Sounds
Eternity’s Sea
Out it froths, as from
An inexhaustible fount of Word,
From a Source far beyond
All creature knowledge, but
Yet a humble foam eager
To greet my footprints
Face to face on the beach,
My steps, those of a pilgrim come
From afar like once did three
Wise visitors from the east,
When the tremendous roar of a
Rushing sea across sand
And stars was heard, and was
Forever altered the countenance
Of God… when it took
On the image of an infant
In a poor stable, and in the
Newborn’s hand was clenched
A sword of straw.
Silence
Click for meditationRegarding "Silence"
So rare is silence…
It’s almost as if we are afraid
Of it, and run from it,
Preferring the comfort of
Being around noise,
Rather than to have to think,
To have to consider who
We really are and the
Purpose of our existence in a
Universe too immense
And chaotic to understand.
There is a saying,
“God is in the silence.”
It speaks of the precious,
Divine nature of silence and
Its ability to heal and foster prayer.
In the Gospels, Jesus would
Always seek a quiet place to pray.
In the minds of Believers,
Yahweh was able to be
Heard above the roar of the
Big Bang in Genesis, such was the
Greatness of His almighty
Voice! Yet lo billions of
Years later, as galaxies still
Scream outward and expand the
Boundaries of the Universe,
God can be found meekly
In the sights and sounds of all
That composes His Creation,
Such as the birds of the air,
The grasses in the wind,
The gurgle of streams, and all
Else patiently calling us to
A state of calm and
Peace within. Silence is
So quiet, but yet is so
Profound, that its presence
Can supersede the din
That all human minds
And mouths can pour into
A dry fountain. When I
Was recently in Maine, the
Silence re-awakened
Some musings which I
Always associate and find
Poignant with my visits to Maine.
The same silence, however,
Also brought assurance
In the wizened croaks of a raven –
And I knew God in mystery
And mercy was present in my
Moods! In short, silence
Can not only evoke or activate a
Wellspring of feelings that
Noise would mask, but silence
Can also teach us that in
The crosscurrents of the Universe
The Omniscient presence
Of God (“I Am”) can assuage any
Desert loneliness running
Wild in the swirling sands.
Leo Carroll
August 25, 2020
Mood
“O, I am so missing you,”
I muse, sighing inaudibly while
Contemplating a solitary
Spruce through the window
Of my mood. “How can you be the
Other side of this glass,
Here now, here last year, and
Next if I so last…?”
Leo Carroll
August 17, 2020
Bristol, Maine
Finding
God can be found
In the silence, in the voices of the
Grasses and the birds and
The wind… gone now are His
Booming chords of First Day,
When ’twas necessary to shout
Above the cacophony of the roar and
The blast with, “Amen!”
Leo Carroll
August 18, 2020
Bristol, Maine
Saying Goodbye
A raven bugles in two,
Maybe three quick croaks…
While reverently stands
Ramrod-straight a little spruce, its
Duty to listen, as if no
Oth’r ears were interested
Enough to be open…
Leo Carroll
August 23, 2020
Bristol, Maine
Along the Assabet
Click for meditationRegarding "Along the Assabet"
Somewhere over the rainbow,
Somewhere in Acton along a road…I found
Myself seated along the Assabet
River. It all started when I
Was out on errands, and was
Waiting to have a car
Inspection completed. I was
Sitting outside the garage
Due to Covid-19 social distancing,
And was in an Adirondack
Chair, my mind near and afar…
As I was sitting there, I was
Marveling at the presence of
Some morning glory flowers
Hanging wondrously in front
Of me. They were mature plants
And were in large pots, and
Were very lighthearted in their
Pinks…Then through their
Foliage I heard a slight gurgling, and
Realized how very close I was
To the Assabet River! And so,
On a warm, muggy day
While out doing errands, I was
Graced with the cooling effects of
Color and sound and peace…
I peeked through the morning
Glory leaves and saw the
Shallow, running waters of the
Assabet, a foot deep, rounding what
They had rounded for eons…
And thus, perfectly-formed stones
Were added to the effects of
Color and sound, all culminating into
An unexpected moment…
A gift handed to me for free, and
All I had to do was to believe in it – – on a
Day in July when all else seemed
Tumult and roar and fear
Beyond relief.
