One morning
we will wake up
and forget to build
that wall we’ve been building,
the one between us
the one we’ve been building
for years, perhaps
out of some sense
of right and boundary,
perhaps out of habit.
One morning
we will wake up
and let our empty hands
hang empty at our sides.
Perhaps they will rise,
as empty things
sometimes do
when blown
by the wind.
Perhaps they simply
will not remember
how to grasp, how to rage.
We will wake up
that morning
and we will have
misplaced all our theories
about why and how
and who did what
to whom, we will have mislaid
all our timelines
of when and plans of what
and we will not scramble
to write the plans and theories anew.
On that morning,
not much else
will have changed.
Whatever is blooming
will still be in bloom.
Whatever is wilting
will wilt. There will be fields
to plow and trains
to load and children
to feed and work to do.
And in every moment,
in every action, we will
feel the urge to say thank you,
we will follow the urge to bow.
By Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
I can’t remember where I came across this poem but it’s been travelling with me for a good while now, as a hope and a possibility. What does it take to do something different from yesterday? What is it, that makes new choice possible today? I wish I knew. Intention helps, certainly, and creating conditions and turning towards – but it seems to me that all my efforts don’t quite explain the magic when it happens.
I remember years ago, during a Holy Isle retreat, an eloquent older man called Richard was asking Rob Nairn about those wonderful moments of the mind actually resting, of that space suddenly opening where everything (and even the most unwanted stuff) is ok to be there in the bigger picture, that peace that envelops dis-ease. Where does it come from? And Rob turned it around and said: “well, you’ve experienced it, where do you think it comes from?” And without a second of hesitation, Richard answered: “the grace of God”. And for once, Rob had nothing more to add.
I’m unresolved about the old God question so I wouldn’t have phrased it like that, but I’m with Richard in thinking it comes from something other and bigger than my little self that’s trying so hard. Trying so hard is not the way, as Stewart Mercer reminds us. But much is possible with a little openness, and getting out of the way…
In satisfying my curiosity about the writer of these words, I discovered that Rosemerry has written many other beauties. In fact, she has been sharing a poem a day on her blog with a fabulous list of tag subjects alongside it, offering rich reflections and poignant metaphors on a wealth of topics. Worth a deep-dive!
Photo by Réda Chakir on Unsplash