Look deep

Look deep, my friend, look deep,

When you don’t know who it is you look for.

When the questions of the night survive the darks slow end,

And patience speeds away in breathing change.

Look deep,

for now might be the time it can be found,

Deep amongst the childhood tales,

Woven in the half sung songs of youth,

Pushing to be heard in loss and gift,

Seeking and reaching,

Hiding well,

In the remembered gaze of the loved.

In pictures painted with couldn’t care less strokes,

That had no fear of crossing lines,

And bleeding out.

Listen deep to what once whispered happy ever after now,

And span and ran against imagined skies.

Look deep, my friend, look deep.

For She may still sing.

Psalm 139

You search me and know me,
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.

There are many parts of my story that I race past,
holding my breath lest they raise their heads
and show me up for who I fear I am.
Small things that grow from my hidden corners,
swelling, filling, misshaping me.
Things I am told, looks that I catch in the eyes of another.
The leaping of my heart as heat rises and dizziness flows.
They grow and overwhelm, forcing me back into their dark places.
Deep into my shame I have sunk.

You search me and know me,
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.

In the night my spirit wakes and taunts me,
The voices that tell me I can do no good, that I have no value,
That remind me of my failings, of my weakness,
of my splinters and shards.
The faces that stare with eyes which condemn and dismiss me,
That look with disdain and judgement, that puncture my faith.
The sneers and comparisons, the taunts and the jokes.
Deep into my shame I have shrunk.

You search me and know me,
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.

In the morning I face myself in the mirror and see what I have done.
My past actions overwhelm me and change what I see,
They tell me I am wicked, they tell me I am ugly,
They drown my goodness, they suffocate my beauty.
They fight to own and define me, and too often they win.
They become who I am and what I may be.
Deep into my shame I have grown.

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.

Your eyes search me,
You know my heart.
See through my shame,
See deep into my hidden places,
See through my deepest fear and pain,
Show me what you see,
Show me the me you created,
Show me the goodness you know is there,
Show me the strength I cannot feel,
Show me the beauty I cannot see,
Show me the light in my darkness,
Show me the music in my soul.
Help me to release the things I have done which I have let define me,
Help me to release the things that others have done to me that crush my spirit,
Help me to know the difference I make for others,
Help me to trust the difference you make in me,
Help me to be the me you see,
Help me to be the me you love,
Help me to recognise myself in you.

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

Mother and Father God,
Creator, Redeemer, Comforter,
Search me, know me, love me,
Help me to search myself,
Help me to know myself,
Help me to love myself.
Forgive me for the things I have done that shame me,
Forgive me for the things I regret not doing,
Forgive me for not trusting in your grace and love.
Help me to accept total forgiveness,
Help me to live from this day without guilt or shame,
Help me to trust in your grace and love,
Lead me forward in peace and new life.

Search me, God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.

Mark Berry 29/03/2019

Sections from Psalm 139 New International Version (NIV)
Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.

Friends

Through the pleated folded shroud,

My personal projection,

I look upon the polished crowd.

Souls with a connection.

To seek a ricochet of me,

See an image bouncing back,

to paint my picture primary,

In contrast to the black.

More richly saturated,

Not my tired and beaten frame,

No more worn or torn or faded,

By doubts I chose to name.

A dream that flutters, spins, wheels,

Blown by the mornings cast,

Try to catch it, grasp the real,

hold on and make it fast.

And if I look at them I see,

If I can only dare,

The best of who I’m made to be,

A future me we share.

(Nb. Rhyme is really not my strong point!)

A place…

Ragged raw hills of history,

bathe the patterned troughs,

Where we sew lives together.

The now,

catching it’s breath,

under raised umbilical wires.

We cluster,

clinging to each other’s places.

Black and grey slashing movement,

through the gaps.

Ways made first by feet,

wood and finally metal.

Ordered land given shape by people long lost,

carved into purposeful pieces,

bound, walled and walked.

Names and stories that have lost meaning for us,

but still, now, our place.

Here we dig our holes and raise our temples.

Here we find rhythm,

living,

love,

home.

Here we find a place,

to dream of unfettered heights.

Scattered gold

Scattered gold,

Tiny morsels of treasure,

So small and delicate,

Flaky, broken, worthless,

Just as beautiful,

As any fashioned piece,

Perhaps more precious,

In their raw fragility,

A breeze could take them,

Static lift them,

And they are lost,

Taken, gone,

No king could gather them,

lock them beyond sight,

Hold them, hoard them,

No one can own them,

Scattered gold,

Tiny morsels of treasure,

I can see them,

As the light bounces,

Some can’t,

They see only darkness,

But I see riches,

In you,

In each of us,

Some buried deep,

But visible,

to those who choose,

I choose,

I see flashing brilliance,

Glorious sparkles,

I see your gold,

Our gold,

Scattered gold,

Tiny morsels of treasure.

The year of the poets and the prophets

This could be the year of the poets and the prophets.

Why not?

The politicians and profiteers have failed us, the powerful have had their way.

We’ve bowed down to the fear-mongers and fat-cats, who’ve divided us and made it pay.

This could be the year of the poets and the prophets, the artists and the authors, the makers and the movers, the strange and the sublime.

Through them old songs can be reborn and new storylines be told.

Through them there’ll be a place for poetry to fill and shift the soul.

They could paint the future rich in colours still not mixed,

and speak the whispered love language of heaven in our midst.

Could they teach us to abandon the desperate greed for power,

And seek a simple beauty in the patterns of a flower.

To stand and watch the sea breathe deep against the broken land,

And the whitening of the knuckles as we hold another’s hand.

Could this be a year of art, of story, verse and song,

Of the dreams in colourful compassion we’ve painted for so long.

A year of risk and possibility, of creativity and love.

Of tales and tunes that tell of hope and launch us high above.

To look upon this world we walk with eyes that see the new.

So let the poets weave their spells and the prophets speak of you.

beauty?

Beauty (as proverbs says) is fleeting. At least if our understanding of beauty is based only on looks and outward appearance it is. But ‘true’ beauty is a wonderful thing, it shakes the spirit, causes every part of you to fly, to spin and wonder. Beauty is in the play of a child and the sacrifice of a parent, the hand of a friend and the fingertip touch of a lover. Beauty flows from the undefended, from the innocent and the vulnerable. Beauty sparkles in a deep smile, but also in the freedom of tears. Beauty is life lived without pretence, where one is invited in to the whole person. Where joy and pain are shared with generosity and honesty. Beauty is in the passionate kiss and the desperate embrace. Beauty is in an unguarded glance and an open heart. Beauty is in the singer and the dancer who does not need an audience. Beauty is in the fighter, the survivor, the one who will not give up. Beauty is in the struggle to live and the spiritual quest. Most of all I think beauty is in the one who sees and celebrates the beauty in others before their own.