Saint Rose of Berkeley (WC)

 

(Wendy Cabell, a previously written poem revisited December 31, 2020, feast day of Saint Melania the Younger; of Saint Zoticus, Cherisher of the Poor; and one of the feast days of the (above) Unfading Bloom Icon of the Mother of God.)

Saint Rose of Berkeley

      Isaiah 'twas foretold it, 

      The Rose I have in mind, 

      With Mary we behold it, 

      The virgin mother kind.

      -- from the traditional hymn

         Lo, how a rose e'er blooming,

         based on Isaiah 11:1

We don't always know their

names. Or where they're from. Or even 

if they're a Saint at all. But can't help believing

in Saint Rose of Berkeley.

Age 22, looking up from my tea, I spotted

her. Walking the sidewalk along the cafe

tables. Calm, no hurry. But no dawdling 

either. Purposeful, might say. And bearing

roses. Handing one to all the mothers, in the

fresh soft sun of that Mother's Day. But 

then felt one in my hand. Hand that so wanted

the rose. "How lovely! But I'm not a mother", 

said I. "Yes you are, it's ~inside~ you", said 

she. Such steady eyes, such sweetness. Wouldn't 

do for such hands to be empty. Of course they

came bearing roses. And then she was gone.

Always wondered at the backstory. Was 

this in memory of a child? Or her own

mother? Or simply to wake women up

to something inside them. Something invisibly 

real. Like the scent of roses. 

Scent of that day lingers,

though not over yet. That winter

a neighbouring town, bookshop. Those

little Hanukkah poems just glowed

on the shelf. One etched in, how

      Some say women are nothing. Well,

      maybe it's true. Nothing, like

      the dip in the pot. Nothing, like

      the hole in the flute. Nothing, like

      Shabbat in the week.*

Nothing-- 

hollowed,

hallowed.

And

now it's today.  Scripture reading is Genesis 2:2

of all things. Scouts honor. Truth really is

stranger than fiction. Reads:

      This one shall be called woman.**

Woman, female, one with a 

womb. Not just of body, of spirit. 

Was this what Saint Rose proclaimed, 

cupping the rose? Time will tell. But there's a 

bond in the carrying, shared breath, DNA. So

she's one who would know. Know far better than

Shakespeare she would, just whats in a Rose.***

*This Hanukkah poem is approximate here, as remembered, from a little homespun book of Hanukkah poems found that year in a now closed bookshop (Mama Bear's, Oakland, CA). Never have been able to find that lovely poem again, or its author. If anyone's in the know, would sure welcome hearing from you.

** Literally,  Genesis 2:23 was the day's reading when writing this part of poem. The verse feels clarified in 1 Corinthians 11:12,

          For as woman is made from man, 

          so man is now born of woman: 

          And all things are from God.

*** The rose, as Unfading Bloom, is an ancient emblem, which has been used both for Christ, and for the Blessed Virgin Mary, who bore Him.

Light-flow (WC)

(Wendy Cabell, December 28, 2020, feast day of the Holy Innocents/Childermas, which happened as the Holy Family fled (above, Adriaen Isenbrandt) to Egypt; and feast day of Blessed Matthia dei Nazzarei.)

Light-flow

(a meditation on Luke 2:19)

                Singing 

              summuns

           the Holy Sprit...

        Don't stop singing.

         -- St Hildgarde 

              of Bingen

As she keeps these things, world 

races. As she keeps these things,

heart ponders, still, 

cannot help 

the tune,

 O here, O here, Emmanuel,

       how soft You dawn,

           Eternal Light

              to dwell...*

*To repeat, as a Jesus Prayer/Heart Prayer, to the tune of the closing verse ("Rejoice, rejoice...") of O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.

**Poem inspired by recent Wisdom of the Heart retreat with Kayleen Asbo (via The Bishop's Ranch, Healdsburg, CA); and by Abbot Jeremy Driscoll (Mount Angel Abbey, Oregon)'s A Word of December 24.

Heart-hush (WC)

   

(Wendy Cabell, December 20, 2020,  first day of the forefeast of the Nativity of Our Lord, feast day of the above "Rescuer of the Drowning" Icon of the Mother of God, and eve of winter solstice. Image from here.)

Heart-hush

(the O Antiphons as Jesus Prayer,

after Abbot Jeremy Driscoll)

When we sing these hymns,

we literally join the ancient voices!

–Kayleen Asbo

O Jesus, Logos, come.

O Jesus, the I Am, come.

O Jesus, Budding Root, come.

O Jesus, Outstretched Arm, come.

O Jesus, Dawning Light, come.

