Reflections from a Coffee Shop

 

Reflections. 

Turning the calendar to a new year.

I take myself to my local coffee shop on a grey and humid last day of the year. Other than home, my favourite place to reflect, write, read, and think is a coffee shop. There's a general buzz and atmosphere in a coffee shop that delights my mind to think and expand.

Flipping to a fresh page in my journal I write four pages without pausing for more than a moment. The cup and saucer holding a peppermint latte is placed on my table and I thank the barista and enjoy little sips between pages.

Thankfulness arises, a hearty dose of it. Amidst any struggle or trial in the year, a path is always set before me to follow in the light and life of Christ, or go elsewhere into darkness and despair. My own life has had deep struggles enter in. The world around us has held a heavy dose of grim, but we can always choose to enter into the light of Christ. Our hope, the source of joy, and the forever we can hold close now.

As always, I turn to poetry to help articulate the thought. Lately, Emily Dickinson has been my go-to poet. I have a thick, heavy book collecting all her poems, which comprises 636 pages of her quippy short verses that always leave me with a contemplative mindset. This chunky book has been a permanent fixture on my dining table and desk, as it's so easy to flip open at random and read a poem. Her trademark dashes and capitalization is another features of her poems that causes me to pause and ponder. A unique talent so enjoyable to read and discover. 

Forever – is composed of Nows –
‘Tis not a different time –
Except for Infiniteness –
And Latitude of Home –

From this – experienced Here –
Remove the Dates – to These –
Let Months dissolve in further Months –
And Years – exhale in Years –

Without Debate – or Pause –
Or Celebrated Days –
No different Our Years would be
From Anno Dominies –

- Emily Dickinson

Happy New Year - may 2023 hold the forever in the close now.

Winters in the World

 

And so I cannot think, for the world,
why my spirit does not grow dark
when I consider all the life of men:
how they suddenly left the hall,
brave young warriors. Just so this earth
every day declines and decays,
and so a man cannot grow wise before he has had
his share of winters in the world.

(The Wanderer)

The year revolves again and again, round and round we come back to the seasons with a year in between another transition, visiting that somehow familiar feeling yet maybe something is different this time around. The years turn and they bring us into wisdom as we live in the world, and therefore live through winters in the world. Seasons help us recognize the differences of our lives - the cycle, the repetition is welcome to our souls. That slow unfolding ability to see our lives. We are able to (hopefully) pay attention to see each turn of the calendar with new eyes in the world which we have lived in for many years. 

The four seasons we are familiar with, but this book brings them all to new light from the perspective of the Anglo-Saxon time - winter, lencten, sumor, haerfest. It has been a delight to read, especiallly as it starts in Winter, and we are in the depths of Winter now. 

Maybe sorrow clings to the heart in this season. Perhaps truth remains elusive.

Time keeps gliding onward in one direction. We can look backward to gain wisdom and look hopeful into the road ahead.

Deeper we go into Winter now. Christmas is just days away. My heart softens and quiets and I pray for  refection time to rest and focus on the gift of Christmas coming. In a season we moderns have made to be so busy and hectic, I find my soul longing for retreat and delight in this darkest season where the light of Christ should become what we see everything else in the world by.

Bless you this Christmas - may it bring you tidings of deep joy. Joy beyond what we could ever ask for.

Christ was born, glory of kings,
at Midwinter, marvellous prince,
eternal Almighty, and on the eighth day
named 'Healer', heaven's guardian.

(The Menologium, an Anglo-Saxon poem about the cycle of the year)

Cosy with a Dash of Christmas

 

Wintry tales and dashes of Christmas. Short stories. Poems. Scripture. So many wonderful words to set the mind in a place of the coming of Christmas. Festive and beautiful Christmas carols fill my head all day long these days.

The First Noel the Angels did say 
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep
On a cold winter's night that was so deep
Noel Noel Noel Noel
Born is the King of Israel!

I just recently heard a lovely insight about the incarnation which set my thoughts to pondering, from Athanasius - He became what we are, so we can become what He is. 

Hark! The herald angels sing 
"Glory to the new-born king
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled"
Joyful all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With angelic host proclaim
"Christ is born in Bethlehem"
Hark! The herald angels sing
"Glory to the new-born king"

The coming of Christ is a shocking event that happened in our world, in history, tied to a time and place. And yet it holds everything together even deeper than we can understand. It is the thread that weaves into every aspect of history. Do you notice how in many of the carols there are words about peace and reconciliation? Our broken world needs that hope of peace and true reconciliation, which is what God offers to us in Jesus. 

