Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Utter Godsense


The desk in my bedroom has a squared-u on top of the back part of it. There is a wide flat top to the u that up until several days ago held most of my books. There was a pile at one end...a line of books...and a pile at the other. Since putting volumes up there, I rather enjoyed the idea that I had end books instead of book ends.

I loved having my books up there. When I sat at the desk, I felt surrounded by them--because aside from being overhead, inevitably, there is a book or three on the desk surface itself and an assortment of dictionaries in the small cubbies of the u. But, the top was beginning to bow slightly and would probably only get worse so I found a book case in another part of the house and it fit just outside my door...and my books fit perfectly. Now, books welcome me when I enter this room. And, they keep watch when I leave, wrapping me in the memory of certain passages or stanzas or lines. I crave the free and creative space to which books and language lead me...And that space moves with me throughout the day and the places I occupy.

And while books and writing are things I enjoy, I know too that they are but one way to learn of the wonder that is the Origin of all that Is, the Creator, the Impetus, I AM. They are one way of entering into and sensing the presence of God.

Hearing the sounds of language when I read and bringing what is inside of it into being in voice or imagination is a profound experience of God for me. In some wondrous and mystical way, the story or image that rises is also what lifts notes of music into a cradle of air and what happens between them to make sound and it is the overlapping edge between light, shadow, colors and texture and pattern in painting.

God is the space between and in the sensing itself and in the whole come together.

I think I have read something of God in lines of the poems on my shelves, in Isaiah, the Gospels, the Psalms...And I have seen something of God in the works of Matisse and Van Gogh, students I have taught, and the movements of sun and moon....I have heard something of God in laughter on the playground and in the notes that hang at the center of the ceiling at the Church of Saint Francis Xavier in NYC.

And today... Today I have tasted something of God...

I made ancho chile-cinnamon-chocolate crackle cookies and they were amazing.

All of the flavors were huddled together and yet, each could be discerned, each waited its turn for revelation. The chocolate was up front, but you could tell that cinnamon was teasing for attention. Then...just when you think you are done, there is a tap on the shoulder and chile is there, claiming its role in the whole overall, drawing the cinnamon and chocolate back for an encore. What happens between the layers of flavor is not at all unlike what happens in the other sensory experiences...

And I believe it is God to whom I draw close in each sensory act of creativity. God in the sound, in the Word, in the coming together of color, line, contrast, texture, and in the thoughtful interplay of flavor...

Glory, that thrills me.


Friday, December 12, 2014

Advent III, 2014

Advent III, 2014

My counter-weight,
my center down,
my metronome, my joy,
my song, my strength,
my fascination,
my hope, my help,
my rumination,
my wonder, awe, best inclination,
grace, cry, laugh, word,
moving me out to the neighborhood;
Born a baby, born of yes,
born to journey, born to bless.

Joy to the world, parumpapumpum,
Hark, herald, welcome,


Kimberly M. King, rscj

image: c. Natesh Ramasamy

Friday, December 5, 2014

Advent II, 2014



Where the voice cries, plaintive or piercing,

at the bend of becoming and no return, I am

watchful for the low words

that draw me down center,

that humble me, impassion me,

steady me, move me,

move my light, move my being,

into the here and the now of

the still and the fray of the world,

to proclaim the time

of Love's incarnation.


Kimberly M. King, rscj


(words in italics are from Janet Erskine Stuart,

Superior General of the Society of the Sacred Heart, 1911-1914)


image: c. Mosi Lager, 2008



Saturday, November 29, 2014

Advent I, 2014

Advent I, 2014


With bare spread arms and fullness of being

I ache for your coming and praise you already

in the becoming colors where night awakens the sun

with stories and visions and hope.

Where day bows to starlight and promises tales

when next they meet to dance

on the edge of Mystery's vastness.


--Kimberly M. King, rscj--



Monday, November 24, 2014

The Offering Tree

The Offering Tree

I understand your desire to bend
in an open offering of self--
Transparent in ache and yearning,
willing to let go
into the becoming colors that hint
at the infinite, almost, not quite,
stars remaining, new day rising,
glorious fullness and subtlety of being
that is God, that is God,
that is God.

c. MperiodPress




I love this tree.

I watch her every morning as the night gently wakes the day and the two exchange news of dreams and imaginings, places traveled and what has been witnessed by the great lights that guide their journeys. I watch her with longing and understanding, admiration and care. I have come to think of it as The Offering Tree. Her branches bare and spread wide to wind, bird, and snow alike...she is vulnerable yet well rooted. She has sustained much in her life and is subject to the changes of season, rainfall, and soil composition...

