#gideon heugh

[farewell-to-lorien]

Sabbath poem

Blessed are the ones who say no. Blessed are the ones who think that living is ambition enough. Blessed are the simple, the gentle, the unsung. Heaven tastes bitter to the overachiever. It belongs to the children, and to the ones who despite the gnawing aspiration of years have not forgotten the truth. Blessed are the ones who walk slowly, who would get distracted by a daisy, who would rather climb a tree than a ladder.

—Gideon Heugh

[farewell-to-lorien]

Blackberries

What does God want with me?

I used to believe it was something grand— seismic, even. It would probably, almost certainly, involve success, and acclaim.

How wonderfully wrong I was.

All I have to do to satisfy heaven’s desire is go and pick blackberries in the rain.

—Gideon Heugh

[dailyquotes2868]

You don't need to make your own hope – the sky is full of it. Wake up early one day (I dare you) and watch the sun rise, watch how it encourages the Earth to become itself, only more so, watch how it allows all things, even the sad beings, to be colourful, and beautiful, then listen, listen as it says quietly, yet undoubtedly, 'We begin again.'

Gideon Heugh, Rumors of Light

[farewell-to-lorien]

Christmas carol

Awake now my love— the bells of life are sounding through the frost. Awake now my love— the lowly are telling stories of bright strangers in the hills. Awake now my love— the divine is singing longingly of what it means to be you. Make now your humble door— the star-drunk pilgrims are not looking for a palace. Gather now the crowns of bloodberry and green— the Christ smells of sap and wet bonfire smoke. Ready now your journey from the desolate before— the mother of the new is in labour; awake now, and be born.

—Gideon Heugh

[lingering-sunrise]

link to instagram

[farewell-to-lorien]

God is more witch than lordly— earthy and concocting, wombful and enchanting, sisterly and persecuted and misunderstood. Haven't you noticed that life is spellbinding? Can't you see that magic is falling from the trees? Look for Christ in sweet pumpkin flesh, in the purring of a black cat, in so many dry bones come to life. Is God the candle we hold in the dark, or the darkness that the candle stares into? Surely you've noticed that without the night we wouldn't be able to see the stars?

Gideon Heugh, "Hymn for Halloween/Samhain"

[farewell-to-lorien]

A meditation on Midsummer

It’s Midsummer’s Eve. A time when magic gathers thickly. When light is sugared and warm and the dark has an aura of what-if. The year’s waning begins, but not before the waxing gives one final flourish. There is rumour of God leaping from branch to branch in the greenwood, fay and unpredictable—Christ-as-Puck, weaving spells upon the twilighted. You will be told unconvincingly that it was just a dream. Who knows what you could become when Spirit is in his mood. Who knows what could burn away in Midsummer’s bonfire if you let it. Cast off; leap over; take that twinkle in your eye and run with it. Grace is the Faerie Queen, sultry, seeking, tasting the air to catch the scent of your yearning so she can roll in the grass with it. Go now with hot daring. Go and be transformed.

—Gideon Heugh