The Slow-Cooked Sentence

Flare up like a flame, make big shadows I can move in

Rachael Conlin Levy

God speaks to each of us as he makes us, then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly here:

You, sent out beyond your recall, go to the limits of your longing. Embody me.

Flare up like a flame and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final. Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life. You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

This week I found a misplaced memory card that held this photo from our summer camping trip.

It warms me.

This week I listened to words from Rilke’s Book of Hours, translated and read by Joanna Macy.

They fortify me.

In these short, dark days, I yearn for such comfort and strength, and am grateful for a week that brought both.

4 responses to “Flare up like a flame, make big shadows I can move in”

  1. Andrea says:

    That is a fantastic picture! Hurrah for missing memory cards (once they turn up)! And hurrah for the little things that hold us together during the dark times (of the year/of life).

  2. anno says:

    Beautiful picture, beautiful words — this cheered and delighted me.

  3. Beth says:

    Oh Rachael, I needed this today. Thank you so much. The photo is breathtaking and the words gave me pause.

  4. I’ve come back to this post several times. I like Max’s representation of unbridled joy juxtaposed with “You will know it by its seriousness.” Go Max! It’s not always serious here, right? I want to run like that the next time I visit the beach, and why not? It will happen. Thanks to both of you for the inspiration.

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