Leo Carroll
July 26, 2020
The waters of life by me
Flow… “No worries,” they bubble,
“Let us o’er the riverbed
You row…” And so I let them
Take me, in sort of a
Swoon on a sultry afternoon,
Surrendering myself to
The moment, the waters in
Consonance with each other,
No vying for honors, their
Burbling being humble,
Rounding as for eons the already
Smooth-etched stones.
Morrill
Click for meditationRegarding "Morrill"
Every autumn for 21 years,
I went up to a cabin in the woods of
Morrill, Maine. It was a wonderful
Experience which I will never
Forget, and it is where I wrote scores
And scores of some of my
Favorite poetry. Seven years ago I
Took a sabbatical from going up,
But every fall I continued to
Feel the pull of the spiritual
Silence and majesty of those Maine
Woods. This autumn, after
My seven year hiatus, I
Returned for several nights
To those woods. It seemed a little
Strange for me, because
Although the woods appeared
Essentially the same, they
Did appear to have changed in
Subtle ways. It is hard
To explain. The more I have
Thought about this,
Though, the more I have
Come to realize that the true
Changes and differences
Were with me, and not the
Woods, and this is the theme of
All the poetry I wrote
While I was just up there. The
Poems try to put their
Finger on “something,” and the
“Something” is that the
Twenty one straight years
Were a distinct, unique period
In time, and performed a
Specific role in my life’s
Journey, and thus, when the
Woods and I saw each
Other again, we each took a
“Double-take” at each
Other – in pause and in
Shock – and I realized the truth
Of Thomas Wolfe’s saying,
“You can’t go home again,” and
Find either home and/or
Yourself the way things
Once were…
Leo Carroll
December 2, 2019
Ode to Morrill
You watch, waiting in
Silence, as if expecting I might
Have something to say, while I, in turn,
Watch you, thinking your
Branches to be both changed
And unchanged, your faces the same
Tho’ not the same…
Woods
Gray came up’n me,
Cold whipped the trunks of my soul,
Wind beat about me, and the
Woods whispered that “old” had crept
Into my snowy bones.
Moment
Still no movement, silence
Has even stopped…branches which are
Bent remain bent…branches
Which are straight guide my gaze
To their tops…
But then something flies
Chirping, and I would describe it if I
Could, but its feathers are
Too far away, and so I resume my
Autumn mood…
O, Angel of God
“O, Angel of God, my guardian dear…,”
And thus I begin my catechism’s
Childhood prayer, and then
In the silence, a distinct silence
Cold and white, a chorus rises up,
And chickadees alight…
Calling Out
“Where are you, Memory,
Where can I find you in the midst
Of this snowy field lying in
My mind and up’n this ground…?
Everything looks the same,
But my mind tells me
Something has changed…!”
Requiem
I returned to these woods to
Re-walk and live my old memories, and
Found some of them moved and
Wondered to where they
Might be keeping…?
And so I mused aloud,
“Is there not anything here
I can depend?!”
And then all my old
Haunts and shadows looked
O’er at me, and I knew
I had crossed the
Threshold to an e’er
Approaching requiem.
Silence in Stone
Click for meditationRegarding "Silence in Stone"
A stone wall is symbolic
Of everything this world is not.
It is silent, content to
Bask in solitude, confident
In its strength, and in
Absolutely no need
To be known. It is just there,
Wherever it is, blending
Into the background
Of everything going on
Around it, quietly listening,
Unassuming, and
Satisfied to stand in
Loyalty and solidarity to
The flesh which built
It with long ago hands.
It has no expectations,
Except that in autumn some
Maple, oak, and beech
Leaves lean against its
Moss, and that together
In the fading sunlight they
Share in the glow of the lost
Art of tenderness
In a time-forgotten,
Promised Land.
Leo Carroll
April 1, 2019
I try to claim each
Day in the name of silence,
If such a thing from
Noise is possible
In this world the
Garden of Eden has
Cast us into. Perhaps
This is why to
Stone walls I so
Gladly cleave.
They seem to
Be able to stand
Without having to do…
And just to be…
They are content in
Their timeless, tireless
Strength, and
Are happy to
Let the forest and
Its timbers beat
Their breasts before the
Moon, as if to
Achieve this could
E’er surpass the
Silence resonant in a
Stone’s beauty.