Words of WonderOne Morning - Rosemerry Tromner

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!

  kristine