by

Will you…?

 

It’s honest like

a hungry man’s plea,

or volatile

like

a flame’s

feathery burn

 

It’s the gentle touch on a

child’s cheek

or the violence of

a deceived

heart

 

Love,

 

will you make

our lips surrender

our bodies yield

our spirits merge?

 I wonder

 

Your glory, reflected

in the passion of stormy eyes

concealed

in the caress of the breath

alive

through mortal shadows

rupture

death.

 

Your imprint, edged

in the smile of clouds

granted

in the whisper of moonshine

infinite temptation

to rest

to resurrect.

I stare

 

Love,

 

will you bring us to our knees

in prayer

and grief

will you steer our voyage

with faith

our pain with

grace?

 

will you leave a trail

of kisses

part the waves of

anguish

bless our altar to

human frailty

with

divine creation?

I bow 

by

A LIFE WISH

“The opposite of death is birth. Life has no opposite.” – Eckard Tolle

In a few days I will be flying out to Belgium to be with my brother and his children as they mourn the passing of my sister-in-law. 2012 opened with a death –my husband’s beloved mom- and now closes with another one. Like most of you, I’ve learned to navigate the grieving process as the passing years have forced me to say goodbye to both my parents and my in-laws, a couple of friends, my niece, and now my brother’s life partner. Every single death throws me off balance and brings in a new wave of past sorrows. Quite a downer on this upcoming New Year’s Eve. But does it have to be? In the same few years our family has welcomed nine new little ones, bundles of discoveries and giggles. My daughter has grown into a college freshman eager to learn and taste campus life. My son is counting the days to his learner’s permit as my husband and I laugh (mostly) while adding up our wrinkles. We’ve all made new friends. We’ve all grown and blossomed in our own way. Life has been good to us. And it’s been really tough too. It’s simply been Life, birth and death side by side in a never ending succession of smiles and tears.

The Holiday Season brings the fragility of life to the forefront, from the innocence of the baby in the manger to the absence of our departed loved ones. Surrounded by twinkling lights and presents most of us also unwrap our broken hearts. I am writing today, dear friends, to remind you –and myself- that the champagne flute or beer mug you will raise at midnight tomorrow never stops bubbling with the potential for joy, and to invite you to drink up the possibilities that lie in the mere fact that you’re breathing. I believe that death turns into the opposite of life when we rebel against it and let grief engulf us. When we lose track amidst the darkness of what drives us in the light. On this New Year’s Eve, let’s accept that while death may be the opposite of human life but it does not signal the end of Life. Because Life is our love shining through tears and shared memories. It’s our decision to savor every day and our desire to make a difference. It’s our ultimate choice to embrace birth and death as perfect partners of an imperfect journey.

We’ve all been challenged by Life. All of us. The how doesn’t much matter. What counts is the depth of the wound and, in time, of the healing. I propose a toast, my friends, to our resilience and our willingness to let love touch us, hurt us, and above all, make us whole again. May 2013 bring us the strength to face Life as it is and the blessing of loving it no matter what. From my heart to yours: our combined spirits know no opposites.

 Happy New Year!

Maryse G. Copans © 2012

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Breakfast Hook

Nothing like a juicy epiphany in the morning! It’s tastier than a waffle with berries and more powerful than an energy smoothie.

“It’s not because I’m good at something that I have to like it or want to do it. And it’s not because I have no apparent talent for something else that I have to dislike it or not want to do it”. There. Liberating. Don’t you agree? Don’t we all have things we love to do and that we do not excel at (like painting for me) and others that we’re not that keen on and yet do reasonably or really well?

When a few years ago I was told that I had a talent for weaving pictures with threads of clever vocabulary, I took the hint and explored the gift. Several writing classes and blog posts later I came to the forlorn conclusion that I did not love my new talent. But I kept at it, so used was I to pushing through resistance and doubt. Surely, if I had a way with words it was meant to be perfected and shared. But as practicing and publishing continued to drain my joy, I decided to put a stop to my writing ambitions. No need to tell you that any relief I felt was plagued with guilt and a sense of failure.