Oh holy night, the stars are brightly shining
It is the night of the dear Savior's birth
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
'Til he appeared and the soul felt its worth

What a beautiful, festive week and weekend - reading Christmas stories, watching Christmasy videos, my office Christmas dinner, my niece performed in her piano recital, and my church had its annual Christmas concert (full orchestra and several choirs). Lovely and festive, cheerful and hopeful. I have been feeling the spirit of Christmas and I hope you are, too - the Light of the world shines through the darkness, and the darkness cannot and does not overcome it.

Moving Into Advent

 

As the calendar moves us into a new season, now in the second week of Advent, so I move into a new cosy home (and little by little getting organized). Bookshelves are stacked haphazardly instead of thoughtfully, I am learning where things are and where to store items, and I am getting accustomed to sounds and the environment of a new place. We have journeyed through the first week of advent. A period starting in darkness leading into the weeks of waiting for the gift of Jesus.

The days continue to grow shorter. Dawn rises later and later as I am sipping coffee by the window, I start in dim light and watch the gentle glow begin to cast itself over the land. The sun sets before the end of the work day, and we need the warm lights to glow for us early in the evening.

The light is gentle and it is growing as we inch our ways toward Christmas. 

O come O come, Emmanuel...

It's the season of light dawning. Doesn't it seem even more significant when the world is dark, both metaphorically and naturally (seasonally)? That light you see cresting over the horizon is hopeful and lovely. It awakens our senses to a fresh day with all the possibilities open to us.

Like a new journal full of pages, each new page is a clean start. Our imaginations can get a grip onto something in the open space of a new day, to land somewhere wonder-filled.

These approaching Winter days are full of ways to see the world with fresh eyes of a new day.

It makes an Even Face
Of Mountain and of Plain -
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again.

(Emily Dickinson)

People look East, as the hymn says, because the dawn is coming. Look to the hope of what is to come. The Light is coming, and this is the time in Advent where we look East and prepare for the Love, Light, Goodness, as the Lord is coming.

People look East and sing today, Love the Lord is on the way.

Dreich and Grey

 

Dreich and grey
Straight away
Sets my day
Into beautiful sway

The sky hangs low on this weekend day, settling a misty cold over the land. I hold my mug of coffee in my hands to warm them. The chill is wonderfully seasonal. Autumnal atmosphere is perfection of the comforts we have inside our cosy homes.

This kind of day embodies the perfect time to be tucked away at home packing packing packing. Except when I make a sandwich, and when I write this. Maybe I will even grab my book later to read. But first I must pack my teacups. The weather is too perfect not to take a few minutes to write. I can't help it. Weather inspires me. The cold, grey, misty day gives me the mental energy to feel like I could write a novel.

Today has been a perfectly lovely British weather day. Grey, but gentle. Chilly and drizzly. Dreich (a Scottish word meaning dull, dreary, gloomy, rainy) all day. It's a special treat for me, and I feel like I should indulge in the rarity of it, as much as I can in between boxes. If I disappear for awhile, come check on me. I might have fallen into a big box and into another realm.

I am moving in a little over a week. Not far, just a few minutes down the road, but it's a fresh start that will be inspiring. It's just this in-between bit that is difficult. Distractions come in all kinds of shapes and deadlines loom without wavering. I am focused on the packing so I can move as planned. It pains me to put other creative and reading things on hold, but I shall get back to those deeper creative things once I move and unpack. I know I need to give the space these days need to get organized and ready. Fit in the reading and writing in short snippets.

It is very chilly in here. Of course I don't turn on the unit with heat. I will pack instead and quickly forget that I am chilly. I made a cup of jasmine green tea, added some oat milk, and sipping on it now is bliss.

I rest in thankfulness I feel about each day and its gifts. In the week of Thanksgiving the opportunity to reflect is abundant, even amidst other things. Unexpected, unasked for things come that grace my life and I wonder how and why I should ever deserve it. I don't. It's humbling because I know this is the kind of love and grace the Lord shows us everyday. We don't deserve that love. Yet we have it and can accept it, or reject it. I dwell in the thankfulness that arises within me, and thank the Lord for that which is beyond me, which graces me, and offers me the reminder of God's goodness and love.

A Certain Truth in Uncertain Times

 

...the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil. 

John 3.19

Each day we are given the gift of a sunrise and a fresh start to awaken in the world. We might make some coffee with the hope and prayer that the day might bring joy. We remember what struggle yesterday might have brought. It comes wafting back to us with the rising steam of coffee. 

