CELINE DION - SO THIS IS CHRISTMAS

O HOLY NIGHT - A CHRISTMAS CAROLS BY CELINE DION

The Searcher's Prayer - a poem by Ruth Fawell

THE SEARCHER'S PRAYER - by Ruth Fawell

You know well how the search for reality
Goes on throughout our lives,
How truth must always find new language,
New symbols.
Help us while we walk the pilgrim way
Of searching and re-searching
To hold fast to what we know of truth,
To heed the promptings
Of truth and love
In our own hearts
And in the world around us
Which only grow in us
As we obey the given light,
And dwindle as we disobey.

Strengthen us, we pray you,
To live them out
This day and every day,
So that our wills are fortified
By your will,
Our loves
By your love,
And our fragments of truth
By your truth.

Easy Death

Oddly, I had just heard a preacher today on Youtube talking about how terrible a thing death is. Yet the true Christian faith teaches no such thing. So I thought to myself, that man doesn't have a clue what he is talking about. Several times when I have felt overwhelmed by all the "stuff" happening in this world and at my wits end with too many thoughts, I hear a gentle voice inside of me that says, "Nothing good will die". I'm thankful when I can hear that voice speak. It soothes my soul, quenches the anger that would consume me. I think anger has a purpose, as does death - to consume that which shall not be any more. I've not read the book below (yet), but I sure do like several of the quotes from within its pages...


"Death requires a loving, fearless, sorrowless, unangered volunteer of me. Death requires the feeling-heart's participation—enamored, self-forgetting, and without anticipation."

"Death is an un-selfing kind of wind — a sudden weather, any day. Death is the body's True fidelity to life, to love, and to Reality — regardless of the weather and the day."

"Death is utterly acceptable to consciousness and life. There has been endless time of numberless deaths, but neither consciousness nor life has ceased to arise. The felt quality and cycle to death has not modified the fragility of flowers, even the flowers within the human body."

"Therefore, one's understanding of consciousness and life must be turned to That Utter, Inclusive Truth, That Clarity and Wisdom, That Power and Untouchable Gracefulness, That One and Only Reality, this evidence suggests."

— Avatar Adi Da Samraj
from the Prologue to Easy Death

My Newest Hobbie . . . . B - i - K - i - N - G

I've been biking for exercise for about six weeks now and the benefits are undeniable: lower blood pressure, gradual weight loss, increased mental clarity, improved circulation, and firmer muscle tone. Now if I could find a way to go completely car-free and use my bike for all my local travel, I'd save a bundle of money and get in much better physical condition faster. So, I hope I can keep it up. It's good to be moving my body around again!

Dark Side

On its label
the honey was called
"Island of Moon".
I found it up on the second shelf
near the back,
to sweeten my cup of hot tea,
a beverage I only drink when I'm feeling
under the weather.
It was a much deeper amber than the usual
clover or orange blossom kinds I normally choose.
It's hue was deeper than scotch whiskey
drawn from an old barrel.
The taste, the look, the smell, and especially the name
made me think of the dark side
that space of obscurity
where I keep all my jagged thoughts hidden
as one who turns her face away from the sun
like the button-black centers of blood-red poppies
when they close themselves up at night.

Anne Bryant-Hamon 10.10.10

How to live without money

I find this concept very fascinating. I wonder if I have what it takes to live such a different lifestyle?

S e p t e m b e r

A dwindling summer lingers on.
Bright zinnias hold out stubbornly.
Gold buds crowd the chrysanthemums,
their petals buried tight in green
cocoons. And by next month they’ll bring
us autumn sunbursts. Drink with me
a toast to Browning and to Frost
and one to dear Ms. Emily —
for summer days will soon be lost
to ghostly winds and leaf-filled streams.
I look to Ezra Pound and Faust
in shortening days of in-betweens;
and try to find the words to say
September never cared for me.

© Anne Bryant-Hamon
9.11.10

For You- by John Denver

How Beautiful

How Beautiful Is the Body of Christ ....



