A Blessing for Those Who Wander

I wrote this blessing for those of you, or should I say us, who are wandering through the winter of pandemic and political weariness, grief, and horror and are sensing a few hints of the return of redemptive spring. History seems to be mirroring nature narrative this year, and how appropriate that this particular season is the one for preparing the heart for the return of Divine Life.

As the cloud fissures widen
And the azure canvas opens,
As illuminating warming invisibility
Makes its entry to ancient earth,
Or strikes your exposed cheeks
Long hidden behind mask

As grey ceiling seasonally closed
Gives way to sapphire evenings,
And crocus parts the roof
Of the secure tomb of earth,
Or the first slightly warmed breeze
Excites skin senses

May you unexpectedly crinkle
The corners of your eyes
With the raise of smile
From lips that haven't lately
enjoyed the gaze of another
Having been hidden behind veils

May the southerly winds
Bring you memory of renewed possibilities,
freedom from fears
which have trapped your creativity,
and fresh breath that awakens you
to participate and to play

May you feel, at surface and below,
The warm Light of Life
Announcing new beginnings
As it always has
But that you have forgotten
Or dared not give to hope

May you be blown open
By the warming return
Of life, and love, and hope
For all things made new
Once again
And always


- Kirk Webb
Director of the Celtic Center