A Photographer's Glance
There are a few times when things just click and you know it is terrific to be alive.
The rocks are terrific.
The light, the water, the colour, the barnacled rocks. It’s the beach.
And the light just glances fabulously off the water around the sand and over the rocks.
When one sees the world with lies, it is never good for oneself and for all.
When one sees the world of beauty it is always a sense of grace that prevails for oneself and others.
1 John 7-9
If we walk in the light as Jesus himself is in the light, we have communion with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.
If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he who is faithful and just will forgive us our si ns and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
Today, the waters of baptism flow freely in the Light, and we walk as one, accompanied by the saints of all time:
To be blessed to be a blessing to all, every last person who encounters us.
On this May Day, a festival of dance and spring, maypoles and cakes, a day of workers’ recognition and honour: Dance this day, full of hope and joy. The creation awaits your participation in its rebirth.
My Love,
On this May Day baptismal day we celebrate not only a small child’s baptism, but all baptisms, including our own: that God is a Gracious and Loving God, to have created this universe, and us with it, knowing what we would do, what God would have to do, what Jesus would suffer, what the Holy Spirit could do, and what we would do with all that to ignore all that God has done for us.
There is a wonder, in you, a miracle of reality. God created as child grown to a respected slim, silver haired elder woman, guided by grace in all you do, with a mind that flips your focused reality from short term to long term memory with concentration and focus, that lives in the world of emotions and sorts them, gives meaning to them and is able to see what others are blind to; and you use that information with grace for people to move forward in life. And your heart of compassion, kindness, grace, generosity, persistence and hope moves you and people around you into a world where God’s grace abounds. You face issues that others shrink from and give space for others to be as they will, yet insist that they hear the vision of justice that you bring, the vision of grace that you bring, the vision of understanding and compassion for all people.
In you our sons have a model for hope against hope. In you I have received my self again. In you God has made a miracle, a reflector of God’s light and music so that the dance, though by broken people shines with colours and rhythm that reveals the infinite in our limited finite reality.
On this May Day, a festival of dance and spring, maypoles and cakes, a day of workers’ recognition and honour: Dance this day, full of hope and joy. The creation awaits your participation in its rebirth.
And this is what it can look like, adjusting the photo for the human eyes tremendous flexibility.
There is little in life that is more precious than to see the one you love enthralled with delight at something simple; for therein one touches the self of one’s soul, the memories of the child grown, and with joy one heals many things that are not so.
With just enough wind to raise the kite, and not so much that one had no challenge to pay attention, provide tension, and bring success through intention against the wind, to give the kite cause to rise against the sky.
There the sun burst through the clouds of the day above the city skyline, giving witness to human effort to create a city and God’s good effort to create beauty at every turn, even amidst the chaos of human effort to falsify the past in order to ruin another.
In God’s world there are of necessity always things of our past that we must haul along with us, and we can complain that they are there, or realize that God leaves them attached so as to stabilize us in the present, to keep our heads up, our hearts beating, and our spirits oriented towards grace. The tails of life are not anchors of disaster, but lessons that can be the source of our wisdom.
There with light pouring through us we can truly be alive.
Or we can deny the past, pervert its memories, and shut out the light, and live a shell of God’s intention for us; we can live in darkness, fear and anxiety.
There is nothing so destructive for ourselves but to think everyone else is to blame for our failings; for then we never learn, we never grow, we never love, and we never truly live.
It is in knowing our own failings and our past, and receiving forgiveness for it all, that we learn to shine, and fly, and stay connected to those we love and those who love us.
As wise Phoebe said: once you lie, though it may seem so small, it leads you places you could not predict, places dark and destructive from which you cannot escape. Okay she didn’t quite say it that way, but she saw that truth: lies seep in quietly and suddenly grow to consume our lives. And we cannot get free of them.
Except, when the light of Christ enters our real though denied guilt, and then we see by grace the goodness we had forgotten and denied, the goodness all around us, and in people we once denigrated and rejected … and the profound goodness that God imputes to us though undeserving. And then we can live free of fear, for we are forgiven and valued and worthy … and able to stand as equals.
Equal in failures; and equally redeemed and made whole. Sinners made simultaneously Saints.
And the fun of it all, and I mean of it all, not just this evening in the park, or this week of lies and hell and hope, rather the fun of it all is like this evening;
It is the enemy’s ace, the Red Baron, which is portrayed, and which delivers the delight, and which, though in previous generations an instrument of death, is an instrument of joy.
Against the backdrop of light and darkness, or cloud and trees this red triwingeddevil thrills us.
And that childlike thrill reaches deep in the soul to heal and bring hope.
God is Good; and all will be well. We shall see the devil of the past, turn into the deliverer of joy, of life, of love, in the present and into the future.
If only the children (the child in us all) could see … the truth and be free.
