Short Forms as Essay and Prayer

I have been waiting, sometimes impatiently, for another post on the On Being blog.  They had such thoughtful pieces; I always felt enriched by anything I read there.

This morning, I was rewarded with this essay which weaves together all sorts of strands:  Advent, living with someone with a chronic illness, spirituality of all sorts, and interesting writing ideas.  The author John Paul Lederach references Wittgenstein:  "For a time, I required my students to write a Wittgensteinian essay: Start with one idea. Notice where it goes. Number each idea. Keep them short. Don’t worry if you hop around. Read and play with what emerges. It may take a while to understand what you are trying to say. To yourself."

From there, he moves to the desert fathers:  "I discovered that the Desert Fathers and other ascetics employed this approach. They sought a way to move from contemplative sense to paper. Sometimes they called what they wrote a century: 100 pieces of heart-sourced inklings. Heart to hand to ink. Follow what comes. Only the numbers seem orderly. Like prayer."

Lederach experiments with several varieties of short forms in this essay, including haiku and short poems.  I love seeing how the thoughts shift this way.

But the overall short form is this essay, which delivers such wonderful nuggets of wisdom.  Here, too, one piece informs another piece, and we arrive at a place of unexpected wisdom.

This part is my favorite right now, although my favorite has been shifting all morning:

"47.

Rain has this intriguing quality. Droplets fall as individuated little spheres. Once splashed, however, rain spreads, melds, and flows. When mixed with the sudden appearance of the sun, it makes everything shine.

48.

Rain glistens to everything.

49.

Mediators and bridge builders spend a lot of time preparing to listen. To my knowledge, nobody has trained us on how to glisten.

50.

To glisten: To be present with others in ways that help them shine into their deepest color, purpose, and wisdom. As example: Mary and Joseph glistened to the unexpected seed they carried toward the light of day."

May we all glisten in unexpected ways as we move through Advent.