What if you free-associated-- "glory," "glorify," "glorious"?
Have there been times you've heard it used or used it yourself?
What's it like for you to think about "glory"?
"Why bring up this word ?" you're likely thinking, and "How is this Nemo-esque?" Well, it all has to do with the Appreciative Inquiry idea of "reversing the focus." Reversing the focus is a big help to forward motion over the long haul.
What if, say, you are in training for something like, oh for instance, the January Marathon Weekend at Disney? And what if this training has been lengthy, and up-and-down, and is presently fraught with pre-holiday negativity? What if your self-talk right now leans toward the critical and the limiting? What if you need to hear your story differently in order to power-up during these last weeks?
Now I'm not actually talking about the "glory of the finish line," although that is WONDERFUL to imagine. I'm talking about a more puzzling notion that glory isn't only to be found at the finish line, but is also all around us all the time. One thing Nematodes have figured out long since: the journey IS the destination. Perhaps glory is like that, too.
One morning earlier this month, I accidentally overheard my own self-talk. It was disquieting in its gloomy tone. Not so good to hear. So I lifted my ears to the heavens, and what should come down to me but the word "Glory." And that's the back story for all my questions today. I don't understand it, but I can tell you that when I think of "glory," I can't keep thinking despairing thoughts. It's impossible to still have increases in negative self-talk and at the same time be curious about the meaning of...the existence of...glory.
Here's a poem I associate with an aspect of glory:
Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89). Poems. 1918.
7. God’s Grandeur
THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
5
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
10
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
5
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
10
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
And here's another one about a glorious creature who takes my breath away:
William Blake. 1757–1827
489. The Tiger
TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
5
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
10
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
15
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
20
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
So, what are your thoughts on "glory"?
regards,
2 comments:
It snowed here last week and we woke to a brilliant display of white snow, grey trees and the black ribbon of the creek winding through the bottom of the yard. We watched as a red fox and its half grown kit played. It was glorious!
We sled down the hill until it was dark, and the sleds were running on roads of wet leaves instead of snow. Then inside for hot tea and maple snow. That was glorious too!
You are right, it is hard to be negative when you are surrounded by glory. Too bad it seems to take something unusual to recognize it.
Natalie
Natalie, how soft, how beautiful your words, and how awed and warm I feel savoring them over again. How unusual the fox and kit, the hot tea and maple snow become when you see that they are glorious, too!
Janet, Geri, please blog to us about North Carolina glorious days the way you just did...
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