In Praise of Sweet Darkness

The following poem by David Whyte was selected for inspiration to write and experiment with new kinds of poetry during a session of The Sacred Center’s Awakening the Creative Spirit program. In this exercise we used a modified and condensed version of the Glosa style to create "In Praise of Sweet Darkness."

Sweet Darkness

When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.

When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.

There you can be sure
you are not beyond love…

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

Anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.

-- David Whyte

"ancient" photo by lucy

In Praise of Sweet Darkness

The dank, moist smell of a cave.
The skin of a snake molting away.
The rich loam of life.
Time to go into the dark where the night has eyes to recognize its own.

A mother’s womb.
One mustard seed of hope.
The blood of crucifixion.
There you can be sure you are not beyond love…

Holding & sustaining.
Nurturing & growing.
Rising from the dead.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn

Birth moving into new life.
The oak rising from an acorn.
Darkness giving way to light.
Anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you.

Remembrance & Surprise

"offering" photo by bill hughlett

I don’t recall ever being so focused on or interested in the season or spirit of Advent as I have been this year. The word advent means “coming” or “arrival.” For me, it also feels like a time of remembrance. A remembering of story—the story of my personal life as well as remembrance of the greatest story ever told—the coming of Christ, the birth of a King in a manger and the resurrection of a man from the dead.

The advent season is also one filled with surprise. I cannot help but imagine the surprise (more likely shock) of a young Mary when the angel told her she would give birth to a Savior. Fast forward thirty or so years and witness the surprise of the women who found the tomb empty; their friend and king gone.

We live with a God of surprise. Advent is filled with both surprise and anticipation. These are the themes for me this year as I sit in the darkness and wait. Part of me knows exactly for what I am waiting. I am waiting expectantly for the coming of the Lord and the celebration of his birth. More present in my mind, however, is the anticipation for the coming surprise. What will happen next in my life? From where will the next surprise come? How and when will I leave this darkness?

It is important for me to remember I have been here before—in the darkness—in this time of waiting and in this season of Advent. I will do my best to wait patiently but I am also filled with an excited anticipation—like a child waiting to open the first gift on Christmas morning. While I know the greatest gift was given with the birth of a small child centuries ago, I am still called to remember that each day is a new gift waiting to be unwrapped. Sometimes it feels like a cruel joke because the layers of wrapping paper are so many that I feel it will take forever to get to the present. Still, I will wait and I will pray to see each layer as a gift in itself with something to offer.

Remembrance and the willingness to be surprised are two of the greatest gifts we can offer ourselves each day. Advent is a time of waiting in the dark—waiting for the next surprise. My goal is to appreciate the darkness and remember it allows the light of surprise to shine even brighter.

Inner Poet

My inner poet is French.
Tipped beret and Mona Lisa smile. Her voice rings out with playful laughter, her arms wide open, leaping into darkness and light. She is beautiful and earnest. Seductive and serious.
She was born on the wings of angels and birthed out of pain and suffering.
I recognize her in the first morning light by the gentle shores of the sea. She is bathed in God’s fragrance and surrounded by belief.

What does this inner poet know for sure?
She is light. She is dark. Complete and unfinished. A creature of God. A glorious paradox.
This poet lives hidden from sight. Covered in blue scarves and white. Peeking through the window and knocking on the door. She lives at home inviting others to come and sit by her fire.

Her imagination is infinite. She dreams of knowing and being known, of embracing and being embraced. She desires community, fellowship, peace and solitude.
She must speak of everything. The resonant and the dissonant. The beauty and the depravity. The joy and the sorrow. The fullness of life and the darkness of death.

She sits on the sidewalks of Life, holding a thin cigarette and dreaming her dreams.
Her voice speaks in a beautiful accent. Tipped beret and all-knowing smile.
My inner poet is a romantic. She is French.

photo: mona lisa by italian (not french) painter, leonardo da vinci

Changing Seasons

Drawn to fire. Bursting color—red and yellow.
Texture. Shape. Bounty. God’s creativity.
Drawn to the messy versus the neat and tidy.
The composting leaves playing in water together.
The occasional blue leftover from summer—tranquil and calm.
The red is alive saying, “See me. Look at me.”
The branches of trees providing shelter. The old knobby trunks, gnarled with age.

The freshness of water. The cleansing of rain. The saturation of ground.
A pathway of color—neat and tidy—messy and composting.
Earthy browns. Spring greens. Changing autumn.

Waiting for winter. Welcoming the darkness.
Saying farewell to the brilliant light for a season.

photos by lucy

Heart Haiku

Heart
Crimson Cold
Beating, Breathing, Bleeding
Caught in a Vise
Yearning

Heart
Purity Personified
Beating, Bleeding, Breathing
Caught in a Vise
Loving

Heart Caught in a Vise
Evil and Beauty Conveyed
Grips the Hold of Life

modern cinquain and haiku poetry