[For the HearthKeepers, all]
Rooted finally in
who you’ve always been,
Mother is Home.
Finding you have wings,
you soar in migration,
sisters newly met.
Cradled, buoyant,
energized,
you rest in the gracious embrace
of the ocean surf, the
river’s flow,
the lake’s glassy
surface.
Yet Old Faithful erupts,
and
you rest on the crest of
its spray.
As the water recedes
below you,
will you be held?
What wings you have,
will they be too wet to
fly?
What roots you’ve grown,
Will they lose hold?
Our sacred fire crackles
gentling in its hearth,
warming hands, toasting s’mores,
welcoming us home.
Then like wildfire,
it races in front of us
from home to home to
office.
Dry kindling,
carelessly strewn for
centuries,
catches fire.
Steady flames or
abundant conflagration?
Devotion fires like this,
its underground, molten
wisdom
Creates planets when it
cools,
moves earth when it
flows.
It upholds all structure,
stability in flux held
firm.
It can erupt too,
without much warning,
when a crack in the
firmament
appears beneath our feet.
Fear of this harm erupts,
in kind,
Grounded in flight, the
Circle holds.
Circle fire and earth
fire
connect in the human
heart
welcomed to the hearth,
upheld by sacred ground.
Fire is fire, we learn,
it speaks, sings, moves
in many tongues,
Multiple forms that
burn, inspire, lighten
all the faces in a room.
Devotion reflects now in
my face,
In everything I am,
Because of this Hearth,
Because of you and our
circle-fire.
This hearth brings
devotion’s wild-fire
Through me, into the
room.
I will tend it, Keep it.
We hear, oddly, the
church fathers.
Abba Lot went to see Abba
Joseph,
“As far as I can, I pray,
fast, live in peace,
purifying my thoughts and
actions.
What else can I do?”
The Old Woman in Abba
Joseph
stands up, stretching her
hands open
To invite embrace. “If
you will,”
She whispers, “You can
become
All flame.”
