A poem by Janeena Sims about the collision of our senses and emotions in the simplest moments
Justin Wise reflects on what becomes possible when we can find ways to release ourselves from the grip of comparison.
Active Hope is not wishful thinking.
Active Hope is not waiting to be rescued
by some savior.
Active Hope is waking up to the beauty of life
on whose behalf we can act.
We belong to this world.
The web of life is calling us forth at this time.
We’ve come a long way and are here to play our part.
With Active Hope we realize that
there are adventures in store,
strengths to discover, and comrades to link arms with.
Active Hope is a readiness to discover the strengths
in ourselves and in others;
a readiness to discover the reasons for hope
and the occasions for love.
A readiness to discover the size and strength of our hearts,
our quickness of mind, our steadiness of purpose,
our own authority, our love for life,
the liveliness of our curiosity,
the unsuspected deep well of patience and diligence,
the keenness of our senses, and our capacity to lead.
None of these can be discovered in an armchair or without risk.
To hear Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn reflect on this source, you can listen to Episode 57 of our weekly conversation project, Turning Towards Life.
Justin Wise shares some of the deeper intentions behind our work, writing and the freedom we hope to bring about.
A poem by Neena Sims about the replenishment of the soul through nature.
Sue Braithwaite reflects on what is created when we gather with others and the meaning within our name.
A poem by Lizzie Winn about what it means to be broken open.
Justin Wise reflects on the poem ‘St Francis and The Sow’ and what it can teach us about supporting others to flourish.
Half a step
and the rest
There is a road
When you see
the two sides
at that far horizon
and deep in
of your own
it’s the road
how you know.
need to be.
Lizzie Winn explores what to do when you’re completely stuck.
All day long a little burro labors, sometimes
with heavy loads on her back and sometimes just with worries
about things that bother only
And worries, as we know, can be more exhausting
than physical labor.
Once in a while a kind monk comes
to her stable and brings
a pear, but more
he looks into the burro’s eyes and touches her ears
and for a few seconds the burro is free
and even seems to laugh,
because love does
Lizzie Winn explores how showing up as whole in our lives can be an act of sacred rebellion.
A poem by Neena Sims about what might make up a life.
At Thirdspace, we invite people to learn in new ways. In this piece, Justin Wise explores the question of what it really means to learn.
Justin Wise explores the life-giving possibilities that might be born from anxiety.
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.
A poem by Sue Braithwaite.
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
-- David Wagoner
Inspired by the hopefulness of the Jewish tradition, Justin Wise reflects on inhabiting the tension between how things are and how we believe they could be.