News in Expressions
Poems, Image, Songs, Expressions
I can't say I like shopping very much, especially the Christmas rush. This seems quite a dark poem but one that resonates with those who have a feeling of being on an ever speeding treadmill, when in reality, Christmas is about remembering God's arrival in our lives and sharing his love with one another. I recall T.S. Eliot poem.
Dave Brubeck, legendary jazz pianist and pioneer, died earlier today on the cusp of his 92nd birthday. Throughout his career, Brubeck defied conventions long imposed on jazz musicians. The tricky meters he played in “Take Five” and other works transcended standard conceptions of swing rhythm.?
"By contemplating Mary in heavenly glory, we understand that the earth is not the definitive homeland for us either, and that if we live with our gaze fixed on eternal goods we will one day share in this same glory and the earth will become more beautiful.
The Station is an illusion--It constantly outdistances us. Tucked away in our subconscious minds is an idyllic vision in which we see ourselves on a long journey that spans an entire continent.But uppermost in our conscious minds is our final destination.
'We know that our lives began in a place and we sense or, at least, we
hope that our lives are going somewhere. Just as pilgrims keep moving
in the direction of an unseen sanctuary, so we choose to find meaning
in our life's journey."
Living by the sea, I sometimes, after rainfall, catch sight of a beautiful rainbow just like this one, so awesome that I am always caught by surprise, stopping whatever I am doing and just standing still, gaping at this vision, a wonderful part of our natural world but also a glimpse of heaven.
In moments of stillness and meditation, there are poems that soothe the mind and inspire thought. Some give a sense of the excitement and beauty of the natural world and its relationship to man. Others ponder upon the silence and music, or upon love and personal identity.
This poem reminds me of the first Claretian Missionaries who came to England 100 years ago, just before the First World War.
The names of those who in their lives fought for life,
Who wore at their hearts the fire's centre.
Born of the sun, they travelled a short while toward the sun
And left the vivid air signed with their honour.
So from now on, when we go to a museum or a church and see a crying Magdalene, we can choose to remember that the purpose of the Crucifixion was the Resurrection, and that the tears we see washed her eyes of the illusion of death in order to see life. Her vision, of life reborn, of life never dead, can be the warp and weft on which we can place our faith to believe that out of our pain, a new life can be born.
We must fall on our knees as we contemplate the crucifixion. But even on our knees, we will not understand. Yet, fret not. An explanation for such a sacrifice is beyond our understanding. "Leave the battered Cross high on the Calvary of our London village and move towards Easter"