"How lovely on the mountains Are the feet of him who brings good news, Who announces peace And brings good news of happiness, Who announces salvation, And says to Zion, "Your God reigns!" - from the prophet, Isaiah

Gerry Beauchemin - Author of "Hope Beyond Hell"

Joan Osborne - One of Us

If God had a name what would it be?
And would you call it to his face?
If you were faced with him in all his glory
what would you ask if you had just one question?

Yeah, Yeah, God is great
Yeah, Yeah, God is good
Yeah Yeah yeah yeah yeah

What if God was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the bus
Trying to make his way home

If God had a face
What would it look like?
And would you want to see
If seeing meant that you would have to believe
In things like heaven and Jesus and the saints
and all the Prophets

Yeah Yeah God is great
Yeah Yeah God is good
Yeah Yeah yeah yeah yeah

What if God was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the bus
Trying to make his way home
Just trying to make his way home
Back up to Heaven all alone
Nobody callin' on the phone
'cept for the Pope maybe in Rome

Yeah Yeah God is great
Yeah Yeah God is good
Yeah Yeah yeah yeah

What if God was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the bus
Trying to make his way home
Like a holy rolling stone
Back up to Heaven all alone
Just trying to make his way home
Nobody callin' on the phone
'cept for the Pope maybe in Rome ????
- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Josh Groban - You Are Loved (Don't Give Up) [HQ]

Dedicated to all who are pressed in on all sides by the weight of the world....

CASUALTIES OF THE GULF OF MEXICO DISASTER: Beneath the Surface

Dying To Know You

I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. - John 12:24
________________________________________________
"I shall never get you put together entirely..." from The Colossus – by Sylvia Plath
________________________________________________
- Dying to Know You –

I shall never get you put together entirely,
though I’ll spend years unraveling myself,
trying to map out who you are,
as though I’m trying every key
in order to unlock the mysteries
buried within you.

I shall never get you put together entirely,
and heaven knows I've come to realize
there really is no need to do so.
Finally, I understand
that each of us is a peculiar puzzle
designed by the hand of God.
And some mysteries simply are not ours.

I shall never get you put together entirely,
Yet I will remain intrigued
enough to turn you over piece by piece,
delighted by the fragments of your whole,
that frame the wonderment of your soul.

(c) Anne Bryant-Hamon
________________________________________________
(revised again! this May 19, 2010,one of many revisions of the original poem I wrote) - This poem began years ago as a challenge/exercise given on a poetry forum I used to frequent. The challenge was to take a famous line from a poem and create my own from it. The man who gave the challenge, Rod Nichols, has since passed away, as have so many of the poets I've shared time with over the years.

Crack O' Dawn Report: Predestination & Gummy Bears

Another lesson from one of my favorite bible teachers... (are you a gummy bear or a chocolate covered raisin?)

Akiane: child prodigy, artist, poet, "Indigo child"

I was happily reminded of this girl, Akiane as I watched a program on the Science Channel. She is a reminder to me that "GOD IS".

Crack O' Dawn Report: Romans 14: Into The Frying Pan

Question posed to Universalist Christians

The link below is just a drop in the bucket of a really large Christian forum where many of the participants believe in and teach the doctrine of eternal torment(which, if you know me, I thoroughly reject).... I've not written any poems lately, so I might as well post something about my faith... perhaps it will be of help to someone who stumbles upon it. For some reason, I am not having any success at putting links in, so you'll have to copy/paste this link to go to it ----

Universalists: Please Explain Why You Believe Like You Do

http://www.city-data.com/forum/christianity/942868-universalists-please-explain-why-you-believe.html

Talking to myself – since I’m the only one listening

I have a friend who talks to herself on her blog. She’s quite bright and so she figured out long before I did that no one else in this world can really listen to us – at least not all the time or even most of the time. I’ve known that for a while, but I’ve tried to deny it. Not that that is anyone’s fault – we’re all sealed up in our soft shelled tombs of silence. Or to put it another way – our house has been left unto us desolate. Adam’s race has been dashed to bits against the stones – perhaps his body has lost more blood than it yet has left to lose. There is a death in realizing that no one wants to dance anymore. There is a grief that occurs when the song in one’s heart can no longer be found. Maybe tomorrow I won’t feel this empty space. Or maybe I will – who knows? Maybe tomorrow will never come and I will go to sleep tonight with all those souls who have slipped beneath the eternal quiet place and no longer contemplate joy nor fear sorrow.

