Pentecost to Ordinary Time Poems

We are back in liturgical "Ordinary Time", but I have always found that transition strange - a hybrid time, so that's reflected in the mixture here..
Click here for a Pentecost Poem from 2010  titled Ignis Spiritus Paracliti by St. Hildegard of Bingen.

"I am Wisdom. Mine is the blast of the resounding Word through which all creation came to be, and I quickened all things with my breath so that not one of them is mortal in its kind; for I am Life. 

Indeed I am Life, whole and undivided — not hewn from any stone, or budded from branches, or rooted in virile strength; but all that lives has its root in Me. 

For Wisdom is the root whose blossom is the resounding Word….

I flame above the beauty of the fields to signify the earth — the matter from which humanity was made. 
I shine in the waters to indicate the soul, for, as water suffuses the whole earth, the soul pervades the whole body. 

I burn in the sun and the moon to denote Wisdom, and the stars are the innumerable words of Wisdom."

 The tragedy of life is not death, but what we let die inside of us while we live.
by N. Cousins

A Blessing for One Who is Exhausted
 by John O'Donohue

When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic,
 Time takes on the strain until it breaks;
 Then all the unattended stress falls in on the mind
 like an endless, increasing weight, 
 the light in the mind becomes dim.

 Things you could take in your stride before
 Now become laboursome events of will.
 Weariness invades your spirit.
 Gravity begins falling inside you, 
Dragging down every bone. 

 The tide you never valued has gone out. 
And you are marooned on unsure ground. 
Something within you has closed down; 
And you cannot push yourself back to life.
 You have been forced to enter empty time. 

The desire that drove you has relinquished. 
There is nothing else to do now but rest
 And patiently learn to receive the self 
You have forsaken for the race of days.

 At first your thinking will darken 
And sadness take over like listless weather. 
The flow of unwept tears will frighten you.
 You have travelled too fast over false ground; 

Now your soul has come to take you back.
Take refuge in your senses, 
Open up To all the small miracles you rushed through. 

 Become inclined to watch the way of rain 
When it falls slow and free.
 Imitate the habit of twilight, 
Taking time to open the well of colour
 That fostered the brightness of day.

 Draw alongside the silence of stone
 Until its calmness can claim you. 
Be excessively gentle with yourself. 
 Stay clear of those vexed in spirit.

 Learn to linger around someone of ease
 Who feels they have all the time in the world.
 Gradually, you will return to yourself, 
Having learned a new respect for your heart
 And the joy that dwells far within slow time.

And yet, Though We Strain
 ~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~

And yet though we strain
against the deadening grip
of daily necessity,
I sense there is this mystery:

All life is being lived.

Who is living it then?
Is it the things themselves,
or something waiting inside them,
like an unplayed melody in a flute?

Is it the winds blowing over the waters?
Is it the branches that signal to each other?

Is it flowers
interweaving their fragrances
or streets, as they wind through time?

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