Rhythm & Respiration

Rhythm & Respiration
Reflecting on nature-based therapy, learning, well-being and value-added life ...

Wednesday, December 27, 2023

Of Stones and Stars Christmas, 2023



 Of Stones and Stars                                                                                                      

The boulder we inherited from Sisyphus grows by hours, days, years, but often lies deceptively flat or stair-like and scalable for decades.

At times the growing hulk even holds the warmth of sunlight and we find soft mossy edges to curl against and rest.

Familiarity has its own comfort.

But, in a millisecond of time the reality of camel backs and straw spines become cold stone fact.

When ‘that which does not kill you makes you stronger’ becomes an ominous echo of inverted meaning.

The boulder speaks in granite tones too hard to ignore.

Did you not remember that even Jesus died?

Reeling at the un-sensical pouring out of vengeance and death as Herod’s rage stains the earth yet again, I see that quiet Baby in the soft manger hay sleeping amidst a twinkling torrent of star-eyed angels; safe in temporis.

But we know this will not last and Mary’s heart will break over and over again until it is so large that only Heaven itself can hold it.

The boulder rolls on bruising out a cyclical message across the landscape of time:

Death is inevitable as night. Innocents suffer.

The thrones of earth silence voices, we learn, but not the sound of weeping.

Rock begats rock; flint sharpens flint like rage fuels rage.

We see no end to Sisyphus’s nightmare or to twisted truth, hog-tied and harnessed by influence.

But that rock. That unmanageable stone sitting like death itself, it rolls away.

Moved by liquid love dropped for Lazarus and his grieving friends, the welcoming of strange ones to supper, the outstretched open hand to stem suffering of another, that boulder lifted.

Weight shifted, borne aloft by physics of light: laughter defying gravity. For what is more joyful than Love?

The boulder ceased to burden. Unfolded like a curtain until Tolkien’s ‘far green country opened up under a swift sunrise’ and a new day arrived for all.

It is hard to see that death itself is not the triumphant answer to this essential tale of Light and Dark.

Look deeper, unflinchingly through pain and the inevitability of death, rage of power, and false naming of ‘the other:’

There. A sunbeam dances on a dandelion emerging through a cement crack.

The tree, cracked in two by the storm, sends up a green shoot.

The rains arrive and small seeds swell.

An elder hands me a bit of bread torn from a small loaf.

Exhaling, I’m able to mirror back this small sliver of grace given me by sharing the cup.

We breathe together.

The stars and stones align.