Thoughts boundI that they might give flight. These are my words to describe the sacred energy of books. I love books. No, I don't simply love books, I revere them for I understand them as manifestations of the holy: the energy of Goodness placed within humans to be given a form only we humans are able to give Goodness: the ability to create life from the use of our thoughts.
Right now I am enjoying a wonderful book as part of my morning reading: morning reading is where I take in 'words' to nourish and nurture my Spirit; words that fertilize the soil of my Being and therefore help me grow and develop. Jan Richardson, in the introduction to, In The Sanctuary of Women, describes the intention of her words as; This book is an invitation to enter into a conversation. Here amongst these pages, in the presence of women past and present, is a place to enter into the mysteries that lie at the heart of who we are."
Like most really good conversations the book has great depth and evokes parts of myself I had been unaware of, or perhaps had been unaware of how pieces of self had grown and/or changed. One conversation she offered was from a poem by Appalachian poet George Ella Lyon titled Where I'm From. Lyon's poem has been used all over the world as an introduction to a writing exercise designed to evoke a personal poem describing the 'soil' each of our roots grows from.
As soon as I had finished reading that section of the book, I felt the stirrings and urgings that indicate I need to grab pen and paper and write - give form - to the thoughts being evoked. I'm going to share the writing I did in the hopes that perhaps you also might be stirred to reflect on the soil your roots have grown in.
I was born from the wildness of Michigan joined to the cultivation of Cincinnati.
From summers of Gramsy's boiled potatoes and strawberry shortcake cooked and baked
in a home where the backyard held a weeping willow where fairies danced at dusk.
A home with the Sacred Heart of Jesus over the couch and a piano room holding
a tunneled closet of mystery and imagination.
Summers of hearing scrabble dice clatter on dining table and laughing women holding
bridge hands with feet in the children's wading pool.
I am from rows of polished shoes readied for Sunday Mass and rosaries slipping
through fingers in cars, bedrooms, living rooms and incensed churches.
From a home lined and piled with books: thoughts of God enlivened
by writers and readers.
I am from beads and books made holy as grace given form by lives.
I am from smoke and drink which became smoke and coffee consumed
around folding tables; desire seated on folding chairs and begetting
the slow unfolding of personhood.
From early mornings on the patio, I am from light overcoming darkness
as a daily and unfailing gift.
I am from ink and paper; scribbled aches and desires, dreams and hopes, wisdom of Being
slowly growing as courage to write, rather than merely think, took form.
I am from wildness and dignity intertwined in the DNA of my clan of wanderers
and seekers driven by lusty curiosity and willingness to gamble on the unknown.
From my clans heritage I wear scars of living as badges of honor showing willingness
to fearlessly gamble on both sin and redemption.
I am a woman from a tribe of Matriarchs; proud brave women who fed
upon a living God as the sustenance of their living and from this eternal
energy birthed new life as babies, pansies, writings and drawings; new life
sustained with unfailing belief in love's courage.
From love's courage, I am.
May you be blessed with knowing the soil of your Being.
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