where the light begins

Peter Zumthor - Bruder Klaus Chapel


As we turn towards our yearly habit of ritualising the New Now, let’s pause for a breath or two and be reminded of our sacred mission.
Jan Richardson: Where the Light Begins

Perhaps it does not begin.
Perhaps it is always.

Perhaps it takes
a lifetime
to open our eyes,
to learn to see
what has forever
shimmered in front of us

the luminous line
of the map
in the dark

the vigil flame
in the house
of the heart,

the love
so searing
we cannot keep
from singing,

from crying out
in testimony
and praise.

Perhaps this day
will be the mountain
over which
the dawn breaks.

Perhaps we
will turn our face
toward it,
toward what has been

our eyes
will finally open
in ancient recognition,
willingly dazzled,
illuminated at last.

Perhaps this day
the light begins
in us.

 – Jan Richardson, from Circle of Grace, Wanton Gospeller Press

Jan Richardson’s website

Circle of Grace on Amazon

Image and source: Peter Zumthor – Bruder Klaus Field Chapel.
For more information about this extraordinary sacred space see archdaily.com

Gratitude to Claire Beynon for sharing this timely poem on Facebook.

a duet of paradox and praise

Two heart-healing poems from Chuck Surface.

I found these on the poetry blog – being silently drawn – one of my favourite online oases for mind medicine. Thank you Tina Koskelo.

First, the paradox of our wideawakeness: How can it be that we are not this or that but thisthat? How can it be that we are simultaneously wave and particle? How can we reconcile apparent dualism with the unsplitable reality of our experience? As it turns out, this endeavour on the part of the insatiable thinker is less paradoxical than it would have us believe.

Like, can there be more than one meaning to ONE?

And then, a little hymn to the Beloved.


Richard Diebenkorn - Coffee, 1959


cream, two sugars, please


Within… Fullness, Completion, and Bliss,

Without… She prefers milk chocolate to dark.


Within… nothing can be added, nothing taken away,

Without… everything comes to Her, and goes.


Within… Unmoving, Ineffable Sublimity,

Without… She experiences ever changing manifestation.


Within… joy and sorrow have never been,

Without… She Shines, even in the midst of tears.


Within… time and space have never existed,

Without… She is born, grows old, and dies.


Within… within and without never were,

Without… within and without ever are.


Within… no preferences, propensities, proclivities,

Without… cream, two sugars, please.


Within… The Sun Shines,

Without… All is Illumined.





There’s no intimacy in talking “about” The Beloved,

Moving away from Her into words and concepts,

As if She is not Present.


How rude.


She exists in the Quiet Stillness of our Heart,

When Attention returns from outward wandering,

And falls into Her awaiting arms.


How Inexpressibly Beautiful.


Some have turned Her into a science,

And argue Her existence, lawyerly.

They know nothing of Her.


Arid minds.


She cannot be “proven” through argument,

Or anyone “convinced” of Her reality,

Short of direct Experience.


Direct… Experience.


Only Longing entices the Beloved,

From Her Secret Garden…

In the Cave of your Heart.


How Ineffably… Sublime.


Chuck’s poetry website is In the Garden of the Beloved – a place to rest, and be both soothed and intoxicated.

Richard Diebenkorn, Coffee, 1959; oil on canvas, 57 1/2 in. x 52 1/4 in.
[Did you notice the bindi?]

Collection: San Francisco Museum of Modern Art