Christ Reflection

Of the other

In the spirit of Saint Patrick, Pádraig Ó Tuama and Elizabeth Oldfield — whose written word, and work for reconciliation we hold precious in our household.

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Christ of the shaking aspen leaf fallen in creek

Of the swift moving cloud and the snow-dusted peak

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Christ of the lit fire in the gathering dusk

Of gold autumn grasses, of glittering Mars

Christ of the wee chipmunk hurrying, gathering husks

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Christ of the hillside and the ghostly hare, of the low November smoke

Pooling wax, an empty glass, and the backdoor stoop

Christ of the hangover and a heart that’s broke

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Christ of the dead fawn

Of the desolate mother, nosing, murmuring beside

Christ of the faithful arrival of each new dawn

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Christ of the other

Of whom I don’t get

Of frustration and head-shaking

Of my own shame and regret

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Christ of slow conversation

Of no interruption, of both-eared listening, and easy inquiry

Of wide pauses, soft eyes, brave loving and childhood telling

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Christ of our anguish, apathy and walking away

Of our construction and constriction, our rigidity and repression

Our refusal to stay

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Christ of the other

Unclench my gut and slow down my breath

Keep me from flight, the stranger as cousin and brother

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Christ of our inhale, expansion, our nudging imagination

Of our curiosity, pleasure and blanket-fort safety

Of our need for a lover, to sit ‘round the table

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Christ of holding my bowl and ladling small celebrations

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When I am in front of the other

Do I see them, seeing them

And me, seeing me and You seeing You?

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Only, can’t I see?

There is no other, lay down the fight

For we are a mirror, the reflection so blinding

I squint til my eyes run clear

and all I can see is Light

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