Today’s breakfast treat has changed all that. I don’t get any pleasure from broadcasting my thoughts on the Internet? Fine. Putting random dabs of color on a piece of paper is thrilling? Why not? It’s ok for me not to like what I have a knack for and it’s cool to enjoy what I’m not great at.  The human journey is not just about sharing gifts and talents but about the joy we glean and spread while doing what we choose to do. Don’t underestimate the impact of what is performed with love and pleasure. And don’t question your right to turn your back on what does not bring you joy. Even if you’re very, very good at it.

This post may not be my finest but it was fun to ponder and create. That’s no small deed for a writer at heart who does not love to write. I invite you to partake in this healthy dose of breakfast wisdom so that your lives may be infused with the wonder of doing what you  enjoy and may inspire others to do the same.

Maryse Godet Copans © 2012

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And to all, a merry God-mas!

I knew God through the stories my mother read when I was a little girl: Jesus walking on water or helping the Samaritan woman. I knew God when I prayed the Hail Mary before falling asleep, when I sang “Silent Night” while holding a sparkler in front of our Nativity Set on Christmas Eve. On Confirmation day, when the dark brown cross around my neck threw a shadow on my white robe.  I stood, a red rose in my hand, symbol of God’s unconditional love. I was too young to understand. All I heard were the priest’s lectures about sin, redemption, and human unworthiness.

 

I avoided God through countless hours spent in cathedrals and monasteries all around France listening to my parents’ depiction of devotion and sacrifice in the Middle Ages. I preferred the safety of the postcard stand in the narthex and the timid lights of candles, 10 cents for a prayer heard and received…”Get me out of here!”  I avoided God while practicing with the church choir and dreaming of mass-free Sundays and late breakfasts. The sound of the guitar in those icy walls never warmed my heart to His presence.

 

I swapped God for the race to success and the whirlwind of London’s financial markets.  Professional achievement filled my heart with pleasure and left my soul unsatisfied. I swapped God for the careless attentions of men who never tried to know me, for the mirage of a carefully decorated interior that never reflected the wildness of my most secret hopes. I spread my wings away from home and yearned for the wind that would lift them to new heights. I did not know that it had to blow from within.

 

I heard God whisper in the generous smile of my future husband, in the giggles of my sweet children as a mighty wave of love changed me forever. I heard Him whisper as I held my father’s hand on his hospital bed, and watched in wonder as four days of closeness erased years of discipline and distance. I said goodbye on a freezing January morning finding comfort in the belief that he would remain by my side,  proud witness of my uneven steps towards Grace.

 

I cried to God when the images sent by my battered brain frightened me more than the roaring in my ears, when the endless spinning made me wonder if the world would ever be a safe place again. I cried when I lost Myriam and Maman and woke up at night surrounded by shadows that painted my future in a pallet of anger and despair. I could not make sense of the blows that left me utterly broken. I didn’t know then that tending my wounds would allow my spirit to start talking. My tears did not fertilize a desert. They gently moistened my soul and let hope find a corner in which to rest.

 

I thanked God for the relief of walking unsupported. I thank Him for the opportunity to find out who I truly am, and for the loved ones allowing me to follow my heart. For showing me how illness and struggle open onto creativity; onto words and the journey to write them. I thank God every day for the miraculous world around me and the love that I receive with every breath I take. For the chance to spread it like a cloud of endless energy reaching the ones in need of what I can give.

 

I know God when my eyes are closed and my body is filled with golden trumpets, when the song in my heart explodes in a harmony of fulfilled desires and renewed joy. Or when the wave of grief floods my inner light with doubts and blame. She is with me when my unanswered questions threaten to shatter my heart, when I meditate, or when I wrap Christmas presents. I know God because I choose to feel His gentle touch in my every moment. I know God because I’m alive and I pay attention.

And may you feel too that you belong in the Light. Merry Christmas to you all!

Maryse G. Copans © 2011

 

 

 

 

 

by

INVITATION

A tremor colors the dryness,

a voice cuts through the gale:

 

“This one belongs to the journey,

should she choose to believe.”

 

A bell chimes in Heaven,

a shadow calls her name.

If death is not a beginning,

why do we reach for the sky?

 

A wave crosses the desert,

a shiver moves the plains:

 

“This one will taste the harvest,

she will carve the bark of faith.

A message’s dawned on her sorrow,

her task throughout the land:

 

 “This one is marked for greatness,

should she choose to believe.”

Maryse G. Copans © 2011

Photograph taken in Eygalières, France (courtesy of Francine Godet © 2011)