Northern Mockingbird, Sounds, All About Birds - Cornell Lab of Ornithology

Northern Mockingbird, Sounds, All About Birds - Cornell Lab of Ornithology

I've been listening to a mockingbird at night during the spring break. I love to hear them. I counted nearly 20 different sounds coming from that bird in a matter of a few minutes. I'm not sure exactly what type of mockingbird we've got. Above is a picture of a Northern Mockingbird that I found on-line.

Last Hour in Gethsemane

(Revised April 2, 2010)

"Could you keep watch with me this hour?",
it's written that our dear Christ said,
in that dark garden where his bower
wove mustard seeds with thorns. The bread

had made the Lord's disciples full –
so satisfied, they would not last.
They felt the weighted earthly pull,
sins’ gravity – the cross was cast.

Though Jesus knew all men are weak,
oh how it must have grieved his heart
to be abandoned by his sheep,
the ones he’d chosen from the start.

And it is so for each of us
in that steep valley of the skull
where our travail is ominous,
and cupped with trembling – till a lull

shall lift us from the anguished floor
of threshing where God’s angels swarm
to separate the chaff before
the wheat is gathered in the storm.


© Anne Bryant-Hamon

Good News for All People on Good Friday

Today being Good Friday, I want to turn my thoughts to the truly good news of God's love for all of humankind - yes, ALL, not just some. I've been really struggling lately with some hard issues, been pretty lonely, been feeling a touch of desperation, but I'm glad that God has a plan that includes every person. And I'm glad that I truly believe this with all my heart - it gives me great peace in the storms of life. Since I very much dislike organized religion, I don't talk about my faith too much on my blog. Because so many horrible things have been done in the name of Christ, it has caused many rational people to stop listening and there certainly are plenty of "crazy" (hateful) people naming the name of Christ in the world who go about proclaiming bad news in God's Holy name (which is a shame). I became a convinced Universalist Christian in 2001 - nearly ten years ago. For that deliverance of my soul, I am truly thankful. But honestly, even in UR circles, there is still much religious bondage. However, it was largely through the labor of love of Gary and Michelle Amirault's ministry at http://www.tentmaker.org that I was enabled to come into God's Spiritual River of Freedom. I hope and pray that many souls are released from the prisons of fear and hopelessness this weekend as we celebrate the Resurrection of Christ.

Aubade
(Red Sky In Morning)

Maybe I am awake before dawn
so I can imagine the sound of water
that will soon rush over his hands,
then trickle effortlessly through his fingers.

I consider the mingling of H2O with his DNA
spilling into the white porcelain sink,
the microscopic blueprint of him
that will soon travel down the copper drain
trailing off to a secret place
somewhere below the ground we share.

Such scenes are circles of springtime
washing over my thoughts,
leaving me pale green with envy
in the faint light of this cool, March morning.

I will wait for a red sky at night – sailor’s delight.

© Anne Bryant-Hamon
March 25, 2010

In His Shoes

This was written last year, and even posted here last year, but since a friend of mine on a board where I fellowship reminded me of it, I decided to post it again and changed the title today. It was previously titled, "Sympathy for God".
______________________________________________

In His Shoes

Imagine that He is
but has no father or mother,
no one to whom He must answer,
yet no one to whom He may inquire.

Imagine that He is spirit
with power to create bodies,
both terrestrial and celestial,
yet cannot be reduced to a body
because He gives life to every body.

Imagine that He is Agape-Love
bound by the essence of ultimate purity,
yet He is opposed
by all sentient beings
who cannot comprehend Him
or understand His true intentions,
nor can His creatures help their lack of understanding
without His help, His love, His grace,
His granting of wisdom
to those who seek wisdom.

Imagine being God
and desiring fellowship with sentient beings
made in His likeness.

