Summer and Right Now - a poem.

[A personal true story.]

“This summer I’d like to ask you out for ice cream.”

On the phone, the steady tenor soothes my ears,

coaxes a semester’s worth of knots from my neck.

After scholastic stress and a personal life akin to a soap opera

—though mine has far less cleavage—

this guy asks me to go for ice cream.

The promise of that future, innocent joy

surprises me, refreshes me.

As soon as I hear the sweet offer,

my answer melts down my chin as quickly as the treat: Yes.

Yes… then, and again, and sooner-if-it-were-possible!

Any promise of joy with him briefly erases

the incredible space between us,

that gulf containing 800 miles,

a year apart in age,

and the long months between spring and summer,

so my answer is still yes.

I imagine his broad smile to my response,

his frame a tall tree to lean into.

After college woes and social drama, his appeal
of innocence, romance and rest are everything I crave.

He embodies these things easily,

but with the best of youth
balanced with the firm intention of adulthood,

so that I know not just what he stands for,

but who it is that’s standing there, on the other end.

I repeat my answer, emphatic,

“Yes. I’d really like that.”

He had said this summer,

but I could start right now.

--Ellen H. 
[For my love.] 

"Do whatever awakens you to love" - thoughts on Interior Castle.

Thoughts on St Teresa of Avila and her book Interior Castle, her book on prayer:
She was a Carmelite nun in 1500's Spain, but aside from those life details, we might be kindred spirits. Other than that...

Several Christian authors have recommended this and I finally checked it out. I wish I had read it in Spanish or another English translation, as the translation I read (by Mirabai Starr) was geared for non-Christian spiritual seekers, so some of the translated words were stretched: "spirit of evil" for Satan and "errors" for sins. I get the attempt to be more relevant and less churchy, but I personally do not need that kind of editing, especially because I already understand the words in Spanish, so this takes it further away from the original language words in my mind. The one exception to this was the fitting choice of "Beloved" instead of Lord (for Señor), as it denotes a personal, affectionate relationship, which was certainly what this mystic nun had with God.

Aside from that, the translator did write a helpful prologue with Teresa's life summary and explanations about her world context, like how self-effacing she was, probably due to the Spanish Inquisition looking for any excuse to punish unorthodoxy. So since writing to other nuns about ecstatic experiences in prayer was probably going to irk someone in authority, she included repeated reminders such as "but I don't know what I'm talking about" and "more learned men can speak of what they know".

My favorite quote might be the most famous one from the book. "What there is to do now is not to think, but to love, and to do whatever best awakens you to love." Very poetic, and in spirituality, quite fitting. What best awakens me to love? What about you? Since I often find I am lacking in love, what should I so be doing more of? (I should probably write a poem about this since I seem to often find clarity by writing lyrically...)

I also liked how Teresa was very practical in her suggestions for prayer (and meditation): don't worry too much about your busy thoughts bogging you down while you try to concentrate. Just let them go, and with time you will connect your soul, a deeper part than your rational, day-to-day mind, to the Lord, and He will also do work in you to respond to your effort to connect. I found that simple and refreshing.

She repeatedly encourages humility on the path to deeper spiritual maturity and communion with the Beloved, which I agree is crucial. Otherwise, from a human stance, the more godly you are, the more proud you'd become. But humility is everything as we grow-- and also inevitable if we're truly growing closer to God, as we realize how great He is and how loved yet undeserving we are.

Overall, this was the perfect read for me: nonfiction, part biography, more parts spiritually devotional. As usual, I took notes, because I like looking back on details of previous reads and because I retain more that way... Yeah okay, I'm a nerd. Has anyone else read this book or other works by her or about her? What are your thoughts and inspirations?

Thoughtfully yours,
Ellen H.

P.S.  The book is about closer and closer stages of intimacy with the Lord, and the front cover art of this particular edition was a painting of a spiral waterway through a castle traveled by maidens in boats called "Spiral Transit." It hints at the concept of the book's title, but is ironic because the painter Remedios Varo was critical of (though influenced by) Catholicism. It was also ironic for me because she also painted "Embroidering the Earth Mantle" which I wrote an earlier ekphrastic poem about, "Hum of Creation". I thought Spiral Transit's style looked familiar but didn't know it was by Varo until I looked it up.

All the Little Nails - a poem.

Gutter guy installs new gutters

on old metal roof and pounds back in

all the little nails rattled loose

over years of weather

since most the work

is getting on the roof at all.

Such whack-a-mole maintenance appeals

to one so poor at installing and repairing.

I figure prevention is nine tenths of the law

so now I find and fix loose screws everywhere

like on thresholds, outlets, trim (and you too).

Likewise, I’d rather go to counseling

to get my hang ups hammered out

before a mental health meltdown.

You tell me I am brave for going

but I don’t really understand:

to me, bravery is wrangling broken gutters from debris

in the middle of a gusty storm

instead of sitting on the roof on a sunny day,

calmly pounding nails back in, one by one.

--Ellen H.

©Ellen H.

The Irony of Devouring - an ekphrastic poem (and true story)

Standing in the Prado Museum in Madrid, Spain

in a spacious room dedicated to Francisco Goya’s art

I finally see the masterpiece in person:

“Saturn Devouring His Son”

depicting a crazed god-man gnawing
a half-torn, bloodied body, set against stormy darkness.

But rather than the typical shock-and-disgust reaction,

I am drawn to it.

Quietly moved, in fact, not in morbid delight

but wondrous curiosity and solemn awe.

I sense its extremes as it is amplified by real life—

five times as big, five times as wondrous.

Eerie art rarely intrigues me—violence, death

and utter blackness don’t draw me in—

but this peculiar piece and I have a bond that goes way back:

first in middle school Spanish class, then high school Art,

now Spanish Art Appreciation for college study abroad

where I’m clued in to the painter’s sad life story.

Perhaps I see the depth of desperation in the whites

of those crazed eyes, and imagine I feel Goya’s ironic agony

as I’m reminded how sometimes our depravity

devours our loved ones despite ourselves,

and how you don’t always need a happy ending

to tell a great story, but still we’d prefer one

as my classmates turn to other works,

for visual relief, only to find a Dog Half-submerged in sand,

while I stay still, to consider Saturn at greater length
to soak it in and experience its deepest stark effect.

They say, great art whispers to us

so I sit down, and take the time to listen.

 ©Ellen H.

P.S. I studied abroad in Spain in 2009, as a part of my Spanish major. See my blog post about this trip to Madrid, including liking Goya's works at the Prado, on a weekend excursion.