I have had half a dozen possible posts, and have actually written what totals to a few thousand words of most of them, and in the end, it's not quite right, or I feel silenced. It is frustrating but also rather serene. Something at least, is clear. It is perfectly clear that I am meant to be quiet. I do, however, have the gall to post Leonard Cohen lyrics.
The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again,
I heard them say,
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
The wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again;
the dove is never free
Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.
You can add up the parts
but you won't have the sum
You can strike up the march,
There is no drum.
Every heart
To love will come
but like a refugee.
Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.
Of The Best Stuff, but Cracked
2 comments:
...in the end, it's not quite right, or I feel silenced. It is frustrating but also rather serene. Something at least, is clear. It is perfectly clear that I am meant to be quiet.
You speak to the condition I have experienced often, even (especially???) since I am a new blogger. Yet I believe that yielding to the Guidance to be still is part of the tempering I will need for another time, yet to be known, when I will be grateful to have come under such Discipline in a relatively easy matter, for the sake of practicing being faithful...
Thanks for sharing this: sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one discerning the seemingly little things, because it's so rare to talk about our inner discernment process--at least, among most Friends in the monthly meeting.
Oh, and I love the lines:
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.
Blessings,
Liz
Thanks Liz. I am being nourished very much by your thoughts in your blog during this quiet period for me.
I love those lines very much, too, though I think these ones are so true as to make me a little sad...
Every heart
To love will come
but like a refugee
Most of my abandoned posts have been on the subject of sacrifice, of the Rich Young Man who went away sad, of stripping away, and of how small and helpless and poor our souls might have to be before they can truly know God. But those three lines say it all.
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