In the flame of the candle unknowable vastness (2001)

by Peter Menkin

God's presence arrives,

listening to the lighted

candle. The flame

communicates the aware

devotion of silence, making

things seen and unseen

prayerful notices. These conversations

continue reverently in the room

where we were on vigil Eastertime.

Those prayers remain still. How soothing it is to listen

to prayer; the Yes, be awake in spirit

and mind

as during the engagement with God

there is room for the fiery envelopment

elicited within and enjoined

to others in a rising embrace

by unknowable vastness. Given

a moment to be aware

of God's presence.

Receive the season

that astounds, despite slowness

of heart. Say "Stay with us..."

At the back of the Church,

at the foot of the Cross in the Cathedral,

by the sacrament in private on the mountain,

in the chapel at noon time,

on the road,

in the light of day,

during work, how it is to recall

the spirit.

Times eternal unending. Here remember:

Others know, too.

When she goes to pray, an intimate

time of life, we know love

embraces us as love embraces her.

On Sunday, first the flame listens

best; later all week the heart be open, love invites

on the road. Feed us, You do

in the breaking of bread.

Take the cup. A moment and minutes that love offers,

this is the sweet enduring spirit.

Continue the ongoing conversation.

This poem has a third revision, and it is a response that is part of the series "Conversations with the Holy Spirit." Written after reading the end of Luke in the New Testament (NSRV), and mostly begun in response to the suggestion "Take a moment to be aware of God's presence," one line requires its own place about the middle of the now shorter work. "First the flame listens;" is the line. I'll make that change.

This makes sense to me because the setting of the poem is the Sunday Church service. The poem is written as a prelude to the coming Sunday, and the reading from Luke is where two apostles are going down towards the village Emmaus, and they come across a stranger who they talk to about a man who was before God, walked with God, was God and Man. They talk about being astounded by the women of their group who were at the tomb of Christ in the early morning. Here they speak of their joy and a promise that is given of something wonderful and mysterious, a spirit that will come among them.

I am reminded of the flame of the candle that is lit by the worshipper in Church, and the prayers of the heart that are burning. Mostly, I attempt to render the experience of the spirit. This is a kind of listening experience that I believe is known to many people.

Here is a line from that book by Luke (24:13-53), "Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?"

These notes are from the original posting on July 12, 2001. That along with the poems, also posted then on the same board (The Atlantic Monthly Writer's Workshop). Should the reader of this blog wonder how 2001 and poems with notes from them make a journal entry for today, January 23, 2008, understand it takes a while to get around to things. Though this is the season of Epiphany in the Church I attend, I am looking forward to Lent and Easter. Also, afterall, I am also working on poems from as many as 7 years ago. For some reason, I am happy with this particular incarnation in two versions, and the notes about them from 2001.

Unfolding in the Silence & Sound

by Peter Menkin

Inside the church there is a fire

burning in hearts, a seduction

that opens us to heaven. This is Spirit.

We respond to find Him.
Nothing

but music, voices raised

in hymn--sublime.

Can anything separate us

from the firm foundation?

Christ Jesus.

Heavenly voices sent a sound,

today the songs sang again,

among mortals taking refuge

in eternity Rock of Ages.

Set like a seal on the heart,

endeavor, be healed,

stand upheld--are among

many words

uplifted.

Church is a place of memories

and the living day.

The I Am of the minutes engage

a love strong as Death: unquenchable.

Colors in a room
By Peter Menkin, Obl. Cam., OSB

White walls, painting aqua tope

around orange sun shows

angels emitting fiery elements towards earth. Heavenward

arrangement as raspberry red wooden chairs

around Easter table,

at whose center a chick emerging

from mirrored egg

wrought in stained glass.

Making awakening sound filling the many

sunlit windows

with musical illuminations.

Expectant new day

rising to perform the work of God

in spirit of prayer.

Soon united by the wind

that blows many tongued mysteries

providence requires.

This is sufficiency, to pray.

On the mountain, in the church,

the tendrils of peace offer forth;

stretched open in touch.

The time to speak with God.

Day continues. Work to be done.

Rest comes soon.

Nocturne of dreams will fill an envelope the space--

this room

lives with imagination.

By the table sits a blue and gold trunk;

in place there are candles that are for the inner self,

an offering that asks

make dialogue happy.

Lit, these are connected

to the mysteries in the church by the park,

communicated among the other homes.

Lighted candles in the evening,

day ends.

Waiting they state to God:

“O gracious Light,

pure brightness of the ever-living

Father in heaven...”

Many colors.

Simple icons

adorn the wall: tree with yellow leaves,

hermitage house at monastery,

wind sculpted tree on land jutting

by the Pacific Ocean in Big Sur,

amazing cross and gems

set in worked metal by an artist living in Mexico

(a man praying on his knees).

These are windows,

mirrors,

a vista.

More.

A man lives here.