Poet: Carol Grace Scott

The Womb of Life

Yesterday the rise and fall of the tide
Held the rhythmical sound 
Of the great Yahweh breathing.
Today I feel as if I am
In the very womb of life itself.
 
The rhythmical slosh and gurgle
From within this great bay
Remind me, convince me,
Of my embryonic beginnings,
My time of gestation and peace.
 
Over and over throughout life
We seek out places that bring us
Back to the womb of remembrance,
Back to our Eden beginnings -
Our cradled enclosures.
 
But with the wisdom of creation
We eventually get pushed out -
Out into the world, into Life,
To live out the purpose
We once were conceived for.
 
To stay here in the cradle womb
Would lead to a still birth,
An atrophy of Spirit,
And so we participate in the push -
Out into life, out into service.
 
And like the mothers of our births
The great Mother Yahweh sighs
And rejoices in our emergence,
Wondering what we shall become
As this new “I Am”.

There Won't be Any Spring Blossoms This Year

Anger rages inside me 
And fills my eyes with tears of grief.
I feel as if I've been kicked in the stomach.
This whole orchard of dear old apple trees
Has been ripped out of the ground...

Trunks, limbs, roots tossed in a pile
As if in a genocidal mass grave
While monster machines
Rape the earth
Where trees once stood.

There won't be any spring blossoms this year,
Nor sweet, juicy autumn fruit
For family, friends, neighbours
Who once harvested, laughed and played
Under their boughs, year after year.

The developers have created this havoc,
Laying waste sustainable, heritage crops
In exchange for a cash crop of monster homes.
No one even thought to ask permission of children
Before killing the trees.

As I drive by, stunned by the horror
Of these ripped apart trees,
Tears of anger well up, unannounced
And I avert my eyes
Out of grief, and respect.

A Great Cloud of Consciousness

We each are a collection of molecules,
So many atoms condensed into personhood,
Each nucleus filled with sparks of energy –
Protons orbiting their nucleii.
 
Somehow our very atomic selves –
Our cells and systems,
Chromosomes and genes
Were pre-arranged into distinctive life forms,
 
While water molecules as vapour
Are breathed - in and out -
By human breath
Exchanged in micro-seconds
 
With the great whales and sturgeons,
With muskrats and moles,
With tree, grass and flower,
With gecko, raven, and bee –
 
All breathing, exhaling
Into each other’s breath
The vapour-filled air, creating
A great cloud of consciousness
 
Until, at last, we sing praise
For the re-generating organisms
Of life, mortal and immortal –
Cyclical . . . Spiralling . . . Vibrating . . .
 
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
Forever resurrecting –
More than mythical phoenix
Within this wondrous web of life.

The Canvas of Today
 
This morning’s sky
is dappled
with hues of blue
and streaks of white.
 
Birds call to one another
from rooftop and tree,
darting back and forth
as if darning patches of earth to sky.
 
I study the colours
imagine I have a palette of paints
for capturing this morning’s dawn
on the canvas of today
 
but the sky is forever changing -
colours mix and merge,
flow into one another,
an ever-changing tapestry of wonder
 
until I set aside my desired canvas
to simply watch birds do their weaving
while I stand in awe
and witness their grace.

What is it to Pray?
 
What is it to pray
if not to listen
to the rhythm of the earth
and to care so deeply
that only the birds are worthy
of carrying our love
to the heart of creation.
 
What is it to pray
If not to listen
to the unspoken voice
of those struggling
and to care so deeply
that only breath
can carry our love.
 
What is it to pray
but to sit in silence
in the midst of nature
or in communion with others,
knowing that love
and breath and prayer
swirl ceaselessly throughout …
 
to pray
and to know
we are called
to be prayer itself
opening to the heart
of Love and Justice through
the holy mystery of grace.

Once Again

Once again, over all the earth
trees, bushes, shrubs
send their roots
deep into the fertility
of Mother Earth.
 
Buds swell
on twigs and branches
offering visions of hope
for creatures great and small
in this wondrous world.
 
Verdant plants
stretch high in the sky,
breathing new life
into the holy ether
of this precious Blue Planet.
 
While waters
rise and fall
with the turning of the tide –
blessed by Grandmother Moon
for All-Our-Relations.
   