We were taught that God needs nothing and no one,
but perhaps He needed us
in order that His joy be made full.

God WAS, and IS
yet did not and does not want to BE alone!

Imagine creating such beings
without creating robots
who can only comprehend their own god-like-ness
by being made subject to sorrow and death.

Imagine that those He subjected to death,
(in order that He could convey the glory of life and righteousness and goodness),
were mostly confused by His dilemma,
or unresponsive, uninterested, unappreciative of the glory of His being
or even worse - thought him cruel or non-existent.

Imagine God wanting to be loved and understood
to the same degree that you and I want
to be loved and understood.

Imagine.

(c) Anne Bryant-Hamon

Let Me Be Like a River

Some words that came to me this morning... I don't know if they are mine or if someone already said them before. But I was thinking about whether to sulk over my recent mistakes or to just move on. It seemed like I was given to make a choice. I think we are mostly faced with a choice over whether or not we will enter into the joy in life or hang back and be sad, and so these are some word thoughts that occurred to me a few moments ago:

Let Me Be Like a River

The River - it always sings and it always runs
as it claims the wind for a melody
and reflects the light around like ten thousand tiny suns.

Wintertime in Spring

There is a time when winter comes in spring,
though trees are brimmed with budding up and down,
and winds are soft and sweet – the birds still sing,
but something’s missing – yet it is unknown
to me just why this melancholy spell
has seized upon my heart, I cannot tell
myself or God or any other one
how new life blossoms, and yet I feel undone.

© Anne Bryant-Hamon
March 17, 2010

A Mysterious and Unexpected Book

I want to make a note of this here on my blog, something that happened to me last week out of the blue. Last week (March8-12) was one of the most anxiety ridden weeks I've experienced in a long time. I won't go into the reasons why, but I felt that some huge change was happening in my life and it was making me tremble with fear. Fear of what, I'm not exactly sure. But I came home from work on Wednesday, March 10th to find a package lying on my front porch wrapped in sky blue paper with small multi-colored dots of diamonds. And I thought, oh, that is probably from my friend Brenda - she had said she planned to mail me a movie. But it was not from Brenda. It was not from anyone I am aware of knowing. And it was addressed to "Anne Bryant-Hamon" my poetry signature-name. It had come from a woman named Mary who lives in Las Vegas, NV. I've never been to Nevada and I don't know anyone who lives there! I opened the package and inside was an old copy of an old children's book called The Sorely Trying Day. I sat down at the dining table and read the book and looked at all the illustrations and felt an intense calm and peace cover me. And I just want to say, "Thank you, Mary, one of God's dear children, for the book and for listening to the Spirit that caused you to send it. The timing was stunning!

Comin' Around Again - by Carly Simon

I love her voice, her style, her songs. She will always be one of my favorites...

To the Archaeologist

I am your fossil
shaped by and for love,
a green leaf pressed into rock
long ago by
great heat and pressure
that fell with the stars
from heaven to earth.

I wait to be lifted and touched,
handled and smoothed,
softened by the grain and grooves
of tool prone hands.

I long to be studied
through eyes that are
rightly fascinated
by that which is both
ancient and ever new.

Turn me and sift me
with fingers trailing.
Measure me.
Lay me down...
pick me up.

Write me into your leather book.
Press me deeply into your memory
of permanent records,
a marking of your
latest excavation.

(c) Anne Bryant-Hamon

Tears of Sleeping Beauty

I've been revising this poem for 3 years now. Can't tell if it is getting better or worse. But the revision made sense to me for now - for the things I've been going through. So in that sense, it works. The first line is from a Science magazine article I read back in '07. I knew when I read that line, there must be a poem (probably many poems by many poets) spun from it.

Tears of Sleeping Beauty

And the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam,and he slept; and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh in its place. - Gen 2:21

Moths drink the tears from eyes of sleeping birds.*
The same is true of certain butterflies.
Sometimes the facts sound just like pretty lies
that poets chose for loveliness of words.

It may be that the strangest facts in life
exist to help us weave a melody
as if God knew that every flower and tree
would comfort us, as does a man, his wife.