O Jesus, Rock of Ages, come.

O Jesus, Heavenly Salve, come.

O Jesus, Emmanuel, come…

*The O Antiphons (echoed by O Come O Come Emmanuel) date at least as far back as the sixth century. They are recited, one each night, right before the Magnificat (fiat/yes) at Vespers during the final days of Advent. Each O Antiphon is rooted in a title for Jesus from the Old Testament. 

**Inspired by: Kayleen Asbo’s Advent workshop, Bishop's Ranch, Healdsburg, CA, Dec 20, 2023, and Abbot Jeremy Driscoll's A Word, December 17 and 24.

Homing Prayer (WC)

(Wendy Cabell, revisited December 9, 2020, feast day of the Conception by Saint Anne of the Mother God... and others (see Desert Prayer preface), including eve of feast day of Our Lady of Loreto, which is of course centered on our Lady's home)

Homing Prayer

...ye both gave vent to your sorrow 

--thou O Joachim, in the wilderness, 

and thou, O Anna, in thy garden,--

offering up supplication to God. 

Thus the incorporeal one brought 

the gladsome tidings. 

--from Akathist to the Righteous

Joachim and Anna, Ikos I

 

Saint Anne holds

(praying at home),

Our Mary who holds

(praying at home),

Our Jesus who is

(praying at home)

in us.

Amen.

Desert Prayer (WC)

 

 

(Wendy Cabell, December 9, 2020, feast day of Saint Juan Diego (Our Lady of Guadalupe) and anniversary of Archdeacon Cavanah (Our Lady of Knock)--both connecting to the book of Revelation. Also feast day of Saint Anna's Conception of the Mother of God, of the Unexpected Joy Icon of the Mother of God, and of Saint Hannah, mother of Samuel. Eve of the feast day of Our Lady of Loreto. Image from here.)

Desert Prayer

(after Rabbi Jonathon Sacks)

       Cut [flowers], gather them, assemble them,

       then come and bring them into my presence.

       -- Our Lady of Guadalupe to Saint Juan Diego

being that the opposite 

of kadosh, holy,

is chol, sand: 

in a desert of

shifting sand,

God  

 is

Rock

His  

    word

            water, 

                     His roses

nestling.

Listening

 *Prompted by reflecting on Will Hunter's class Wilderness Spirituality, (Monastery of St. Gertrude, Cottonwood, Idaho) December 8, 2020; and by Abbey of the Arts' "self paced" class Give Me a Word, Galway, Ireland.

A Soul of One's Own.(WC)

(Wendy Cabell, January 21, 2020 revisited, feast day of Virgin Marytr Agnes of Rome, of the (above) Comfort (Vatopedi) Icon of the Mother of God, and also the Xenophone Hodēgḗtria, and Stabbed (Esphagmeni), Icons of the Mother of God.)  

A Soul of One's Own

This need is deeper 

than we knew. Not

just a room, a soul 

of one's own. 

The world is there, to

tug, to snatch. If it 

can. Smug voices, 

snappy colors, God's 

over there.

But He's not. 

He's in a soul of one's own.

Flame glowing the alter and 

Walls to touch.

Right where they matter most. 

Tick Tock (WC)

(Wendy Cabell, March 3, 2020, feast day of the (above) Volokolamsk Icon of the Mother of God, of Saint Katharine Drexel, and of  Virgin Marytr Saint Piama. Image from here.)

Tick Tock

Hickory dickory dock,

if only time Time could talk.

"Look 'round", she'd say,

"you've got all day".

Hickory dickory dock.

Quickory dickory dock,            

tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.   

"One thing at a time,

how else can life rhyme?"

Hickory dickory dock.

Chickory dickory dock,            

if only time Time could talk.

But cozy in sleep,

we'd hear not a peep.

Hickory dickory dock.

Indwelling (WC)

(Wendy Cabell, March 8, 2020, feast day of Saint Manuel Míguez González, of the (above) Kursk-Root ("the Sign") Icon of the Mother of God, and Sunday of Orthodoxy.)

Indwelling 

But ask... and the fish of the sea 

will declare to you. -Job 12: 7-8

Shell tell,

Sea speak.

You'll tell it true,

this thing I seek.

This nestled space

of ocean carved.

This safest place.

My soul is starved,

for luminous,

spacious,

home serene. 

What you have known.

What you have seen. As

storms, 

they've

swept

         on

             through.   

So

Shell tell,

Sea speak.

You'll tell it true,

this thing I seek.

*Synchronicity: June 10, 2023 happened come across this--right after Joseph's gift of miniature shell : )