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Haiku For The World I See
Listing my pronouns? Never saw a wolf do this Guess he’ll go extinct. ~ S.K. Orr
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The Thoughts, They Are Provoked
While reading Thomas Merton this morning, a passage took hold of me: Every one of us is shadowed by an illusory person: a false self. This is the man that I want myself to be but who cannot exist, because God does not know anything about him. … My false and private self is the one who wants to exist outside the reach of God’s will and God’s love — outside of reality and outside of life. And such a life cannot help but be an illusion. … The secret of my identity is hidden in the love and mercy of God. … Therefore I cannot hope to find myself…
- Church Life, Daily Life, Holy Days, I Never Thought I'd Be In This Situation, Photographs, Prayers, Reflections
Easter Sunday
The sun will set in a little while, and another holy day will be memory and history. We sat outside as much as we could today, but the brisk breeze kept forcing us to retreat inside. Sitting directly in the sun helped a bit, but it was still chilly, so we didn’t get as many outdoor hours as we had hoped. The dogs romped and rolled in the grass, and the birds were so numerous and so active, we were in awe. We watched all day for a hummingbird — a year ago today, we got our first hummingbird of the spring –but none ever appeared. We had a fine…
- Church Life, Daily Life, Holy Days, I Never Thought I'd Be In This Situation, Lectio Divina, Photographs, Prayers, Reflections
Between Sorrow And Joy
I recently read someone’s observation that Good Friday is the end of all things, and also the beginning of all things. The phrase is a barbed one; it stings and stays with me. I think on how Christ’s disciples must have felt after their master was lowered from the cross. limp and bloodless and silent as a slaughtered lamb. The women took charge of caring for His body, and they must have discussed the burial details with the generous Arimathean, Joseph, and the men present must have seen the body taken away, and then the reality settled down on them. How silent it must have been. In their shock and…
- Bluebelle, Church Life, Daily Life, Dixee, Holy Days, Jinx, Movies, Mrs. Orr, Paintings, Photographs, Prayers, Reflections
Maundy Thursday
Tomorrow is already Good Friday, and what a wonder it is to be this far along in the year already. Our weather has been quite warm, and we had to actually break down and put on the air conditioning last night after the sun baked the house all day long. I am enjoying the lack of pain in the joints, but I will confess that both Mrs. Orr and I sleep better in the colder weather. We both tossed and turned a lot last night due to the closeness of the room, even though we did have the fan on. It’s supposed to be cooler the next three days, and…
- Church Life, Daily Life, Holy Days, I Never Thought I'd Be In This Situation, Lectio Divina, Mrs. Orr, Photographs, Prayers, Reflections, Saints
Holy Week
The days have unspooled quickly in this early part of springtime. My interior life has been not in turmoil but in flux, an almost palpable ebb and flow, and through all my misgivings and doubts and ragings and grim, silent musings, I have felt like some sort of antenna, unmoored but still grounded, with invisible signals popping and whizzing around me during my hours. A good friend, who roves across much of the same rocky spiritual landscape I do, recently mentioned in passing how he just might be holding onto a hope that he will one day believe again. That sentiment sang in me like a tuning fork when a…
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Winter’s Final Friday
When she began speaking, her voice was a low cello moan, Within a few minutes, she poured the tears of today’s life , sobbing out the the bitterness of an inhaled breath of misery. As she talked, her voice became a viola, then a violin, then a bass, then back to the cello, but always, always, the pulling of the dusty bow across the singing strings, the overeager squeak of the changed strokes, the whisper of her engraved finger-pads on the stretched strands of gut. The etude, the very composition itself set down in dots and flags of salty water on the staves for the sheer purpose of challenge and…
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Melancholy’s Voice: A Familiar Timbre
Today, a poem each from two of my favorites, Elizabeth Jennings and Edward Dixon Garner. Since my first encounter with each of these poets, their words have arisen from the page like incense, like the breath of two wistful friends speaking in my ear. On days like today, I seek them out, and they are faithful to me. ~ S.K. Orr Answers I kept my answers small and kept them near; Big questions bruised my mind but still I let Small answers be a bulwark to my fear. The huge abstractions I kept from the light; Small things I handled and caressed and loved. I let the stars assume the…
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Passing of the Days
Three years ago today, Mrs. Orr and I looked outside and saw a dog standing at the end of our driveway. Spotted and hyperactive, he was romping around, amusing himself by chasing birds and sunbeams. He clearly belonged to someone, because he was wearing a collar. “What a funny looking dog,” said my wife. “Yeah, he is,” I replied. We left the house to run some errands. When we returned, the funny-looking dog was sitting in the front yard, sunning himself. When we exited the car, the dog leapt and bounded and cavorted all around us, trying to jump on us and ignoring our shouted commands to get DOWN, GET…
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Approaching The Realm of the Ides
Today, the sun is pouring out of the sky onto the greening grass and the resurrecting branches of the trees. The weeping willow out front looks as lush as it usually does in high summer, and the peach trees are decked with lovely pink blossoms. This being early March, I know that a killing frost or two will arrive and dull down the lively colors, but for now, it is an enjoyable sight. The breeze is somewhat stiff, which keeps a chill in the air if I’m not in direct sunlight, but this is nothing compared to what we had a few days ago. On Thursday, a strong windstorm system…