Today’s Advent reflection is written by Kim Balke who tells me: I have been a leaf chaser and cloud wanderer since early childhood. I grew up in southern Ontario near the Great Lakes and my family roots are in Nova Scotia, where I have been a beachcomber for mermaid’s tears (beach glass, especially the blue ones) over 10 years. I now live on the West Coast in a small community, Tsawwassen, BC, surrounded by ocean and river mystery. I have been married to Tom, fellow wanderer in creation, for 29 years and we have two young adult sons, one dog and a huge family of stick bugs. I credit their growing years as my unofficial PhD dissertation in wonder, observation and reflection. I am an Expressive Arts Therapist in private practice and work with children in 3 schools in the Lower Mainland of Vancouver.
Wading Through Hot Chocolate and Cloudy Skies
Hurting people billow about me,
darkening grays, aging ways,
black and purple-blue hues;
a hollowed out sky before me
in the form of needs, misdeeds,
unkempt, messy vapours diffusing light and tell-tale sight
around my landscape. Let them go, too heavy to hold.
Falling, falling inevitably down over autumn leaves
in a colour leeching rain; a desired disintegration into ground,
the still, waiting space and time for growing something good … later.
Here and now is damp and cold;
a stick stirring a muck of memories,
a jump in puddles day;
watch the slough carry leaf boats downstream and away,
far away to adventure lands;
catch my breath and here I go
into William Blake’s “eternity in an hour”
flowers, unfolding long forgotten freckle faced smiles
of an incognito princess ship wrecked on new shores;
in the dirt on her tattered sleeves, the gifts of Magi sustain her;
in the wet socks hanging to dry, shepherds guard flocks at night.
She is waiting for…no…
she is wading through hot chocolate!
Her face peers into steam, Anna- like, searching through temple crowds, wondering.
She finds herself enveloped in rainbow, gloria and God given promises
from an ancient red and black letter book
about a baby-king wrapped in rags, hand me down clothes
from prophets to Elizabeth to Mary;
stitched and mended Metaphor of Meaning
for the fullness of time;
for child’s play in the sacredness of this present pregnant moment
seen in cloudy Tsawwassen skies and me.