Commonty
“What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
Mary Oliver asked,
And I hesitated to reply.
–
I have lived so long
in the in-betweens,
Wanting to be somewhere else,
Then wanting to return.
–
Like a condor,
Wanting to be both unfettered at sea
and safe on a ledge,
I have been blown off course
in to an unexpected land.
–
I have shied away from church;
the catechism and dogma
Seem outdated,
unwieldy in my world.
–
But I love the romanticism,
the ancient hands
that shaped the churches of Europe.
The devout and trusting souls
who sweated over stones
to create a holy and sacred space for me,
the non-believer to stand in awe
of the accomplishments of humankind.
–
Humankind who could revere a loving god,
build a monument of worship
that stands hundreds of years,
a solid symbol of faith
in something larger than their own souls;
and burn neighbours at stakes
for casting a few askance glances.
–
I love the dichotomy
of consecrated ground
tainted by the selfsame feet
of worshippers and builders
who committed atrocious sins.
Led astray by their shepherds.
–
I live in the in-betweens of what is,
and was,
and could be.
–
In my ancient cathedral
the trees are the columns I wander through;
the stained glass
comes alive at both night and day.
Light filtered through treetops
dapples the mountain paths,
and the clouds make massive mandalas on the lakes.
Grateful and privileged to be alive
in this space; at this time
I can commune and be absolved
for that which was or should have been.
–
Then the night sky comes alive
with stars
and moon
and shifting lights,
white at the edge like a hot knife.
Cutting away expectations
and making humankind
Seem so small and fragile.
Feel so far from the bastions built to belief
that shape the European landscape,
and guard the forgotten souls of past days.
–
I love the chasm between
blessed untouched Yukon mountainsides,
paralleling the vaulted arches
of gothic European churches.
Pagan shepherds made stonemasons.
–
I can rest in the in-betweens.
–
Like a condor,
supported by air currents
that push it home
or carry it away.
I am learning to be secure
in the anticipation;
Arriving at either
and appreciating the flight.
A Free Verse Poem by Jessica Pumphrey
