Tuesday, July 15, 2008

So here's a poem

Yesterday I stayed home and committed to real, authentic, me-time. In other words, absolutely minimal use of email, iming, texting, Facebook/Facebook chat or phone. Minimal time on the internet. Focus on my mile long to-do list, myself, my apartment, my writing, etc. I actually worked a full day, just entirely on personal stuff that needed doing, some of it urgently.

This morning, the train stopped on the tracks outside Vienna station, but I was early today so it didn't bother me --without even trying much I was earlier than I've been in months. I was reflecting on that, and I had this sudden space of peace that didn't leave me until I got in to work and started reading all the panicked emails from students and receiving the panicked phone calls and letting that get under my skin.

In this space of peace, a poem/prayer came to me... I opened my moleskine and it sort of just plopped out of my pen without really going through my brain. Maybe that's obvious from the quality of the product, but I want to share it anyway:

"The Quiet Comes Unbidden" or "What Happens When You Try"

I cleared a space for me yesterday
and found a space for You,
overgrown by weeds, bushes and branches,
rusted tools beneath the grass,
the old artifacts of my spiritual self-maintenance.

I went into the space for You
hesitantly, wanting only to reclaim my peace,
to stop the ceaseless cycle of frantic worry,
only seeking rest, only seeking rest,
I cleared a space to sit, and sat, waiting.

Tears came, of course, memories of the stillness
I used to feel on entering here.
I always had to fight to get inside
but once there I always used to find
a cultivated space
and a path in the grass, well-worn from our walking there.

I have been waiting for You all my life.
I have been waiting for You from eternity.
I have been waiting for You to
clear the clutter of my frantic soul,
to hush the ceaseless babble in my brain
and to bring me --finally-- to peace.

I have been waiting for You for my whole existence.
I have been waiting for You since time began.
I have been waiting...
but at some point now closed to memory
I locked and barricaded the gate.
I put up a barbed wire electric fence
and a 7 foot wall around my soul.

And I have no idea why.
I have

I have been waiting for You to tear the barriers down
and You've been waiting for me to do the same...
this inexplicable mystery of You
waiting for me
behind the gates, among the thorns,
waiting for me to come and find You
before You would still my soul.

Having found You again,
I will lose myself in Your embrace, Jesus,
and never let You go.


WMS said...

wow... just wow... I must link to this one from mine.

Mike Croghan said...

Lovely, lovely, lovely, Moff.

What does it say about me that the last line made me sad? Because I know that when I find that peace (and I guess I do, from time to time), I will surely close myself off from it again before long, when the world and its currents catch hold of me, as they do. :-\

Mike Croghan said...

Forgot to check the "email me follow-up comments" box. :-)

Manda. said...

beautiful stuff...so glad you just got a day to bathe in God's presence! love you, girl.

Mike said...

This is beautiful, Amy. Thank you.

At the same time, I don't mean to be disrespectful-- God is faithful, and you are a gifted poet-- but in all of this, let us not forget your faithful friend (and mine), the humble Moleskine. Always ready to receive our muse, always there to absorb our emotion, always there, period. The Moleskine is the unsung hero of this beautiful story, methinks.

Moff said...

You are so right, Stav. I am remiss if I don't acknowledge The Moleskine. I now own four of them, including a RED ONE. That's right folks... a RED MOLESKINE. How cool is that?

So yes, this is truly An Ode To the Moleskine Muse. Thank you for pointing out the error of my omitting credit where credit is due.

Mike Croghan said...

Duuuude...where can you get a red Moleskine? Now my sexy red (yet disgustingly geeky) smartphone has begun to look down its touch-sensitive LCD nose at my graph-paper-adorned (and hence disgustingly geeky) yet merely black-covered Moleskine. :-(

Moff said...

GMU bookstore, baby! I'll score you one if you want.

Mike Croghan said...

Nah, thanks - I'll just have to stop by and browse some time. I've had a sense that the panoply of Moleskine options was wider than the selection available at the art supply store in Vienna where I got mine, and I'd like to browse.

Mike said...

Red? Wow-- you are even cooler than I thought.

Not sure I could pull that off, though. I get enough smirks with my basic black version.

awaytoafrica said...

Beautiful, Amy. Thanks for sharing.