For some writers, scribbling is minimal-on the periphery of their work. In Holy Scribbling, the scribbles take center stage and become the means to the message. With sometimes quirky insight, Katherine Moore takes us to sacred windows that allow the spirituality of ordinary scenes to emerge. From the stark beauty of a "Mystic Dawn" to the serenity of "Simple Solitude" we experience the mysteries of nature, along with the routine demands of relationships and circumstances. Holy Scribbling is a personal book, but the images in these works expand into a universal understanding of everyman. In poetic form, a sense of reality is captured with a minimum of words. Paradoxically, it is her appreciation of words that enhances a deep spiritual sense of solitude and silence. As a contemplative commentary on glimpses of life, Holy Scribbling offers you the chance to see not only yourself, but also, possibly, God. "Take the journey with Katherine Moore through this meditative volume of verse, and you will experience more deeply that you are alive" -Jonathan Kelley, D.Min. LPC, director of the Presbyterian Counseling Center, Brunswick County, North Carolina "Katherine Moore's collection of poems is visceral and haunting, yet joyful. She reaches into her soul and shows us the frustrations and agonies of daily life, yet through it all she keeps a sense of wonder and delight. . . . Her poems will make you both laugh and cry" -Elsa Bonstein, columnist and poet

HOLY SCRIBBLING

LOOKING AT LIFE THROUGH A SACRED WINDOWBy Katherine Roberts Moore

Abbott Press

Copyright © 2012 Katherine Roberts Moore
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4582-0593-3

Contents

Acknowledgments........................ixIntroduction...........................xiWords..................................1Backyard Theology......................11Fragments..............................39Lament.................................51The Cell...............................67Darkness and Light.....................81Haiku..................................89Circles................................111

Chapter One

~ Words ~

We live in a "wordy" world. Media personalities pummel us daily with words that attempt to impress or manipulate. Everywhere, signs and screens and papers blast more words our way. Music lyrics stream continuously into our ears, rendering silence a near archaic experience.

Yet in spite of this, I love words! Words fascinate me. They intrigue me. But after awhile, I can hear no more. Words become excessive, tiresome. I run from them, struggling to hold the tension between words and silence, sounds and quiet.

And so, as I share my own words with you, I trust you will remember to stop from time to time and experience the power of the quiet.

    The Blank Page

    Clean and white it lays before me.

    Waiting.

    Open to newness—something not there before.

    Ready.

    Accepting all that is placed there.

    Gathering.

    Words and drawings
      and scribbles and musings.

    Fragments of life
      drizzled and poured
      onto the open space.

    The paper invites my heart.

    And I respond.


    Country Ride

    The empty paper stares at me,
    beckoning words from my heart
    that do not come.

    Sights and sounds of
    field and roadway bid me
    gaze from the moving window
    rather than attend to
    my written phrases.

    Gratitude comes easily today.
    Country roads and country music
    remind me of God's goodness
    and tell me about hearts touching hearts
    again and again.

    Today my car is my church, and
    I am bathed in an inexpressible
    worship where words cannot go.


    Writing Issues

    What is this writing about?

    Thoughts assail me with
    ideas and plans,
    problems and solutions.
    Fiercely I hurl the words onto paper,
    but who will read them?

    Thinking is troublesome.
    Too much of it debilitates,
    too little of it dulls.
    And all of it is lost in the vapor
    of the next thought.

    So I write and write,
    fearful of forgetting
    yet producing nothing.
    Words read by no one,
    thoughts going nowhere.

    Today I want to throw it all away
    and build a mountainous heap of
      discarded journals,
      scribbled-on paper,
      and worn-out pens.

    But I probably won't.


    Silence and Sound

    Slept too late.
    The noise has begun.
    I can't find the silence.
    I wait for your whisper,
    but I cannot hear it.
    Already busy,
    the world is too loud.
    The din of ringing and beeping
    and talking and bumping
    and roaring and whirring
    hides your sweet voice.
    Slowly I learn ...
    when I sleep too late,
    the silence escapes
    and sacred words are lost
    in the clatter.


    Another Loss

    They used to come.
    The words.
    Leaping through the wrinkles
      of my brain,
    Singing and prancing their way
      across my interior pages,
      seeking form.

    Nice words.
    Robust words.
    Gutsy, howly, growly words.
    Words like
      numinous and nuance,
      escarpment and esplanade,
      redolent and recondite,
      obdurate and obsequious.

    All tapping their rhythm upon
      my mental paper

    While rearranging themselves with
      meticulous precision,
      searching for perfection.

    But where are they now—my words?

    In a wild siege of boredom,
      they scurried off my page in a frenzy.
    Seeking adventures more lofty,
      I suppose.
    Now they randomly pirouette in
      other times and other places,
      leaving my poor mind void.

    Oh, come back! Come back!

    For what shall become of me
      now that my words have gone?


    Mystic Dawn

    In deep quiet
    Before the stirring of life,
    I lie in bed peering
    At the earliest hint of dawn—
    A mystical place where sleepy eyes
    Seek signs of morning and
    Shadowy fingers reach
    Into my heart to touch places
    Where I do not go
...