From Harrowing Towards Wholeness and Healing

From Harrowing Towards Wholeness and Healing

While driving around the countryside for work commitments I was listening once more to Parker J. Palmer’s  ‘Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation‘.  In this book, Palmer describes how he experienced a clinical depression after trying to live a life that was not his to live.  Seemingly, it was a life that did not fit, or suit, him.

As he emerged from a bout of depression, he discovered that, in some ways, the depression was a veiled gift to him.  It taught him that the life he was living was harming him.  He drafted the poem “Harrowing” included below.

HarrowingPJPalmer

(‘Harrowing”, a poem by Parker J. Palmer).

I know there have been times in my life where what was then perceived as a harrowing, later opened up to become a gift.

Some of us may be coming through tough times, saddening times, exhausting times. They may be matters personal to us.  Alternatively, they may be triggered by recent horrific events in our world.  Whichever the case may be, I post Palmer’s poem, as a promise of hope in regeneration and rejuvenation after times of trial.

Simon C.J Falk 4 June 2017

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Fields of Broken Dreams

StephensCreekGate

Fields of Broken Dreams

There has been much sadness in our world and nation of late.  Added to this, each of us has a network of loved ones weighed down in difficulties of their own.  Yet, in all of this, the goodness of humanity still abides.  This little rhyme wrestles with the pain and the potential of such a paradox.

Fields of Broken Dreams

Sometimes it feels as if we walk

Through fields of broken dreams,

Wishing as we face the odds

That it wasn’t as it seems.

We grieve the air disasters,

Where lives flew off in a plane,

To the final sounds of “Alright, goodnight!”

Then they were never seen again.

Lives that had been a-flying

Were shot down from the sky,

Followed by calls to ‘shirt-front’ the responsible,

And still, we know not why.

Then, closer to the home front,

Fires blaze across the land,

Ashen faces lament ashen places,

And many houses no longer stand.

Then there’s all our local sadness,

The dead, the dying and the lost,

The marriages that are no more,

Make both the measured and measureless cost.

As we face up to it,

And walk through the rubble of these fields,

We fossick through the stubble,

For any meaning that it yields.

As the ashes moisten

From the dew and soaking rain,

As the beloved bodies are buried,

And people go home again.

As the sands of time grind onward,

And the broken pieces rot,

A healing slowly grows within,

Till we see what we have got.

The broken shards of pottery

Form drainage for a newly potted shoot,

For from the stench of rotting compost

New life is forming root.

We bare our scars of brokenness,

Shining in new springtime sun,

And from our anguish comes compassion,

As we realise we are one.

For we all feel it in our guts,

For those trapped in the Lindt shop,

Our hearts too plunged in the ocean

As the aeroplanes did drop.

We walk these global fields together,

Through the ashes and by the streams,

And we’ll walk on to tomorrow,

With more wisely tempered dreams.

Simon C.J. Falk                    7 January 2015

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