To answer the question posted in the email....I tend to think about what I am going to write if it is a subject I am going to delve into more deeply and then actually write either at home on my laptop or at work on my desktop. In the evening once I wind down for the night I tend to write just a couple of words or thoughts in a journal and read a few pages or do a devotional. Currently reading Living Resistance :)
Karri reminded me that Kaitlin asked about where we write, our sacred composing spaces and rituals. Being a person who eschews routines and regular structure, and who is making friemnds with distraction, I find I write everywhere--at my desk at home, on the back deck; at my office desk at work; in the sanctuary, and since May 17th, we have been traveling so I have written in bed, on floors, in the park, a cafe, in any number of friends sapces and guestrooms> And composing so often while I am walking. The thougnt of a special, designated place is so attractive and appealing, but I expect that is for the next life to make happen!
Compost limerick
(To sing as I do yard work 😜)
There once was a daughter of dirt,
who loved to eat garden dessert-
veggie ends and fruit peels,
old leftover meals,
until Autumn she hit a growth spurt!
The world deeply moves me
yet I learned to keep
composure, to stay
put together
while potent feelings
stirred inside me
I didn’t know
how to feel them
to create conditions
for them to breakdown
into fertile soil
to nourish my growth
I’m learning to compost
break cycles feeding my landfill
make new cycles that give life
I give my feelings air
tend to them lovingly
so they can decompose
I let them deeply move me
Compost
It’s amazing
how the
undesired and
unneeded
of daily life
can be
transformed into
life-giving substance
that nurtures
growth and
gives back
what is
desired and
needed
in daily life.
it is almost as if
the Earth knows
what She is doing
.
She has been
composting
for aeons
.
elementally
my dear humans,
elementally
I am sorry.
I tried to stop it, really I did.
Or at least steer it into the grassy ditch.
to get to the good words hiding behind. but,
with no brakes or steering wheel,
it was all i could do to just hold on,
as my dope incrusted, alcohol saturated
runaway train of a brain,
laughing crazy loud,
runs hellbound straight for the priceless
Hayseed Dixie chorus:
"Im keepin your poop in a jar,
until you come back.
so i dont forget
just what you are.
Yeah, im keepin your poop in a jar"
(i really had no choice).
Compost is much more
than simply recycling;
turning death and decay
into life and growth
breaking down to build up
from little, abundance
an opportunity
for sustainability
to create a system
that gives more
than it takes.
compost
I think that
is what I want to be
something transformed
from waste into
fertilizer that
provides nutrients
for others
and I think
that is what has
been drawing
me to
the Eucharist (Holy Communion)
as the true
symbol of what
Christians are called to
take up in their lives
as opposed to the cross
Jesus took
the broken parts of
his experience and
shared it with others
so that he provides
nourishment for life
Compost (this one feels a bit like the child in me offering her perspective...)
I don't really like compost
all that smelly rubbish
bugs and worms
getting dirty is not really my thing
But I do like herbs
and pretty flowers
which grow so much better
when that mysterious muck
does its job
I suspect there is a lesson
for life in this
transformation
from dark to light
from dirt to colour
from rubbish to better life.....
Compost
.
I’ve run out of words,
Just left with the scraps,
So I put them all in a bucket
And take them out to the edge of the woods.
There, I’ll pile them up
With the rest of the discards,
Tossing on leaves and flowers
And handfuls of soil to boot,
Then go back inside to start dinner
Without a single glance back.
I’ll write and I’ll
Scrap and I’ll add and
Keep going, the
Pile ever growing, the
Days ever flowing,
And then sometime in early autumn,
When the leaves fall on their own
Into my pile,
I’ll remember it’s there
And stand beside it once more.
Try as I did to think I failed,
To throw my treasures out with the trash,
To see I built a broken world,
I am humbled to find that
In the presence of this decay,
I orchestrated a world with the
Movement of decomposition after all.
.
Thanks for that, my little friends.
Compost
Refuse....reused
Scraps....salvaged
Decay into life.
Karri Temple Brackett
May 24, 2023
https://themarvelousandthemundane.com/2023/05/24/compost/
COMPOST
In some aspect of my being
I am always disintegrating
and crumbling away
An ongoing evolution
as a falling apart
in order to fall open
This requires a dying
a deep surrender
Withering and washing away
the dross, rubbish
and built up waste
That which is no longer serves
becomes the fodder for compost
Fertilizer for the new seeds of
longing…
Callings that must be
attended to and answered
A dying away to make space
for the birthing
To answer the question posted in the email....I tend to think about what I am going to write if it is a subject I am going to delve into more deeply and then actually write either at home on my laptop or at work on my desktop. In the evening once I wind down for the night I tend to write just a couple of words or thoughts in a journal and read a few pages or do a devotional. Currently reading Living Resistance :)
Compost
Old fallen tree along the trail,
bright amber orange, decomposing,
Food for the earth and the beings surrounding,
Still a living organic beauty even in death.
As we trekked up to Hightop Mountain,
I mused how the words of the last few days blended.
Miracles. Death. Compost. A trinity.
Source, kindred and spirit.
Jesus became compost, or at least the
resurrection brought new life out of death.
His new look familiar and not so much,
A dawn dreamer breaking all the rules.
Won’t we all be compost, sooner or later?
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, earth to earth.
Give us this day our Daily compost;
rich, vital, nourishing soil that sustains us.
In our death lie the seeds for new beginnings,
and food for our descendants to feast on in our memory.
So that one day, story after story unfolding,
The miracle of love breaks through.
Karri reminded me that Kaitlin asked about where we write, our sacred composing spaces and rituals. Being a person who eschews routines and regular structure, and who is making friemnds with distraction, I find I write everywhere--at my desk at home, on the back deck; at my office desk at work; in the sanctuary, and since May 17th, we have been traveling so I have written in bed, on floors, in the park, a cafe, in any number of friends sapces and guestrooms> And composing so often while I am walking. The thougnt of a special, designated place is so attractive and appealing, but I expect that is for the next life to make happen!
Bravo!