Movement of Mystery

Whatever happened to movement?
. . . that exhilaration of energy, speed,
progress toward a goal,
the invigorating feeling
of reaching a destination,
exchanging one place—
physical or metaphorical—
for another.
we crave what’s
different.
new.
hope-filled. 

Movement seems a distant memory
in our present state of existence,
which seems more characterized
by static, sedentary drudgery,
stuck in every day’s mire.

And yet, who can deny
the movement of the
firmly rooted tree—
unshakable
immovable—
yet undeniably
bending,
swaying,
reaching toward
the heavens, responding
to strong force of
autumn’s breeze? 

Each time we breathe
in and out, in and out,
we feel the expansion
and contraction,
receiving and eliminating—
delicate balance that
sustains life.
is this not movement? 

How can we forget magnificent
ocean’s waves, the
soothing sound of crashing,
receding, rolling back upon
the shore, only to repeat
without hesitation?
does this not embody the
epitome of movement?
yet it remains. 

Unhurried, unsolicited,
uninterrupted movement
heals body, soul, spirit.
the rhythms of light and dark,
heat and cold,
rest and toil,
laughter and weeping
refill life’s reservoir of
grace over and over
and over again. 

This is the movement of God, for
in God we live, and move,
and have our being. 

©Julia Penner-Zook 2020
IG: @julia_penner_zook
Twitter: @j_pennz
Photo Credit: Khamkéo Vilaysing via unsplash.com (open source)

 

faces in the room

 

slippery as an eel, pain
slides into the crevices of the soul
while no one is looking —
we’re too consumed with life,
light, and love to notice.
it introduces itself surreptitiously
demurely, feigning politeness,
yet entering unbidden into every
inner space it finds. 

without announcement
it shows its face brazenly in
the classroom, the cloakroom,
the dorm room, the locker room.

we expect it in
the emergency room
the recovery room,
the hospital room;
even the birthing room
is no sheltered space,
as birth cannot survive without
some element of death.

but can we see it in
the boardroom, the situation room,
the courtroom, the green room,
the ballroom, the bedroom,
the club room, the playroom? 

it gains entry without media
pass, security clearance, or
fingerprint identification. 

it simply is. 

we can armor up,
power up, ban it,
subdue it, belittle it,
even try to
hide it. 

but this will be an all consuming fight;
one which has an assured outcome.
we cannot conquer pain, cannot
win against it, cannot
eradicate nor deny it. 

it simply is. 

must pain be feared, avoided,
circumvented regardless the cost?
must we cower in a corner
when its draped features appear
in our room, at our
elbow? 

 or can we pull back the veil,
study the contours of its
shape, tracing its wrinkles,
its jagged edges, its jarring
lessons laced with venom? 

can pain have another face other than
the one we hurriedly dismiss, deny,
numb, disregard as deadly?

can it be a window into another
realm instead of a bed of nails which
utterly destroys, devouring
those innocent or guilty
in one mammoth swipe? 

can we bear to
offer pain a seat at our table,
resolving to stop denying
our own shadow, no longer
hiding our vulnerabilities, always
pretending to be above the fray?

can we examine pain
like a researcher, dissect it
as we would in a laboratory?
maybe we can dialogue with it
to lessen its grip on our being,
paying heed to its origins,
objectives, feeling its
talons. 

when we do,
we find we are not consumed
nor minimized,
we can stand tall, even if
briefly.

we cannot avoid every room
infiltrated by pain any more than
we can participate in life
while holding our breath.

we either
embrace or eschew,
deliberate or disparage,
shrivel in fear
or resolve to rise with
fortitude, gaining
sustenance in life and death.

***

© Julia Penner-Zook, 2019
Photo Credit: taha ajmi via unsplash.com
Twitter: @J_Pennz
Instagram: @j_penner_zook

A Longing for Humanity

May I join the dance
of sacredness
healing
wholeheartedness
the re-creative undulance of
planting, cultivation
patience, harvest,
of weeping, laughing
losing, gaining
grieving, rejoicing
stationary confinement, soaring flight?

May I join the circle of life
vulnerability
humility
resurrection
new life, seasoned maturity
tender breeze, harsh gale
drought, abundance,
transparency, reservation
alternating quiet with abandon
longing, contentment?

May I join the present space
aware
awake
alert
recognizing this day within
the repetitive sweep of history
clinging not to importance
nor dreading insignificance
beyond detachment or absorption
in holy reverence?

 © Julia Penner-Zook, 2017
Photo Credit: unknown

Observing Optimal

Heat of day
scorching flame
inferno
noiseless, suffocating, disorienting
leaching life’s vigor
obstructing
midsummer race.

Sultry afternoon
stifling, inebriating
film
depleting, bleeding, extinguishing
élan
dampening
sluggish quest.

Evening glow
embracing molten
canopy
brilliant, stirring, reigniting
vim
promising
vibrant passage.

Night as still as
frozen breath of
icicle
glistening, sparkling, chilling
inspiring courage, vigor, resiliency
on
last eve’s run.