There’s beauty even in the realm of death.
Without such splendor we might not endure
this earthly plane. With suffering there is grace.
For every teardrop – may there widen the breadth
of love. And in the end there lies the cure
when grace and peace are etched on every face.


original © 2007
(Revised for the umpteenth time March 2010)

Postcard from Jennifer came today...

She writes... "I'm so excited that I am going to live in California. Choosing between Cal Tech and Stanford University is a difficult decision." I think she'll choose Stanford. But I am not a betting person since our kids have left us nearly broke!


STANFORD UNIVERSITY - The Road In

Perhaps Love - by John Denver

Couldn't find sleep, so I have been awake listening to old songs by John Denver. They are timeless - ever new. He was an angel among us. His spirit lives on through his music.

Where the Sidewalk Ends - by Shel Silverstein

A contemplative poem by the late Shel Silverstein (God rest his soul). I'd not read this one before but it is lovely.
-~-..-~--~-..-~--~-..-~---..-~--~-..-~--~-..-~---..-~--~-

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

-~-..-~--~-..-~--~-..-~---..-~--~-..-~--~-..-~---..-~--~-

Why I Sit Beside the Door

I wait
and think of what I’ll say
in quartered years –a slice of day
with fifteen minutes of his ear
to talk about my joy and fear.
I wait
I wait for him – I try
to gather thoughts of what or why
I’ve come – and yet my thoughts are thin,
yet here I am – I wait for him.

I wait, I wait , I wait
for him –
I sit beside the entrance door
and place my purse down on the floor,
glance at the mantle to my right –
stocked full with pamphlets - gleaming white.

And in a ‘half-moon’ little while
he lights the room up with his smile
and clean, pressed shirt – I love that style!
A hint of ocean blues, his eyes
are full of mystery and surprise.

With seeming care he calls my name,
then I remember why I came.
I came, I came to talk to him
about the issues – bright or grim
and yes, about the medicine
I need. At least he knows my name
and never makes me feel insane.

My eyes meet his – it’s my turn now
to sit, to talk, to cry, to smile,
to do whatever I must do –
before my time with him is through.

Anne – February 23, 2010

To my Mother - Margaret

Dear Mom,
Today marks the one year anniversary of the day you died. I hope to die as peacefully as you did. You were a blessed woman, even though you had many disappointments in life. You never had a seriously sick child or lost a child. You were never homeless. I know you felt lonely and rejected by the men in your life - which is the fate of so many women. But you were strong in so many ways. And you did the best you could with what you had. I miss you. I hope that if you are conscious that it is in the paradise you hoped for. I love you, mom.

Hummingbirds

It matters how the stirring waters
fall into our thoughts,
the weight of liquid, heavy like a dark, spring cloud,
muddies the heart's wanderings,
turning sunny yellow pondering
into ruddy, mud-slick floors,
changing a land-locked sense of certainty
into an island, damp with questions.

It's best when the rain falls softly
to break the shell of silence
that seals us into quietude
rather than being deluged,
flooded by the worried self,
that watcher, called Ego who
imposes layer after layer
of false god images over us.

Wanting to escape being alone
is not the same as the desire to 'not be'.
Yet a universal veil
covers each of us with an illusion,
a blind-spot given to all our earthly eyes
that causes us to believe
that spirit touching spirit
is a mirage, something unattainable -
always just out of reach.


Surly God knew first that 'to feel alone',
was, in itself, the main cause for grief.
So today I will cover your head
with halos of love,
longing to convey somehow
that I see your true beauty.

Yet if I speak my love
and my longing to share
a common joy in linear time,
I fear you may soon recede
like the evening tide.

There is an unwritten law
that we all follow:
the desire for embracing
fenced off by a compulsion for autonomy.

Like hummingbirds, we tread air –
are constantly moving,
always beyond any resting place,
drinking deeply,
while looking back at what was,
tasting what is
and dreaming of what shall be
when we fly away.

© Anne Bryant-Hamon
“Somewhere Between Heaven and Earth"