Seen

 A friend lent me a book. Theo of Golden. I had just begun reading it. It’s about an artist and people being seen. It led me to think about this friend I made on a pilgrimage in Israel. She is much older than me and darling. We are an unlikely pair, but our hearts are knit together. We were on buses, in gardens, on windy cliffs. I lit a candle in a monastery for her in Haifa, Israel after she fell ill. I photographed flowers for her. She is well now. She lends me books. Ingrid.

As I thought about people that I pray for, I could see the depths hidden in their heart. I could see my friend Jenni breaking her alabaster jar in public spaces. She is writing a book. I pray for her fire to illuminate darkened rooms and hearts.

I could see my brilliant, beautiful daughter not able to see how wonderful she is. I love her. She’s strumming her ukelele and talking to a cat. Hope looks so simple. Laomai.

I could see myself sitting on deep things because they weren’t welcome in the market place. Liberating words come. Art is not a commodity. It is a gift. 

My friend that was lost to suicide grew up here and I thought about the gift of his joy that is absent. Mark. How do we honor those we love? On the cliff of a lake at an antique, yellow table, these words tumbled out. 

FIRESIDE

WHAT DO YOU WRITE

TO MAKE PEOPLE FEEL MORE ALIVE?

WHAT WORDS DISMANTLE WALLS

CREATE SAFE SPACES?

WHAT REORDERS THE WOUNDED SOUL?

HERE I AM. HOPING FOR FEATHERS LOOKING DEEPLY AT COMMUNITY AND HUMANITY.

PURSUING A SPARK.

ALWAYS FINDING IT IN UNLIKELY PLACES.

BUSES. GARDENS. WINDY CLIFFS.

BURIED IN

THE FACES THAT SEEM TO

GO

UNNOTICED.

PERHAPS, JUST NOT SEEN FOR THE DEPTHS THEY CARRY.

BELOVED.

YOU CARRY FIRE.

YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

STEPHCHERRY.COM