Listening to Spring! A Simple Practice with the Talking Joy Team
We are listening to spring! A favorite time of year – a season of awakening, new life, and new beginnings. It is also a changing season, often reflecting the ongoing transformation of our souls. Join the Talking Joy Team for a listening practice that will help you awaken to spring after the long winter months.
What are you hearing as we enter spring?
I am so ready for spring! Spring a favorite time of year – a season of awakening, new life, and new beginnings. It is also a changing season, often reflecting the ongoing transformation of our souls.
Join the Talking Joy Team for a listening practice that will help you awaken to spring after the long winter months.
Poem #1
Listening to Spring - A Praise Poem
How quietly the earth breathes forth new life.
How eagerly the sun bleeds forth the spring,
I am listening.
I am listening to seeds breaking open,
to roots growing strong beneath the ground,
to green shoots rising up from winter wombs.
I am listening to thorns blossoming,
to barren branches laughing out new growth,
to wildflowers dancing through the meadows,
I am listening.
I am listening to the forest filling up with song.
I am listening to the earth filling up with life.
I am listening to the trees filling up with leaves.
I am listening.
I am listening to the sky with its many changing moods,
to flashes of lightning, peals of thunder,
to opening buds and greening grass.
I am listening to the breaking forth of light
in the vestibule of dawn.
I am listening to the freshness of the morning.
I am listening.
I am listening to the rain drops
giving hope to thirsty gardens.
I am listening to the orchards
pregnant with new life.
I am listening to the flowers
bursting forth in rainbow colors.
I am listening.
I am listening to the brook,
to the song of happy waters.
I am listening to music
rising up from all the earth.
I am listening to spring
soaring in on wings of life.
I am listening to the sounds of spring.
I am listening.
I am listening to prayers
pouring forth from feathered throats.
I am listening to prayers
rising up from misty waters.
I am listening to prayers
of a meadow crowned with dawn.
I am listening.
I am listening to the growing
in the garden of my heart.
I am listening to my heart
singing songs of resurrection.
I am listening to the colors of life.
I am listening.
I am listening to winter
handing over spring.
I am listening to the poetry of spring.
I am listening.
— Macrina Wiederkehr
Poem #2
Seed Song
I am the seed
so small, so dry, lifted in the hand of the silent Sower.
Into the earth
I fearfully fall, darkness covers me, silence surrounds me.
the terror of my heart is the only sound
to keep me company.
all that is me huddles together trying desperately not to surrender any part of the self.
“why was I planted?” I cry out.
“why am I here?”
I entreat.
“take me out into the light; I cannot bear
this deathly dark.”
I weary. I weaken. the days become long. I can no longer fight. I surrender
in this lonely place
of waiting.
quietly I sense
a penetrating warmth; it surrounds me;
it fills me
and blesses my pain.
In a moment
of peacefulness I forget my fear.
I let go of my self
and suddenly
the husk that holds me weakens and breaks.
“No!” I scream.
I am losing my self, but it is too late.
the husk is cracked;
I cannot be contained.
It is then
that I sense a power deep inside of me, encouraging me,
“let go. let go. let go.”
It is an energy
that pushes the husk until it falls away.
As it slips aside
my eyes behold color. ah! can it be?
a tiny glimpse of green!
“how could that be?”
I marvel,
“there was never green in the heart of me.”
yet, it is there;
each day
it slowly stretches upwards to where the warm
seems to be.
I become less of a seed. I am losing my self
but the pain I once knew is lost in surprise; something wonderful deep within my heart.
is greening and growing
days go quickly now.
I become one
with the small stem of life.
Oh! the glorious moment when, ah, breath of Spring fast fills my face.
I move through the hard
earth
and taste the world which
awaits my arrival.
from within my tender shoot comes a soft sound.
I listen. I hear.
it is a song to the Sower:
O Sower of seeds,
did you always see
the gift of green
that was hiding in me?
O Sower of seeds,
how came you to praise the beauty within
that I hid from my eyes?
O Sower of seeds,
the husk has been broken; all praise to you
for helping me open.
Accept now my praise my thankfulness, too,
for the seed you have sown and the gift you grew.
May you lead me to others who await your good word, so the seed within them can awaken and be heard.
-Joyce Rupp
from Fresh Bread (Ave Maria Press, 1985)