 
This Patch of Eden

Wind blows;
Loon calls;
Water laps the shore
rhythmically, urgently.
 
I stand and breathe,
close my eyes …
listen for the inner voice
of water and wind.
 
I stand, breathing,
trying to sense what it is
to be Tree … rooted … alive …
watching over this patch of Eden.
 
Under my feet
I feel roots stretching,
reaching, drawing sustenance
from the holy ground beneath.
 
Above, boughs and branches
bow in morning prayer,
offering rest and shelter
for their wingèd friends.
 
Wind blows, present, unceasing,
breathing holiness into this place.
I join the trees in prayer.
My soul is restored.

The Zen of Seeing
 
There’s a similarity
between the veins
of this violet petal
and the hairs
on this small white feather.
 
I wouldn’t have noticed
except for the Zen of seeing,
my amateur attempt
to sketch what I see,
to record the wonders of nature.
 
Within the centre
of these five symmetrical petals
is the wonder of new life,
the potent energy
of stamens and pistols …
 
And from the bird
who dropped this feather
for my contemplation
is the knowing
of nest, and egg, and wing.
 
My pencil hovers
as I sit, engrossed
by a simple petal and feather,
a Zen moment within this,
God’s wondrous world.

The Covenant

The full moon shines
through my window,
spreading her radiance
like a silver-cloaked blessing.
 
That original grandmother
pulls me into her embrace,
drawing tides within me
in a rhythmical ebb and flow,
 
Each of us reflecting
the divine promise
to evolve and grow
into ever greater consciousness
 
Reminding me, once again,
of the covenant between us …
She, the cosmic orb of Mystery,
And I, a child of the Universe.

The Womb of Life

Yesterday the rise and fall of the tide
Held the rhythmical sound 
Of the great Yahweh breathing.
Today I feel as if I am
In the very womb of life itself.
 
The rhythmical slosh and gurgle
From within this great bay
Remind me, convince me,
Of my embryonic beginnings,
My time of gestation and peace.
 
Over and over throughout life
We seek out places that bring us
Back to the womb of remembrance,
Back to our Eden beginnings -
Our cradled enclosures.
 
But with the wisdom of creation
We eventually get pushed out -
Out into the world, into Life,
To live out the purpose
We once were conceived for.
 
To stay here in the cradle womb
Would lead to a still birth,
An atrophy of Spirit,
And so we participate in the push -
Out into life, out into service.
 
And like the mothers of our births
The great Mother Yahweh sighs
And rejoices in our emergence,
Wondering what we shall become
As this new “I Am”.

There Won't be Any Spring Blossoms This Year

Anger rages inside me 
And fills my eyes with tears of grief.
I feel as if I've been kicked in the stomach.
This whole orchard of dear old apple trees
Has been ripped out of the ground...

Trunks, limbs, roots tossed in a pile
As if in a genocidal mass grave
While monster machines
Rape the earth
Where trees once stood.

There won't be any spring blossoms this year,
Nor sweet, juicy autumn fruit
For family, friends, neighbours
Who once harvested, laughed and played
Under their boughs, year after year.

The developers have created this havoc,
Laying waste sustainable, heritage crops
In exchange for a cash crop of monster homes.
No one even thought to ask permission of children
Before killing the trees.

As I drive by, stunned by the horror
Of these ripped apart trees,
Tears of anger well up, unannounced
And I avert my eyes
Out of grief, and respect.

A Great Cloud of Consciousness

We each are a collection of molecules,
So many atoms condensed into personhood,
Each nucleus filled with sparks of energy –
Protons orbiting their nucleii.
 
Somehow our very atomic selves –
Our cells and systems,
Chromosomes and genes
Were pre-arranged into distinctive life forms,
 
While water molecules as vapour
Are breathed - in and out -
By human breath
Exchanged in micro-seconds
 
With the great whales and sturgeons,
With muskrats and moles,
With tree, grass and flower,
With gecko, raven, and bee –
 
All breathing, exhaling
Into each other’s breath
The vapour-filled air, creating
A great cloud of consciousness
 
Until, at last, we sing praise
For the re-generating organisms
Of life, mortal and immortal –
Cyclical . . . Spiralling . . . Vibrating . . .
 
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
Forever resurrecting –
More than mythical phoenix
Within this wondrous web of life.