Blessings (Pt 2)
Blessings on the sacred and mundane, inspired by the Celtic poet and Theologian John O'Donohue
Lago Argentino, Argentina. Photo by Author
Blessing for a Premature Baby
Welcome to the earth little one. Your existence illuminates the truth of all life: we are fragile, precious, whole.
Please understand our anxious murmurs in the other room, the blade of uncertainty cuts slow and deep. You have not been outside of these walls yet, but when you do, one night you’ll stay out late under the stars, in the black of the witching hour, in touch with your smallness. At this time, it is unthinkable that dawn will come. But everyday, without fail, the sun soars over the horizon, defying the dark.
You are still shrouded in uncertainty but you too are here, flesh, blood, and bone. Underneath the warmth of incubator lights may you find the quiet and stillness you need till you are ready to pass over the threshold, to sprout so you can fully soak in the shine of our love. We will be waiting patiently for you.
Blessing for Knocking on the Door
Sometimes you’re not sure you belong
Sometimes it may be your only chance to talk to the person behind the door, standing tall and dispassionate in front of you
Sometimes you just forgot your keys
And sometimes you know they don’t want you there
But if you knock, you may find
They are waiting to welcome you
They answer the door and haven’t heard of the union yet and have cookies and lemonade they just made
Someone was just coming downstairs to grab their shoes, so, perfect timing
And you may find that the CEOs, squirreled away in their all glass conference room, have such flaccid imaginations that they can’t imagine someone with the chutzpah to knock on the door unless they were invited
So you just might get let in
Blessing for Climbing a Mountain
May you exit your mind and enter your body, surprising yourself with your strength and clarity of purpose as you twist your boot into earth, muddy shades of brown and rust and gray.
May you feel the physiological paradox as your heart rate rises and the temperature drops, the higher you climb. When you feel as though you simply can’t take one step more, something outside yourself will carry you forward to impossible heights, until, miraculously, you find rhythm where there was only pain, and your exhaustion melts and spreads into an even expenditure across your body, like liquid batter slowly filling a pan
May you marvel at how, from a distance, the mountain appears a gentle slope upwards, its magnitude inconceivable until you become one with it, panting on all fours, no breath to offer this blessing, your only way to pay respect to continue to put one foot in front of the other