The Mountain ... a place of renewed perspective.

Last Sunday we had the Gospel of the Transfiguration, and so with the sun shining, I too headed for the hills.

  The Transfiguration

Stopping to Ponder

The Beatitudes

The Way of the Cross

With the present restriction on attendance at liturgy, the following Stations of the Cross will hopefully help your prayer during Lent.

From various settings in the parish  we will be   walking ‘Natures Via Dolorosa’

Introduction:

The First Station

Second Station

Third Station

Fourth Station

Fifth Station

Sixth Station

Seventh Station

Eight Station

Ninth Station

Tenth Station.

Eleventh Station

Twelfth Station

Thirteenth Station

Fourteenth Station

Day Dreaming

Health.

A happy place,

where gentle breezes blow,

and glistening streams do ripple.

Gratitude.

An awareness,

of heartfelt appreciation,

for life’s sustaining rhythm.

Celebration.

An inner joy,

afloat  with exultation,

alert to new day wonder.

Life.

A gift:

unfurled  pages ,

of endless possibility.

Far away thoughts.

Praise the Rain

BY JOY HARJO

Praise the rain; the seagull dive

The curl of plant, the raven talk—

Praise the hurt, the house slack

The stand of trees, the dignity—

Praise the dark, the moon cradle

The sky fall, the bear sleep—

Praise the mist, the warrior name

The earth eclipse, the fired leap—

Praise the backwards, upward sky

The baby cry, the spirit food—

Praise canoe, the fish rush

The hole for frog, the upside-down—

Praise the day, the cloud cup

The mind flat, forget it all—

Praise crazy. Praise sad.

Praise the path on which we're led.

Praise the roads on earth and water.

Praise the eater and the eaten.

Praise beginnings; praise the end.

Praise the song and praise the singer.

A comforting hug.

I thank Nora for her beautiful thoughts shared below... I know they are especially for her friend , but I’m sure she won’t mind if we broaden its embrace and offer comforting hugs to all in our parish who are ill.

May Altar  … Nora O Connor

A few weeks ago I was heading to work on a beautiful may morning. I wasn't taking much notice of the beautiful day or my surroundings as my thoughts were mostly on Covid! Letter ready to show at the checkpoint.... Take your temperature when you arrive..... Anxiously wait like everyone else for results of the covid  test taken a few days earlier!.... I was travelling via Kilcummin when all of a sudden two little baby rabbits darted out from the side of the ditch..... I had to stop to give them a chance..... and my eye was immediately drawn to a wonderful display of yellow primroses on a low ditch...... Patrick Kavanagh would probably have referred to them as "mostly anonymous performers"..... 

I was immediately transported back to childhood when we embarked on that joyful task of picking flowers for the May altar..... Usually the same varieties.... Cuckoo flowers, buttercups etc...... But if u were old enough or brave enough to venture further afield you would be rewarded with some bluebells or primroses!! Once a friend of mine and myself walked to Blackwater bridge(almost three miles each way!) because they  had the best primroses growing on the ditch..... and they still have!..... The memories made me smile.....

Then I thought of one of my companions from those carefree times..... He is ill at the moment and on treatment....... Wouldn't it be great if we could have bottled some of that joy and delight from our childhood... I would open it up and sprinkle the contents in his direction and see him smile!..... But for now it's a heartful prayer, a virtual hug and a looking forward to happier brighter days which I know will come again.........

 The sound of an oncoming car brought me back to the present.... .. By now the 'anonymous performers' were launching into an encore..... The rabbits had scurried off about the business of the day and so must I....... But this time I went with a smile on my face....the memories had renewed me.... I thanked God for the gift of memory, the gift of friendship, the beauty of nature and for all the "anonymous performers" in our lives and as I looked ahead at the  mountains, majestic in the morning light... The blue sky.... The beauty of nature all around me......

 I knew that we would be alrite because despite all the uncertainty and talk of covid and droplets and infection........ I knew on that quiet country road on a beautiful may morning that God was certainly in his Heaven or as Patrick Kavanagh so eloquently put it :"beautiful, beautiful, beautiful God was breathing his love by a cut away bog" .....

Dawning delight.

One night recently, I visited our family farm. A calf had just been  born.

At midnight, I went out to look at the cow again; by this time she had licked  her new calf dry. Everything was mild  and gentle, illuminated by the moon's mint light. What a beautiful  night it was to arrive on earth.

Even if this newborn were a genius, it  could never possibly imagine the surprise of the world that was waiting when the dawn would break in a miracle of colour illuminating  the personality of mountains, river and sky 

The liturgy of dawn Signals the wonder of the arriving day.  

Each day is the field of brightness where the invitation of our life unfolds. 

No day is ever the same, and no day stands still; each one moves   through a different territory, awakening new beginnings.

A day  moves forward in moments and once a moment has flickered into Iife , it vanishes and is replaced by the next. 

Often a fleeting moment can hold a whole sequence of the   future in distilled form: that unprepared second when you looked in a parents eye and saw death already beginning to loom. 

Or the second you noticed a softening in someones voice and you knew that a friendship was beginning. Each day is seeded with, recognitions. 

 

The writing life is a wonderful metaphor for this. The writer goes  to his desk each morning to meet the empty white page. As he settles  himself, he is preparing for visitation and voyage. 

Each of us is an artist of our days; the  greater our integrity and awareness, the more original and creative our  time will become.     (John O Donoghue Benedictus)

Linking with those away from home.

Far Away From Home

 by Conny Kaufmann (2003)

 

Have you been away from home?

I mean really far away.

Not just to your friend next door,

And not just for a day!

 

Another country, another world,

And all that for a year

You think it’s easy? Trust me – it’s not!

I know, ‘cause I am here.

 

Leave everything behind you like

Your friends and family

It’s hard to say goodbye to them

When you go overseas.

 

Twenty-thousand kilometres,

Could be more or less

You’ll miss your friends but you’ll find new ones

Just give it a chance!

 

Enjoy your time, live your dream

Your experience will last

You’ll see that this time goes by

Probably too fast.

Your friends will also miss you lots

You can see who really cares

Nobody will like you less

Just because your are not there.

 

All of them think I am brave,

For a year – just gone.

I’m not, I’m just a young girl

Far away from home!

Garden splendour.

Blue skies,

Nature’s colourful canopy.

We busy distracted 

and self consumed

Pass by with

mild indifference.

Sure it’s only 

a weed!

Ah but what’s a weed?

Only a flower in another's eye.

God’s eye

Can we not wonder 

at these “dappled things”

Can the poet in us 

not see “God’s Grandeur”

Or the mystic 

infuse our senses.

Welcome this new day.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

As an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

— Jalaluddin Rumi, translation by Coleman Barks (The Essential Rumi)