Depressbyterians

I don’t mean to exclude any of you who faith from a different place. I just couldn’t resist the word-play. My phone’s autocorrect changed the title to "depress uterine." I don't even know how to respond to that, except to laugh, which is seldom a bad thing, when it’s genuine and about yourself.

The other day, a friend reminded me

that creativity – in writing or otherwise –

doesn’t come from the darkness itself,

but from the power to struggle

against the clouds,

whether that power comes

from within or without.

   That resonates with me,

   like the lowest note

   from an organ pipe,

   vibrating floor, wall, furniture,

   and everyone in the room.

      I suspect we’re all a little more

      acquainted with depression

      than we'd like to be.

         I know that my writing is therapy

         for just such deeps.

         Some of what I write will probably

         never be seen by others.

      Those would be

      the darker pieces that seem

      to blow out life’s brief candle.

But even some of those go out

to you on occasion,

as echoes in the dark;

tappings on the cell wall,

just to let you know that,

even though I've yet

to find a candle to light,

at least we're not alone.

   We have each other and,

   I am certain at the deepest level –

   even if not always on the surface –

   the sacred is also always here,

   even when all tapping fades,

   and all we sense is the beating

   of our own hearts.

      You are here. I am here.

      The holy one is here.

      Gathered or not,

      the three of us form

         our own trinity,

         our own incarnation,

         out of which life, light, and

         grace will surely take root.

“And now faith, hope, 

and love abide, these three; 

and the greatest of these is love.” 

(1 Corinthians 13:13)

© 2016 Todd Jenkins