Blessing When the World Is Ending
Look, the world
is always ending
somewhere.
Somewhere
the sun has come
crashing down.
Somewhere
it has gone
completely dark.
Somewhere
it has ended
with the gun,
the knife,
the fist.
Somewhere
it has ended
with the slammed door,
the shattered hope.
Somewhere
it has ended
with the utter quiet
that follows the news
from the phone,
the television,
the hospital room.
Somewhere
it has ended
with a tenderness
that will break
your heart.
But, listen,
this blessing means
to be anything
but morose.
It has not come
to cause despair.
It is simply here
because there is nothing
a blessing
is better suited for
than an ending,
nothing that cries out more
for a blessing
than when a world
is falling apart.
This blessing
will not fix you,
will not mend you,
will not give you
false comfort;
it will not talk to you
about one door opening
when another one closes.
It will simply
sit itself beside you
among the shards
and gently turn your face
toward the direction
from which the light
will come,
gathering itself
about you
as the world begins
again.
—Jan Richardson, Circle of Grace
Evelyn Underhill’s “Practical Mysticism” was published in 1914. THE 1914.
Her preface struck me when I first read it this summer, and it hasn’t stopped bouncing around in my head.
She goes on to say:
Yet, the title deliberately chosen for this book — that of “practical mysticism” — means nothing if the attitude and the discipline which it recommends be adapted to fair weather alone: if the principles for which it stands break down when subjected to the pressure of events, and cannot be reconciled with the sterner duties of national life. To accept this position is to reduce mysticism to the status of a spiritual plaything.
It seems like many of the questions and pressures from today existed then. Minus social media ((jealous)).
___________
Am I speaking enough
About the right things
At the right time
And does it matter
Does anything matter
Besides the Current Thing That Is Very Bad
Which is an understatement
Little newsletters about grief seem misplaced
Photos of everyday life seem misplaced
So much anger
And judgement
You said too much
You didn’t say enough
What is the point of art
What is the point of anything
Do our individual sorrows still matter
I think, yes. And.
"Nothing will tell you where you are. Each moment is a place you've never been." Whoa. Yes.