Time Abstracted [SSL84]

Time Abstracted [SSL84]

It’s time for another Wednesday audio delivery  of Spark My Muse.
This is Soul School Lesson 84
 [SSL84]

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Eps 109: Pádraig Ó Tuama and Lumpy Crossings

Eps 109: Pádraig Ó Tuama and Lumpy Crossings

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GUEST BIO:

Pádraig Ó Tuama

Poet, theologian, group worker, and leader of Corrymeela Community of Northern Ireland, Pádraig has worked with groups in Ireland, Britain, the US, and Australia. With interests in storytelling, groupwork, theology, and conflict, Pádraig lectures, leads retreats and writes both poetry, prose, and music..

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Opinions and Confirmations, [SSL68]

Opinions and Confirmations, [SSL68]

Another Wednesday Audio delivery!

This is Soul School Lesson 68 (SSL 68)


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Today the show notes will connect you to the poem, the information link to Gerard Manley Hopkins (photo above), and related episodes and information, PLUS all past SHOW NOTES and SHOW NOTES for February 2017.
(Shouting in the Storm feature photo by Raul Lieberwirth)

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Silence and peace

Timely short prayer write some 50 something years ago, or more.

I’m gathering up the energies to write something in long form. Several ideas brewing but not sure of my next choice. For now, the silence.

lake-and-leaves

Prayer of Thomas Merton

I beg you to keep me in this silence so that I may learn from it
the word of your peace
and the word of your mercy
and the word of your gentleness to the world:
and that through me perhaps your word of peace
may make itself heard
where it has not been possible for anyone to hear it for a long time.

Dreams

MaryVican

Dreams are something that have interested me since I was very young. I came across this poem and thought it captured the mystique and intrigue of dream life and I just had to share it.
Enjoy.

DREAMS
by Mark Strand (April 11, 1934–November 29, 2014)

Trying to recall the plot
And characters we dreamed,
What life was like
Before the morning came,
We are seldom satisfied,
And even then
There is no way of knowing
If what we know is true.
Something nameless
Hums us into sleep,
Withdraws, and leaves us in
A place that seems
Always vaguely familiar.
Perhaps it is because
We take the props
And fixtures of our days
With us into the dark,
Assuring ourselves
We are still alive. And yet
Nothing here is certain;
Landscapes merge
With one another, houses
Are never where they should be,
Doors and windows
Sometimes open out
To other doors and windows,
Even the person
Who seems most like ourselves
Cannot be counted on,
For there have been
Too many times when he,
Like everything else, has done
The unexpected.
And as the night wears on,
The dim allegory of ourselves
Unfolds, and we
Feel dreamed by someone else,
A sleeping counterpart,
Who gathers in
The darkness of his person
Shades of the real world.
Nothing is clear;
We are not ever sure
If the life we live there
Belongs to us.
Each night it is the same;
Just when we’re on the verge
Of catching on,
A sense of our remoteness
Closes in, and the world
So lately seen
Gradually fades from sight.
We wake to find the sleeper
Is ourselves
And the dreamt-of is someone who did
Something we can’t quite put
Our finger on,
But which involved a life
We are always, we feel,
About to discover.

From Mark Strand’s Collected poems. 

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