Night streaks the afternoon sky.

Smoke pours through trees
riots through suburban streets,
flames snarl, snap in the meadow,
the red beast
just beyond the fence.

I feel its glare
as wild heat brushes my brow.

Crossing arms, I walk
quickly, first to the corner,
then to the threatened house,
where my young neighbor
clutches her baby
and wonders
when will it be time to flee,
leave home,
abandon furniture, new carpets, tv
dreams of
safety.

We watch and wait
for the calm firemen
to arrest this marauder,
cool its rage,
restore to ordered life
this blue July day.

2012 - 2017

Disasters of War

Iron soldiers,

astride their power,

grip swords

stand poised

wait for the order

to stain red

the innocent earth

as women,

naked bellies swollen,

watch flashing steel

steal away their children,

those

who play

at their bare feet

and those

who yet swim

in warmer pools.

Pacifica Seawall, October

Photo: Pacifica Seawall, 4 Oct 2014, Brian Federle

We dropped by your house today

and sat in the new chairs

under the gnarled tree

and spoke of you.

We walked to the wall

that separates ocean

from land, and observed waves

rising, mighty, lunging at rocks

beneath our feet.

We spoke your name

there, to the moaning sea.

(Oct 4, 2017)

Summer River

“It might be good to open our eyes and see.” Thomas Merton

ore’ shading trees' hanging leaves cast green sheen on waters, on the deep unbroken mirror when, rising from night it breaks lightning and draws first breath of thin air - and, discovery made, falls back into the cool watery shade.

The Whole Song

"We must learn to respond not to this or that syllable, but to the whole song." 
Thomas Merton

You say

"be not afraid,"

yet this darkness is

complete.

A well of silence lies 

beneath my feet 

as I try to feel

my way back to you.

How can I be brave

when all around me rush

rivers of anguish, tears

overflowing life’s banks?

Terror fills the sky.

In dark flashes

my sight declines,

and endless night

encroaches the edge

of vision.

Will you lift me

if I stumble 

and fall?

Oh, call softly

and with seeing

fingers I'll find 

your healing 

hands again.

(2013, 2017)

Moss Landing

Framed in darkness

Like birds in deep silence

The sky and sea breathe

In steel blue longing

Remembering the dying sun

And the cries of gulls diving.

On insubstantial sand

We watch an impossible ship

Moving and not moving

Like a silent cloud 
at the edge of the world.

I can see no men aboard

Although I know they are there. 

I know they are in steel rooms,

Warmed by twisting turbines,

Softly cursing,

Listening to the night.

The sand moves under us

As we walk to the sea.

Our steps change forever the earth.

The sea changes forever,

We change the sky with our breath

And wind-blown sand covers our feet.

Yet we move,

And for a while we walk

Away from the sea.

The sea will change.

The sky will change.

They will wait.

There’s no hurry.

In memoriam: Arthur Federle, 1978, Brian Federle, 2017

(1979. 2017)

Twilight at the Seawall

Photo: Kaela Roster, March 2016

Dark hills,

glowing sky,

indigo fast fading

to black,

while on the edge of fire

incandescent embers

hurry the wheeling world

round ancient paths.

But see how, 

newly awakened,

the cool moon ascends,

awash in reflected glory,

full and round, 

and lovely.

(2011 - 2017)

in the villages round Caesarea Philippi

Oh, we are

a faithless generation!

I saw the lying spirits

ensnare my son

throw him into the mud fouling

his boy's mind with fetid waters,

unleashing to fiery panic

his gibbering tongue,

but everyone shrugged and said,

"nothing can be done."

A faithless man, I prayed for faith

and He entered the fray,

commanding to silence

Satan's dubious claims,

with His mighty prayer

sending hell-ward howling

all our false and golden

gods,

and gave me back

my son!

(14 Sept 2012/ 5 Sept 2017)

daybreak

Photo: Brian Federle, Palm Springs Dawn, December 2016

daybreak, still limbs lace

to gray sky, wait for the next

storm to shake open

morning, still sleeping

shuttered windows conceal the

cold face of daybreak.

(1/22/2012 - 8/29/2017)

The Relationship Between Love and Grief (Remarks by Jan Richardson, August 10, 2017)

 

"Passage" by Brian Federle

From “Grief is a gateway to grace, which can remake the world, LCWR president tells 2017 assembly” by Soli Salgado. Global Sisters Report: A Project of National Catholic Reporter.

The relationship between love and grief: (Remarks by Jan Richardson, August 10, 2017).
To be undone and remade by grief's hand is a messy, scary and cathartic process, said the keynote speaker for Aug. 10, Jan Richardson, an artist, author and ordained United Methodist minister**.
Richardson discussed her emotional journey following the unexpected death of her husband, Gary; he died in 2013 just three and a half years after they had married. In him, she both found and quickly lost her creative partner and "co-conspirator."

She invited the sisters to consider what it means to "be the presence of love" (the theme of the assembly) even when it seems that the "love that's been present seems to have left us." She said death is a process that can come in many forms: a physical death, the death of a dream, loss of a familiar lifestyle, or "the ending or changing of a community that has held our hearts."

That death is universal and yet can take such different forms for each of us, she said, has been "one of the strange and beautiful things about navigating grief in the wake of my husband's death."
"When absence erupts in our lives, how do we call upon the presence of love that goes deeper than our loss?" she asked the LCWR attendees. "How do we open ourselves anew to the presence of love that endures far beyond death?"

"It has been crucial to me to attend well to the grief, to give it time and space, to let it say what it needs to say. … Call it my personal protest or act of resistance in a culture that so often wants to urge us along in our grief, wants us to move on beyond our mourning, wants us to be OK, because not being OK can make other people uncomfortable."

If we try to hurry along the grief, Richardson said, we risk missing the presence of love.
"May my love be more fierce than my grief," she repeated, a special prayer for her in this particular moment of grieving.

A seemingly subtle but distressing adjustment Richardson didn't anticipate was her new relationship with pronouns and tenses: What was once "we" and "ours" had become "I" and "mine."
"Where can we live in the plural present, with those whose hearts we hold and who hold us in theirs?" Richardson asked. "When our hearts break, where can we still say 'we' in the way that enables us to know that we are not alone? Where can we still say 'now' in a way that allows us to live into the love that does not end with death?"

Crow on a Branch

Crows rise and drop

in the high redwood tree

arguing, competing

to see who would light

on the top-most limb,

as thin branches, bending

under their weight, waver

and bow

when suddenly

one raucous crow

comically falls.

Cawing, the clumsy black bird

beats out his own breeze,

and rises again

to the argument.

(10/19/2010 - 8/24/2017)

image from gohookit.blogspot.com