Unlocking, seeking, push my fingers through the gap,
searching for a surface on the space that is emerging,
listening for a rhythm that the life beyond is turning,
Morning
Mourning
Passing in the crack that now chases round the birthing,
Straining to a place where the edges fight the blurring,
To prey
To pray
Holding to the difference of a heart beginning beating,
Rushing to embrace what may be only fleeting,
A piece
A peace
We are only people,
We tie our hands to straining beasts,
That promise only stretching goals,
Elastic expectations, Self imposed.
We cannot reach, We are no good.
We fail at what we set ourselves,
We cannot measure up.
So stop and sit and be.
And hear the voice inside release.
Let go the ropes that pull,
The one tied to what was,
The one tied to what won’t,
The one tied to the other you,
That whips the fear within.
Sit and share the tears and tears.
Stop and sit and be.
We are only people.
Ripping and shredding,
Torn from the top,
Wilfully separated,
On the altar of “Us”.
Sinfully split.
Painfully parted.
Barriers bolted and raised to the roof,
Lines strongly marked in the dust of the floor,
Cemented, constructed,
dividing, defined.
We built the walls,
we tore the flesh.
We pushed them over and slammed shut the gate!
We raised the flags.
We sang the songs.
We became us,
So they became them.
And now as we wane and struggle for breath,
We open the gates and we wave,
And we “save”.
We sure up our towers,
We repaint our walls,
We gild bright our faces,
And say, “look what we’ve got!”
I dream of contrition,
Of bloody, bent knee.
Of humble demolition,
Fading power released.
Father forgive us,
We know not what we’ve done!
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.
Finding is only the end,
It’s the aching arrival,
The ceasing exhale,
The stretching of never.
Feeling the blood pool,
The earth creep up tired limb,
Sit they say, sit.
But there is peace in the in-between,
In the swing between planting,
Foot after foot.
Peace in the movement,
Peace in the progress,
Peace in the stretch.
There is peace in not knowing what comes next,
Only that next is inevitable,
Next is coming.
Next is yours.
Peace is in the search not only the finding.
Blessed are the survivors, those who drag themselves out of bed each morning and just because they have to. For they show true heart and guts and they will know admiration.
Blessed are the bruised, those who carry the scars and wounds inflicted by the jealous and the angry and yet keep going. For they will leave their attackers behind them and find clear road ahead.
Blessed are the strugglers, those who fight each day to shake of their doubts and fears just to give themselves a chance to breathe. For they will draw deep on their true spirit and will feel the touch of the divine.
Blessed are those who set their face to the future in desperate hope and determination, for they will know themselves and they are seen and known and loved.
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.
“Look after yourself”, they say,
“have some you time!”
In the solitude the noise only amplifies,
The loneliness born in the night swells in the emptiness.
Scratching at the raw earth, fingertips crying for contact,
Wild sounds filling the vocal gap.
Deep into the desert.
Deep into the wild place.
Where I am supposed to find myself,
At least that’s what they say!
Maybe they’re right,
Maybe there will be a sound
Deep within,
A sound that makes some sense.
Behind my competing stories,
Beneath it all.
Maybe not,
Maybe this serves only to prove to me my need for another,
Even others.
Maybe that is what I need to learn?
Maybe that is what I need to find?
Maybe that is why I’m here?
Maybe soon I’ll know.
The sound of sheer silence,
Fights to be heard amongst the clatter and clamour,
Still the battering fears,
The questions that scream,
The anguish that points and pokes,
And tries to suffocate my space,
Doubts that roar in the tumultuous wind,
Accusations that pierce my awareness fired by the storm,
Insecurities crashing in my head in the fall of a great river,
In the noise I hear no voice but my own,
My weak voice, my raw voice, my tired voice.
My voice bringing me down, destroying my confidence, prodding my wounds.
Stand, still.
Stand, still.
Stand, still.
Do not hear the storm, the wind, the rain.
Hear instead the sound of sheer silence.
Hear the voice in peace,
Hear the voice of peace,
Hear the voice… peace.
1 Kings 19:11-13
Through the night Jacob had to fight,
Eye to eye, arm to arm,
held, twisting, pulling, knees. elbows,
Muscles and joints tensed in the search for purchase,
Pressure building in desperation and frustration,
Why must we wrestle, how is that love?
But the fight will not end,
Where is mercy, where is peace?
No space, face to face,
Only hard eyes and harder fists,
Down on the solid earth,
Bruising,
Tearing,
Ripping,
Bleeding,
In the dust and the dirt, stinging raw flesh,
Grinding bones and bedrock,
Forcing breath, and sweat and pain.
Day breaking, body breaking,
By the crooked river,
Bones are bent out of shape,
Forever crooked.
Scars born in love and hope,
Wounds exchanged for a name,
a blessing ripped from deepest injury.
With the rising sun a gift of pain that remains.
A reminder of the most intimate battle.
Not won or lost, just fought.
PICTURA POESIS 