Author: Sarah De Nordwall

for Nick and Rachel, who gifted my friend Helen and I, with a weekend in their Artist’s cottage in Rye, which was rainswept, ancient, healing and full of enchantment. A place to enjoy creativity and much thought. Some time later, I attended a contemplative art day with Sr Sheila, who suggested we create some work…

They say there was a type of human Aeons of the ancient world ago Whom they called Woman. Who remembers why, But it is rumoured, It was something like a goddess And connected, if it can be properly believed With the bringing forth of life itself. You ask me who believes such folly Or how…

Something may need welcoming into the worldBut it has a quiet voice And only you are listening Maybe only you can hear that languageAnd not mistake it for the song of birds You raise your headLike a deer who hears the panther,But not through fear of danger,Out of love. The wild thing comethAnd the world…

Again the Sabbath comes to mind. Why? Because it’s quiet while God worksIt’s an act of faithThe stillnessThe not going anywhereNot doing anything to make a visible change You’re just existingbut existing’s goodAnd that’s the point The Quiet RevolutionIs a discipline of mindAn opening of the heartBecause the peace is all around It’s an act…

If you knew There was a temple made of time Which held a mystery A day made of eternity Wouldn’t you be racingAching for moreAsking every passer by“Show me the door!” If you knewThat a land where life was newFlowed with delight And crowned at its height With a wedding banquet Was waiting for youAnd…

The strange and angular truthBears a wayward fruit Out of the wayBut not out of mind The island of the fruitful tree must be approachedBut the bridge is broken Only the crushed heart Dares to be a foundation for the bridge’s mending But lo, the Green Man comesAnd he would cross! He stands with the…

Inside me Are the streets of Jerusalem. Sun on the old stone stairways And the baking air. Inside me Are the high walls and the tumbling flowers, Vivid as a clarion call in a net of leaves, Red and pink in the thorns and prickles. Even the plants must arm themselves Against the night and…

Who’s this sphereWho’s bounced into our world of lines,Pushing us around? We don’t like roundAnd we don’t like pushed. What’s this plane rushing by?She says it’s a circleBut I don’t see the point.Well actually I only see a point,Being a line. How can a point Take up so much room?I mean, what does she mean…

Blessed Mother,You knew not only how to carry your own deep sorrows with dignitybut to make roomto hold the sorrows of another.You were not afraidof annihilationNot alarmedby a fresh dismemberment.You were the centrifugal forceof lovethat holds the accelerating universein a wide offeringof ever-expanding joyamidst the pain.You are not destroyed.Wholly identified with the four directions of…