Last evening we went for an ice walk, a date with each other and a camera, after a great meal and getting a mattress that is good for my back, and the kids can use the soft plush mattress, if their backs can hold up to it.
The view of course starts not on the ice in the marina, but across the street, in the eat ..ery called Clarkes
Clarkes General Store and Eatery, where the light plays and the sign begs for activity, hunger, patronage … and stands in defiance to the economy, which is so slowed down with oil prices so low, one wonders what will happen. All will dry up here, companies once robust and bold will become withered remains and reminders of the wasteful years and the Saudis will continue to be beyond belief wealthy, capable, and ruthless. Always the ruthless win, with lies and deceptions, and without conscience or concern for others.
But then freedom from all that as we descend into the Marina from the boardwalk, on to the snow covered ice.
At -14 C with even a slight breeze one needs the correct clothing and protection. And it would be so nice to have my cameras again. But the Nikon D7000 will do, and I did keep the tripod. It’s a tool of precision and stability, a companion with so many photo outings, so light and familiar. A connection with the past before it was so broken, and so powerful, allowing this kind of exposure at night: clear, colourful, dazzling and promising … if only I had skates on and the snow were cleared ….
Facing the other way
There is less draw into than a shove from the golden coloured Marina
away out into the darkness
past piles of snow.
And with ever so slightly a shift on the tripod the scene is less a push and less golden and all around less
Even though it is just seconds later.
The scene is not the photo, the camera and tripod do not make the photo …
The heart and eye and imagination of the photographer make the photo with what’s there and what equipment is brought to along and used.
There actually is a place to skate, cleared from last evenings snow with a tired vehicle but not skated on by seemingly anyone in the oh so cold – which indeed does require the proper clothing, but is simply harsh in comparison to the mild, mild winter we’ve had so far. Really, above zero (freezing for those that do not reference temperatures in Celcius) temperatures in February, I mean even 10 above! It’s been a wonderful break from the potential -20, -30 and -40 that we know is normal.
And what is coming; so often I hear someone marveling at the mild temperatures and then they ruin it all with an anxiety of what is to come: March will for sure be too cold!
And I respond simply: it’s been a marvelous February, no harsh temperatures. And one month of cold (because April maybe snowy or even below zero, but it would be really odd if it were -30 or even -20!) during March is not something that we do not know how to survive and more than survive, but enjoy and delight in. And then … well then the wonders of Spring.
There is hope. And even optimism.
Hope: the ability to imagine and trust God that the future, despite having no basis in the practical concrete reality and events of one’s days and nights, … that the future will bring goodness, also to us, to oneself.
Optimism: the perspective on the practical concrete reality and events of one’s days and nights that so colours these events so as to block out the negative part of reality so that one is left with overpowering evidence that the future will continue just like this partial or skewed perspective of the past.
For the record, healthy or best is to be always overwhelmingly hopeful, somewhat optimistic and wisely pessimistic and strongly realistic and practical. Another Paradox to describe health, well-being, flourishing, and claiming one’s baptism, that one is a child of God … also a participant in the Kingdom of God on earth … by grace.
Technology and the cross in lights.
Can one be optimistic because of technology, hope because of the cross, and still stand back and wonder at what we’ve done to that symbol of torture of the Romans, the cross. We’ve put it everywhere, even in neon lights on the sky line of our lives.
There are so many lies hurled …
So many lies banked on …
So many lies embraced …
So many lies acted upon …
And there are cracks in everything, and that is how the light gets in (nod to Leonard Cohen.)
When will the light get in?
It was dark and this shows the dark but it misses something unseen while shooting.
This evening I took a walk, short but sweet, to catch the light in the snow.
And there is nothing quite like a wintery night
Frozen but still warm enough to not be dangerous or painful, so that one can delight
Here we can see it, with full light bright throughout the photo, but the sense of night is gone, too.
In
This is the dark, shining brightly through the photo, but not everything is showing.
The little things
And here the action, location and mode of transportation to and back.
That make it all okay.
It is something to be systematically attacked to the point that one has no support left, and then how does one hang on? Like Mandela in prison, Bonnhoeffer in prison, like Ghandi in prison and afterwards, all accused, all braved it out and all had something else in front of them, but Bonnhoeffer never made it back to normal life.
Who will be killed next time, will it be us, or worse them, or we all?
Life, choose life. Please choose life.
There is something about light.
It changes everything.
When the truth of one’s history is concealed by intent to obscure and accuse others, to blame others for ones own weaknesses,
There is not much that can be done,
Until the light shines in even a little bit.
And the marvelous stuff is this:
we know the beauty that is hidden without light,
the truth that will be exposed,
the hope that is all that can be.
And then when the light shines completely
What once was hidden will shine forth.
It is gorgeous in the right light.