**
Each human activity can be seen as a metaphor for life itself. Running becomes that for me, as I self-monitor – listening to my body and mind as I run. When am I at my best? Best does not necessarily equal speed, but rather an all round blend of tenacity, vibrancy, consistency and wellbeing.

I’ve come to realize that, though I love heat, I run more efficiently in cooler temperatures. Which begs the question:

do we function more optimally when the cold, night air of life threatens to squeeze the breath out of us, or when the radiance of the metaphoric glowing molten globe shines endlessly on life’s path?

© Julia Penner-Zook, 2015
photo credit: churchillwild.com

O Train

Be gracious to me, O Train, be gracious
for atop your back our humanity quivers
on the surface of your gleam we will endure
till the abundance of your belly extends its welcome.

To shimmering steel,
to source and prod upon the wheel
to potency and plenty heralding
another mile, another bridge
lulling to a distant ridge,
we gaze.

Surely tomorrow will be sweet
serene
sublime,
we cry.

Be generous to me, O Train, be generous
for on your golden prospect dreams ignite
upon vast promises our hope unfurls
till slippery subsistence gives way to lavish luxury.

To opulent carriage,
to revered, unwavering vantage
with nary word to disparage
the refrain of more, higher, better
transporting to an unseen plain,
we bow.

Tomorrow’s guarantee is glorious
glittering
glowing,
we gasp.

Be not treacherous, O Train, be not treacherous
for with your cunning oratory souls are hurled
excluded amidst resistant waves of discontent
till salty misery folds subsumed by gross indignity.

From sinister conveyance
with resolute, recurrent mantra
feigning buoyancy with mocking fluency
subtle subservience clothed in ornate deception,
we turn.

O tomorrow–spawn dread depth
deception demand
disloyalty,
we plead.

Be merciful to me, O Train, be merciful
for encircled with menacing gloom travelers are cast
into perilous tombs drenched in deadening platitudes
till dizzying attitudes suffocate dormant beatitudes.

Against glistening grantor,
counter to measured, ponderous executor
of deemed justice and equity
exacting treasure, brawn, allegiance
meting out random dismissal of life,
we rise up.

Tomorrow–you may not tarry
indeed cannot dally
no delay,
we beseech.

Be not sluggish, O My Train, be not sluggish
haste–push–surge–burst
lest intoxicating fields of lavender lure,
bedazzling mounds of emerald entice
into crippling resignation of oblivion
avoiding all final indignity.

dying to live

We are born desperate to live!
–to soar with abandon
to sing
dance
love
dream
create.
We are taught to aspire
produce
achieve
push
press
climb to unreached heights
always and always
up.

Then it happens.
–quite inevitably
we fall
no,
we’re hurled
kicking and screaming
to that dreaded place
where all end up
sometime
somewhere
somehow.

A living death.
–the first death.

We say: that won’t happen to me.
–without hesitation
life replies: it will
we insist: oh no
I’ll work harder
be better
achieve more
run farther
reach higher
endure longer.

Of no use.
–no amount of effort
allows avoidance
exemption
an undetected passage.

Everyone
–all human beings
encounter the first death
alone
forsaken
lost
failing
crippled
with uncertainty
what calamity
regret
misery
self-doubt and
God-doubt
the only way out seems
up
back
retrace
regain
making up for…
something.

But what if–
–is it possible
that
the first death must happen?
What if through it
we emerge
as one
empowered
to live?

We don’t understand
– we’re not taught
how to lose
fall
fail
let go
give in
die.

We cannot chose whether
–we can merely determine how
we navigate
this first death.

We can shrink back
–recoil in terror
fight and clamor
insist and insult
medicate and insulate
refuse
deny
whitewash.

We can moan
–indeed rebel
agonize
over what once was
vow that we will recover
scramble
pick up
all that was lost
recover time wasted.

Or–

–we can allow
both glory and agony to fall together
onto the same heap
unsorted
unlabeled
unchallenged
unadjudicated
unjudged.

We can dare to believe
–convinced that life
after the first death
is far superior
to what preceded it
–incalculably
infinitely
sublimely
beyond all comparison.

We can dare to allow
–give ourselves
to be held
absorbed
altered
allowing the trappings to burn
and fall away
silent upon a mound of rubbish
without yesterday
or tomorrow.

We can embrace
–even welcome
the uncertainty of
standing alone
unclothed
vulnerable
unashamed
forever changed.

We can sit in the moment
–that expanse
having neither
before
nor after
knowing that what we dread
has come to pass
and we pass
–we all pass
to a new realm
of being known
held
caught in free-fall
free!

When we face this first death,
We can walk through the valley of the shadow
fearing neither the second part of life
nor the final passage
for God
Presence
Grace
Protection is with us.

She who valiantly faces the first death
and rises well
has no fear of
tomorrow
or the final end.

Dawn

Photo Credit: Stacey L. Rhoades Photography

As each day dawns

it prompts hope,
light
life.

As grace envelopes the human soul

it whispers faith,
love
peace.

Reminding.
Rekindling.
Resurrecting.