Haikus on a Monday


Awkward and alone.
No longer whole: shattered.
Pot shards and soul shards.







A hidden treasure
in shelter.  Shining.  Gleaming.
Ravaged.  Tried and torn.




I heard my soul speak.

I get stumped at times and I lose track of my own thoughts and feelings.  I misplace parts of my experience.  When I do that, and do it for long enough, I find poetry helps me center.  The haiku form seems best for me.  During my experience with the Two Year Academy of Spiritual Formation there were many friends who found their voice in poetry.  I rarely did but I do know when my soul cries out, it will, at times, cry out in poetry.

Long before there was Twitter limiting our characters, the haiku developed rules to keep the syllables to a minimum.  5. 7. 5.  I need those rules.  They function much like a rule of life and the simplicity and guidelines those rules offer, well, they push me to dig deeper, not just into vocabulary but into the soul work.  My soul work.

The Psalms are the reminder to us of the raw power of the spiritual work.  The words found there are real, raw, and ripping.  Some of them we do not like at all.  I think that is because they reveal our own base natures, the real needs we experience as human beings when our outer facades fade and fail us.

I heard my soul speak.



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