Briefly it enters . . . Jane Kenyon

It’s Friday. Much cooler today than it was yesterday. I’m inside, but my feet are cool in my flip-flop slippers. Does anyone use the word thongs anymore for flip-flops? I first typed “my feet are cool in my thongs” and realized that folks would wonder why my feet were slipped into my underpants. Does anyone ever say underpants? Is a thong considered underpants?

Even if the above questions are appropriate for a woman my age–born after the underwear/thong revolution, I’m getting off track here. Another time, perhaps.

***

With Easter only a few days in the past, I’ve been thinking a lot about love and church and religion and spirituality. There is so much I do not like about organized religion/Catholicism, and yet in church on Sunday morning all the perceived separation I feel on a regular basis (perhaps more regular after the November election) slipped away. It dissolved in the choir’s one-voice. I don’t always feel that way in church. Sometimes I feel it when I’m out walking–suddenly I am the birds singing, or the tree budding out, or the dandelions growing up between the sidewalk cracks.

Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks, a poem by the late Jane Kenyon reminds me that the heart of love is this very oneness. I am sharing a couple of lines here, and  hope you will follow this link to read the rest of the poem:

I am the blossom pressed in a book,
found again after two hundred years. . . .
I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper….
**

4 thoughts on “Briefly it enters . . . Jane Kenyon

  1. I am pleased to hear your comments about organized religion. Validates some of my thoughts.
    I laugh at myself when I remember wearing a thong on each foot….i had to write it like this because autocorrect kept changing it to”things” which also makes me laugh at how much the world has changed in what seems like such a short time.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, organized religion seems to be the antithesis of what Christianity should be about, and then there is something to the ritual, the reverence of it all. It cracks me up–the thong thing. I say it all the time, and it reduces my children to laughing tears!

      Like

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