We have the choices before us every day, whether we work, volunteer, meet with others, or travel. Each day presents us with hours of time that we get to choose how each minute is used. Are we making the choice to do something good in each minute of the day?

We might feel inundated by constant reminders of disarray and suffering. Of division and selfishness. One cannot turn to any website or social media platform and not see it. We might feel it personally in different ways too. A disconnected feeling from what is true and good.

This all leads us to feel rather alone in the world. Nobody else could possibly feel the disconnectedness we feel, as our minds swirl into the chaos these are the words we listen to. If we focus on them long enough, they become our reality. We think we are alone with nobody to listen to us or care. We think we have to figure it out ourselves, as we have no one to turn to. Or we turn the wrong way because it seems to fill the need.

We try to fit puzzle pieces together and only feel bereft of any real answer. We seek happiness wherever it feels good for the moment, not thinking about if that's actually what God desires for us. The best goodness might be waiting for us while we busy ourselves with distractions that we cling to to avoid anything real.

I am one tiny person who leads a quiet life, and yet I see this all around me. I hear this. I feel this. 

That must mean I am not the only one. You're not the only one.

In the Gospel of John, the end of chapter 2 says "for he (Jesus) knew what was in man."

How does Jesus know? He was a man - living and breathing. Eating and laughing. Hugging and walking. He knows the heart of man, because he was one. 

God as Creator of the universe might seem elusive sometimes - as Spirit which we cannot see. God is spirit, life, breath, wind. He goes where He pleases because He is everywhere at all times. He is beyond time. There are no restrictions for God. But we humans like tangible things. We like some image or example. God as spirit can be hard to grasp in our earthly limitations.

The dark haired, tanned skin man called Jesus walked the earth in leather sandals. His feet got dusty. He shared meals with people. He told stories. He came down from heaven to draw closer to us. To show us how to live and love. To share examples of what the Kingdom of God is to set our imaginations on fire. We had always resisted. We still do. He was reaching for us then. He still is now. We are never alone.

This is what I cling to. Whether times are calm or uncertain. It's the only thing that was certain then, and will always be certain forever.

Cosy Autumn Mysteries

 

Intuition is like reading a word without having to spell it out. A child can't do that because it has had so little experience. A grown-up person knows the word because they've seen it often before.
- Agatha Christie

It might not feel like Autumn here, with temperatures still climbing into the mid-upper 80s, but it feels very atmospheric in the book world anytime. It is the time of year when I crave the mysteries and Autumnal vibes. With the season sprouting up everywhere around us, apples, pumpkins, leaves, and spices, I pretend we are in a new season with some decor, candles, and books. I buy apples. And I cook some dishes with butternut squash. 

I recently picked up a couple of Agatha Christie mysteries at the library, which were enjoyable reads, doing well to impart those mysterious vibes of solving puzzles. One was a spy thriller (Passenger to Frankfurt) and one was a murder mystery (Sad Cypress). Both were fun, puzzle solving adventures.

Life is full of mystery. We have seen much of these things before in perhaps smaller ways. Mystery seems to be swallowing the time around us, with questions and wonderings. I think part of why some of us enjoy murder mysteries so much is that they are a kind of fantasy, meaning, they are rather dramatic and unrealistic, so it's an escape from our own problems. It's not likely that kind of murder mystery would happen to us. All the while it is a fascinating exploration of human nature, personality, and crime. Why do people do what they do? What are the motives behind crime? Is there some past occurrence that deeply wounded a character? Is there another way to solve the puzzle of the murder? Did you catch that missing piece which broke the alibi? 

Using pieces of clues and observation, one does solve the mystery and/or murder. It's a cosy thing, with these books, that there is a mystery solved, and the reasons are brought to light. It reminds me that sometimes we think we can hide our selfish or bad behavior and it not be found out, it usually comes to light at some point. Not that we are committing crimes, of course, it's usually small things with us in real life. But that's what makes these kinds of golden age mysteries so enjoyable. They are at the same time relatable (we can sometimes put ourselves in the shoes of the characters and either feel the same or feel strongly opposed) and also provide us with an encounter of an outlandish fantasy kind of mystery that won't happen in your life that makes it an exciting read to puzzle the brain around. Don't mind me whilst I dip into many mysteries this season.

A Poem for October

 

Mid-October rises like heat, staying close
To the walls of a late summer sun,
Not wanting to let go to the breeze
Coming from the north, let it come.

Let the orange hues emerge to light
The paths of Autumn treads, fading
Leaves decorate the ground, confetti
Of a season, muted beauty abating.