And there is not a thing that is lost to truth, except the lie.
Lights
The darkness is immense, wallowing in all the corners deep across the time and space of an ordinary day.
There is no Other that sits so well as oneself alone, with all the others simply servants, not real ones, all lined up to give an illusion of reality.
But there is no goal if there is no Other.
Is there a light to light this darkness like no other? Is there a hope of a cure that everyone says does not exist.
And in the moment that artificial light will hit the trees of snow covered in agony and loneliness.
Where, Oh Where, Is the Hope in the Dark, if not in the Light from the Day.
There were very hard days behind me but this speaks so as if …
As if one understood and knew that despair behind my days of fear
As if the light of hope got stuck on a stick and were thrown ahead.
As if the small grass of comfort between my toes were wrenched from the universe by a black hole.
As if there were no holy water that reacts differently in the font, no broken bread, no blood given.
As if …
But as Carver before the Ways and Means, derided and demeaned,
As Bonhoeffer detained from his flock, asking Who Am I,
As Mandela held on an island, knowing slowly they would get long pants,
I still remember who I am, who I’ve been made, by whom I’ve been claimed, though condemned who named me simultaneously a saint.
Where are we?
On a map?
Of convoluted and complicated growth?
We are full of hope and yet desperate to be
welcomed by another saint
rescued by another saint
known past this by all in the light of life.
An old and broken thought invades the will of those with control,
What emptiness grips their fears, and twists them to the dark
Overwhelming darkness like in the caves where bodies lie, dried out, ages gone by.
Where even there the water of life flows unseen
But heard.
And drunk.
And felt as evidence that all is well, connected, blessed.
Even there the grains become body, which is broken and given.
Even there the grapes are fermented into blood, which is poured and shared.
What is my cup?
What is your cup?
What is our cup?
What will we see new today in the light?
Will these ever once again house a family, livid, active, growing, of hope and peace with a smile?
Die schwersten Wege
Die schwersten Wege werden alleine gegangen,
die Enttäuschung, der Verlust, das Opfer,
sind einsam.
Selbst der Tote der jedem Ruf antwortet
und sich keiner Bitte versagt
steht uns nicht bei
und sieht zu ob wir es vermögen.
Die Hände der Lebenden die sich ausstrecken
ohne uns zu erreichen
sind wie die Äste der Bäume im Winter.
Alle Vögel schweigen.
Man hört nur den eigenen Schritt
und den Schritt den der Fuß
noch nicht gegangen ist,
aber gehen wird.
Stehenbleiben und sich Umdrehn hilft nicht.
Es muss gegangen sein.
Nimm eine Kerze in die Hand
wie in den Katakomben,
das kleine Licht atmet kaum.
Und doch, wenn du lange gegangen bist,
bleibt das Wunder nicht aus,
weil das Wunder immer geschieht,
und weil wir ohne die Gnade
nicht leben können:
die Kerze wird hell vom freien Atem des Tags,
du bläst sie lächelnd aus
wenn du in die Sonne trittst
und unter den blühenden Gärten
die Stadt vor dir liegt,
und in deinem Hause
dir der Tisch weiß gedeckt ist.
Und die verlierbaren Lebenden
und die unverlierbaren Toten
dir das Brot brechen und den Wein reichen –
und du ihre Stimmen wieder hörst
ganz nahe
bei deinem Herzen.
(Hilde Domin)
The most difficult paths
The most difficult paths are only alone trod,
disappointment, loss, sacrifice,
are desolate.
Even the deaths that answer every call
and deny themselves no plea
do not stand with us
and only watch to see whether we are able.
The hands of the survivors which extend
never reaching us
are like the branches of trees in winter.
All birds are silent.
One hears only one’s own step
and the step of one’s foot
of the step not taken,
but the step that will be taken.
Stopping and turning about offers no help.
The path must be trod.
Take a candle in your hand
as in the catacombs,
the little light hardly breathes.
And yet, even as you are long gone,
the miracle does not forsake,
because the miracle always happens
and because we without grace
cannot live:
the candle will burn brightly from the free breath of the day,
you blow it out smiling
when you walk into the sun
and among the flowering gardens
as the city spreads below you,
and in your house
the table is set white for you.
And the expendable survivors
and the un-expendable dead
reach you the broken bread and rich wine –
and you hear their voices again
very close
to your heart.
(Hilde Domin Translated Tim Lofstrom)
A familiar path?
For you, too?
New Year’s Eve
A year ago
One date, not so innocent,
Three kids, one hotel, one persistent intrusion,
Followed a few days later with one accusation,
That was impossible,
And now,
What is, is all the result of one be-devilled
Let’s see one year further into the future
And hope the same is bettered with hope
And persistent work to let Grace prevail!
There are cracks in everything, that’s how the light gets in.
