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Tag Archives: hurricane

Praise Be For When We Allow

13 Friday Jul 2018

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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creatures, evolving, friend, holy, humanity, hurricane, katydid, listen, nature, son, waterfall

I think my understanding of the concept “holy” evolved somewhere between my first communion and touching the wriggling minnow caught in my net at summer camp. The idea of holy immigrated from an echoey church that smelled of incense and psalms and kneel-dimpled pews to seeing the midnight milky way that night I talked to my bestie on the cordless phone in the middle of the lawn. Holy and me came to have an understanding: It would always be secret, it would always be available, and it promised to make me feel (something) and I would know it when I seen it.

Holy was no longer frankincense escaping its decanter like jinn from a lamp, no more a captive in a flying-buttress box. Holy became ancient fallen trees brought to their knees by hurricane Gloria. A waterfall you cannot see unless you hike five miles in. Bowls cut into rocks for sweet, clean drinking.  The white flash of space between midnight and dawn in an Arizona bowl. My son’s smile while he slept on my couch. My friend’s dying. Rescuing box turtles as they crossed trafficky asphalt in pursuit of their home.  Curtains of fireflies rising from hot summer grass, signaling secrets on four- and sometimes eight-horsepower wings. A stranger paying for her formula at the checkout counter because she ran out of Wic. Listening to a stranger’s broken heart because it’s all he needed.

I’m not sure you believe in the word holy, except for maybe that one time you saw the moon on the walkway.   I think you do what you do and holy never crosses your mind.  But I believe you felt it in your fingers when you plucked the katydid from the parking lot and put her in the grass. Holy is in you.  Poetry is in you.  I weep because I see it and you doubt, you refuse to believe.  Holy is available to us all, every day, all the time, no sacrament required. We just have to keep our eyes open, allow ourselves to see.

Preparing for Matthew, Tentatively

05 Wednesday Oct 2016

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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Tags

hurricane, ocean, sleepless, USMC

Restless.  Sleepless.  Blame it on the wind? A restless mind?

It’s four in the morning and I cannot sleep. I drank water.  Took a shower.  Listened to the wind and can’t shake the feeling that something’s coming.  And it is.  It’s a strange place to be in on a Wednesday morning trying to decide what’s the best way to prepare for what has not happened yet, for what may or may not come. We have technology now that tells us what’s brewing and where, and I need all my tools to get focused, not stress out, and be ready. What can I do with the energy that must be flowing this way?

The Atlantic is a monster to the tiny people in its way, a swirling, churning beast. Our Marines are on the way to help those in the Caribbean with disaster relief, and I am proud that we are going to help.  But what about my neighbors, the young couple who don’t have enough money for a hotel room in case we have to evacuate? Take them, their baby, ferret, and cat with me? Oh no, her husband won’t go for that. Pride lives three doors down from me while indecision lives three doors down from them.

The desert island question arises. If I was stranded on a desert island and could only bring three books (or CDs), what would they be? I look at my books sitting quietly on soft mocha shelves and interestingly, surprisingly, they’re the last thing on my mind. Strange feeling, looking at rooms full of special things, knowing I’ll leave them behind in favor of water, food I can eat out of a can, and a hand-crank radio. Where is higher ground, how far will I need to go? Will my “things” be dry when I get home?

But I wanted to stay and “see.”  I wanted to stand on the balcony and hear the roar and see the pine needles get hurled through the air, how far will the water rise up and storm the land?  Will the Atlantic ask for Willoughby Spit back?  No, not this time, I am sure. How much longer will I remain here, preparing (or not) for what is mostly intangible at this moment?  The higher tides and higher wind gusts tell me something’s brewing.  And I can’t sleep.

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