The Quiet Revolution

Again the Sabbath comes to mind.

Why?

Because it's quiet while God works
It's an act of faith
The stillness
The not going anywhere
Not doing anything to make a visible change

You're just existing
but existing's good
And that's the point

The Quiet Revolution
Is a discipline of mind
An opening of the heart
Because the peace is all around

It's an act of hope
The listening
Not saying too much
Not expecting thoughts to change the essence of the world

It's a time of praise
For all that was before you came
And all that will be when you're gone
It's an act of love
Of the world around you

In which the present troubles disappear
And all that matters is the great Shalom
Which now you enter in
Because you've chosen
To choose this pearl
Above all other things.

And there you feel the Quiet Revolution
The silken pearl within your upturned palm.
Such beauty will not know a diminution
But change from glory unto glorious psalm.

Show me the Door!

If you knew
There was a temple made of time
Which held a mystery

A day made of eternity

Wouldn’t you be racing
Aching for more
Asking every passer by
“Show me the door!”

If you knew
That a land where life was new
Flowed with delight

And crowned at its height
With a wedding banquet

Was waiting for you
And that you had a passport
but needed no transport
Wouldn’t you cry out all the more
“Show me the door!”

If you knew
That the One who made all
Opened a skylight

Let in the moonlight
When the bell tolled

And all was transformed there
Rooted and grew there
Into its true self
Learnt to be free
Wouldn’t you beg to be offered the key?

You know the alleyway
You know the wall

You know the songs to sing
You know the call

You know the dances
Come take the floor!

Angels of Sabbath
Stand

Here at the door!




Sarah de Nordwall March 27th 2013

The Step

The strange and angular truth
Bears a wayward fruit

Out of the way
But not out of mind

The island of the fruitful tree must be approached
But the bridge is broken

Only the crushed heart
Dares to be a foundation for the bridge's mending

But lo, the Green Man comes
And he would cross!

He stands with the broken heart
But it is not enough

Then suddenly, wild and tender
A sea-creature comes by to make the bridgehead.

She will be the servant of the Green Man's crossing.

The journey, thus, cannot be made
Without the creatures from the deep.





Sarah de Nordwall June 15th 2013

at Sr Sheila Gosney's workshop on Homecoming at the de Mazenod centre in Towerhill, London

Holy Saturday Streets

Inside me

Are the streets of Jerusalem.

Sun on the old stone stairways

And the baking air.



Inside me

Are the high walls and the tumbling flowers,

Vivid as a clarion call in a net of leaves,

Red and pink in the thorns and prickles.


Even the plants must arm themselves

Against the night and the harsh demands of day

And yet it is always the sunshine that persists,

Delights my inner eye.


I feel the peace of Sabbath streets

Within me


The Jewish Quarter vertical with praise.

The men are hurrying to meet the Bride.

They circle with a dance of joy by the Temple wall

As the night falls

It is already night when joy begins

The Sabbath is at hand and a beautifying surplus of soul

Visits our mortal bones and lingers on.


A light of resurrection

A climate of unchangeable joy

And I rejoice in the springing up

Of the eternal tale.


He walked and spoke and lived

He died and lived again


These streets bear testament to His being here.


The Bells of the Triduum ring.

We hurry to the Russian church.

The tapering candles held

To the glimmering faces of the radiant saints.

The choir from Moscow sings

Deep-throated harmonies at the very gates of hell.


These Christ has touched by His all Perfect Presence

His all-emptying Praise.

Obedience calls him to so great, so vast, to such abysmal fall

Descent

And yet a royal progress through the chaos of the soul

Man’s soul and deeds since sin first entered in,

Commenced its tearing and dismembering work, enacted by the hands of men.


He walks there now

A world more vast than all the earth’s globe utterly destroyed

And still he has no power to ascend


He walks and powerless he waits

Till there alone the Easter dawn appears.


A flake of light

As gentle as a solitary leaf

Falls like a kiss upon the metal hell of death


A forest full of leaves of light blow in like a rivening flame

The second chaos soars with hope

Breaks forth with a roar of joy



Who is this King of Glory?

O, lift Higher Ancient Doors!

And let Him enter, Who has come

To claim and take us home!




Sarah de Nordwall February 21st 2013