Here at last, a taste of Autumn -
Butternut, acorn, pumpkin, spices
Invigorate and encapsulate a season
Of harvest and plenty of nature's devices.

For the Love of Libraries

 

Then dead souls woke; the thoughts of men
Whose bones were dust revived again;
The cloister's silence found a tongue,
Old prophets spake, old poets sung.

And here, to-day, the dead look down,
The kings of mind again we crown;
We hear the voices lost so long,
The sage's words, the sibyl's song.

Here Greek and Roman find themselves
Alive along these crowded shelves;
And Shakespeare treads again his stage,
And Chaucer paints anew his age.

As if some Pantheon's marbles broke
Their stony trance, and lived and spoke,
Life thrills along the alcoved hall,
The lords of thought await our call!

(from "The Library" by John Greenleaf Whittier)

I will always contend that libraries are magical places. What other place can offer thousands of worlds to explore? Thousands of different eyes to see through. In our world so inundated in tech where everything is about the newest devices and apps are required for everything, I feel myself going the opposite way to the tangible and lasting things that won't run out of battery, won't rely on anything else to work, or won't track our every move. 

My local library just re-opened, after a couple years of construction updating and upgrading. They also added an area that is a local history/cultural museum, which tells the story of our city. I was delighted to visit recently, and I won't be a stranger as I have been over the construction period. I will get back into a routine of going on a regular basis for lunch or just tea in the café (Black & Brew), having a browse on the shelves of the books for sale, and enjoying a wander through the fiction/non-fiction/poetry/mystery/etc shelves for a few reads to check-out. This time, I picked up two Agatha Christie mysteries and a book of Jorge Luis Borges' poems. 

Literary experience heals the wound, without undermining the privilege, of individuality. There are mass emotions which heal the wound; but they destroy the privilege. In them our separate selves are pooled and we sink back into sub-individuality. But in reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself. Like the night sky in the Greek poem, I see with a myriad eyes, but it is still I who see. Here, as in worship, in love, in moral action, and in knowing, I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I do. 

(C.S. Lewis)

My visit re-ignited my love for libraries, which has always been there and always will be. They are wonder-filled places. You never know what you are going to find. Kind of like a used bookstore. Except it's free. In a time where the costs of everything has risen, and continues to rise, the library is still free. Thousands of books at your fingertips. A place to relax and browse. A place to meet up with others. A place to study and think. A place to warm up during cold days, or cool down during long summer days. A place to greet the books and let a few find their way into your hands.

And now I commend you again to your books. Books are delightful society. If you go into a room and find it full of books - and without even taking them down from their shelves - they seem to speak to you, to bid you welcome.

( W.E. Gladstone)

So, welcome the the library. Go check it out and see what grabs you. And enjoy learning amazing things.

Visiting Rodin

 

I recently visited with the Rodin sculpture collection on display right now at the Polk Museum of Art, something I have wanted to do for a few months when it first opened. It closes at the end of October.

I sometimes forget how much I enjoy a good visit to an art museum until I go and engage with the artist, the work, and the stories. I am always up for some art and history (the two usually go together), but Auguste Rodin also touches a note of the familiar (many of these sculptures are so well known). Another artist I have deeply appreciated for years is the German poet Rainer Maria Rilke, who worked for Rodin in the early 1900's. So, I have known of Rodin, but never known his works in real life in an up-close way. So, I was very much looking forward to a little visit when I heard of this exhibit opening.

I picked a good time to go on a Sunday afternoon. It was not very busy and I could take my time walking around, reading all the info provided. I really didn't know much about Rodin, except his connection with Rilke, so it was enjoyable to learn about his life and work. "The Gates of Hell" was a piece modelled after Dante's The Divine Comedy, so naturally that drew my attention and interest. "The Benedictions" was kind of angelic and mythical. The story of the "Burghers of Calais" was a moving tale (with accompanying sculptures of the individual persons) of a siege during the Hundred Years' War when the French town of Calais was taken by the English and the town's supplies was completely cut off so the people starved for 11 months. Until 6 people offered themselves as sacrifices to the Lords of England in exchange for relief to the town. Rodin sculpted each of the 6 people, most were on display, but apparently they were never executed as the King's wife changed his mind in the end, but that willingness to walk into certain death to relieve the siege of the town is memorialized in these bronze figures.

 So, a little art date to the museum to see the Rodin sculptures was a great way to spend a little time. Something about sculptures fascinates me. How they are molded and formed into a new creation is a wonder to my non-artistic mind. An art filled visit engages my senses and words with a bit of history brought to my doorstep, so close by at the Polk Museum of Art.