I watch the tree and how she changes over time and against the back drop of a stunning assortment of colors. I like looking through the lace of her branches and noting the crisp contrast between her living solidity and the diaphanous wonder of nature's shifting palette.

On some mornings, while tucked in the rocking chair and hand hugging a wake-up mugful of coffee, I think I can understand her... Or, if not understand, I can at least imagine more easily...

And what I imagine is what I myself desire...to be in the horizon where these colors live first, to offer my being with transparent aching to the One who is Artist and Writer, Word and Wisdom, Compassion and Justice and Mercy... To be so open that giving and receiving meet and there is a loosening, an allowing, an expansiveness to accommodate all that I am and all that Is... To be so open that nothing remains save the essential truth that God is all in all.



Thursday, October 23, 2014

To the Letter


23 October, 2014

I have spent some time this morning with the letters of women who intrigue me...Janet Erskine Stuart, Georgia O'Keefe, Willa Cather...And as I read I find myself talking to them as I might if I had the chance to sit across from them in a book-ish ambiance, or upon a hillside blanket, washed over with a new day's becoming and the generous pauses of contentment and keen observation that are markers of the rare experiences at the tail end of the earth that are here--you can't help getting them. (G. O'Keefe)

As I read, I keep thanking them with a slight blush...A window they (for the most part) never intended to be hewn into the side of the lives they fashioned has been un-shuttered and opened to the elements by the publication of their letters...and I have stood in the wind and peeked through, reading the correspondence that was intended for another.

I thank them for the fluidity of their pens and the intimacy they are able to convey in the coming together of ink and paper... Intimacy of thought and feeling, intimacy of relationship to the world, to others, to God, to Nature and Art...

I thank them for their lives, fully lived, fully engaged, fully given...to Beauty, to others, to God, to creating, to interpreting what they experienced in a way that can speak seriously to others over time and invite the pursuit of such expression by others.

I thank them for the way they have me reflect on the letters I have written in my lifetime and the letters I have received. As to the former, some I have written are meanderings of thought, some describe a particular moment, some are purposeful and to the point, some are quietly expressive of a truth that begs to bloom. Some of the latter have cut me to the quick, others have made me consider situations or actions in a different light, others are of the sort to keep apart and read again and again, gently and thoroughly...letting the heart rest in the warmth and rise on the nearness of the one who writes....who shares their word and their hand, their thoughts, feelings, and wishes...in a one to one conversation with a reader...

...who might be someone else one day... ???

And I find myself asking... What will the landscape reveal through the hewn window of the words I write?



Thursday, October 2, 2014

Job and the Angels

It is the feast of the Guardian Angels today... And I was thinking about that while I sat in the Public Gardens this morning. I have a hard time with conventional representations of angels...wings, saccharine, pink and cherubic.... But, LIGHT...yes. Warmth. Depth. Presence. Balm, Strength, Steadiness, Accompaniament. Even Guardian, protector...

And as I closed my eyes and opened my arms alone on the bench and steeped my being in this Glory, I thought of Job... Job who proclaimed that in spite of what surrounded him, in spite of his doubts and questions and insecurities...I know that my Redeemer lives , and that he will at last stand forth upon the dust; Whom I myself shall see: my own eyes, not another's, shall behold him, and from my flesh, I shall see God; my inmost being is consumed with longing.

And I thought... Oh, Job...I get that. Those moments when I have had to dig down and stand up and say I Will Walk Through This. Bring it on...because why? Because I know my Redeemer lives and my own eyes will see...Because Light walks with me to remind me and I am not alone.

2 October, 2014

On the same bench in the Gardens. This could well be a part of my vision of heaven. The light alone--the way it moves through the trees, soaking and saturating them like morning dew and the way it slip-tugs around each branch like a ribbon wending its way. The light that knows both tag and peek-a-boo as well as her asanas of grace, blessing, and harmony. The way this light makes each color its own fullness. It is ALL within the gold of the black-eyed susan stand and every ray finds home in the deep fuchsia that softens the lamp post's angularity. The way it smooths the surface of the water and the sky so that the geese and the sparrows, the woodpeckers and gulls, all have a clear path before them. Even the clouds look shaken out and snapped awake by the strength and depth of this radiance after a night shot through with the half-light threads of dreams.