Your journey has blessed ours, Mary.
Your Yes dares us
to believe in the impossible,
to embrace the unknown,
and to expect the breaking through of mystery
onto our bleak and level horizons. 
The words you heard, Mary,
We will forever remember.
We will not be afraid,
for the life that you birthed
will not be extinguished in our souls.
And the journey you took in faithfulness,
we also take.
We the women, the midwives,
and the healers will also, like you Mary, soul sister,
Give birth to God
for our world.

                        Edwina Gately  from Soul Sisters

The Not Yet Born

Volcano—Volcano,
Bubbling rich red.
Streaming.
Spirit-creation
Bursting. Bursting
For release and life.

And I must
Carry you
Hot and aching
Within me
Until your time
Is come.

Mysterious,
Lonely gestation,
Formed in darkness,
Fed and nurtured
By a life and spirit
Breathing gently, powerfully,
In my soul.
Hush. Silence.
The time is
Not yet.
Now is only
Slow murmurings
And gentle stirrings,
Oh! Not yet born!
But how you live!

I love you, Volcano.
I love your
Sweeping pain
And thrusting, tentative
Movement.

I love you, Volcano,
As you sleep and wait
Within me
For your life.
And for your death.

Call to Say Yes

We are called to say Yes
That the Kingdom might break through
To renew and transform
Our dark and groping world.

We stutter and we stammer
To the lone God who calls
And pleads a New Jerusalem
In the bloodied Sinai Straits.

We are called to say yes
That honeysuckle may twine
And twist its smelling leaves
Over the graves of nuclear arms,

We are called to say yes
That children might play
On the soil of Vietnam where the tanks
Belched blood and death.

We are called to say yes
That black may sing with white
And pledge peace and healing
For the hatred of the past.

We are called to say yes
So that nations might gather and dance one great movement
For the joy of humankind.

We are called to say yes
So that rich and poor embrace
And become equal in their poverty
Through the silent tears that fall.

We are called to say yes
That the whisper of our God
Might be heard through our sirens
And the screams of our bombs.

We are called to say yes
To a God who still holds fast
To the vision of the Kingdom
For a trembling world of pain.

We are called to say yes
To this God who reaches out
And asks us to share
This amazing dream of love.

            Edwina Gately

A Dream I Have Not Dreamt

There is a dream
I have not dreamt,
A vision
I have not seen.

There is in me
A fearsome longing,
Deep as primordial waters
And rooted in
The very womb
Of Earth’s fire.

There is in me
A life not become,
Stirring and reaching out
From the dreams and terrors
Of dark history.

There is in me
A fire not kindled,
Glowing like a lone
And passionate sentinel
Awaiting the dawn.

There is a dream
I have not dreamt,
A vision
I have not seen.

            Edwina Gately

Silent Presence

I thought that God
Had come to me.
That after the wild delights—
The suffering and the joys,
The pain and the hopelessness
Of the years—
That God had come to me.
That after adventure and achievement,
Pain, despair, and death,
God
Had come to me.
Yes—with relief and mild surprise
I met my God again.
And then I saw,
Oh, fool, I saw!
That God had suffered
The pain and hopelessness,
Had shared the achievements and the joys,
That God,
All enveloping,
All compassion,
Had been there in silence
All the time.

            Edwina Gately

This Moment

Snatch now a stolen moment
From the hurtling days that,
Undistinguished by their sameness,
Pass without a murmur or a mark.

Make something of this moment,
Let it live through awareness
That its pulse will beat still
When the day itself is dead.

Rejoice in this moment!
Steal away in glee to a secret corner
Like a thief rewarded.
This moment is mine—mine all alone.

New Life

I suffered, and now there is joy.
I was lonely and now there is comfort.
I was desolate, and now there is warmth,
I was empty, and now there is fullness.

The years and months of struggle dragged on
And plunged me into dark solitude.
And now, why now,
Do I see the light and feel the warmth?
Is it that my despair reached its depth
And God, in pity, said: Enough?
Where was my soul then,
When my spirit was so dead?
And now there is a relief,
An almost tangible gratitude
That it is over
And a spark of life and love
Is born from nothingness.
This will not last forever.
But thank you, God,
For living again,
For letting me know and feel
Your life and presence in me.
And if this hope should die again,
Let me remember
The years of emptiness
That passed.

Stay now, God,
A little longer.

            Edwina Gately       

Silent God

This is my prayer—
That, thou I may not see,
I be aware
Of the Silent God
Who stands by me.
That, though I may not feel,
I be aware
Of the Mighty Love
Which doggedly follows me.
That, though I may not respond,
I be aware
That God—my Silent, Mighty God,
Waits each day.
Quietly, hopefully, persistently,
Waits each day
And through each night
For me,
For me—alone.

Edwina Gately    

The Belonging

Presence ever yet around me,
Strength unasked for by my side,
Love unwarranted, before, behind me.
God within me, God without.

Held still tightly like a child,
With the freedom of a woman,
Certain, sure and more aware,
God is mine and I am God’s.

Seen a Love—total, powerful,
Though the vision is yet half-veiled.
God closer, nearer, breathing,
Claiming me, as I would him.

            Edwina Gateley    

Be silent.
Be still.
Alone.
Empty
Before your God
Say nothing.
Ask nothing.
Be silent.
Be still.
Let your God
Look upon you.
That is all.
God knows.
God understands.
God loves you
With an enormous love,
And only wants
To look upon you
With that love.
Quiet.
Still.
Be.

Let your God—
Love you.

            Edwina Gateley    

It is God’s unceasing invitation to each one of us, no matter what burdens we bear, to allow compassion to flow through our broken places onto others who need to feel God’s gentle kiss through the touch of our caring. We are not called to transcend our suffering—we are called to absorb it into compassion…

            Edwina Gately

Waiting God

This is a way
Strange and beautiful,
Full of wild hope
And quiet fear
At the inevitability
Of it all.

For God is there
And God will watch,
Tirelessly wait
All my life,
For me, for me
To come,
And the way is there—
Though only dimly comprehended.

But God—this patient God,
Will never
Give up.

            Edwina Gately

Surrender

Into your hands, God,
This solitude.
Into your hands, God,
This emptiness.
Into your hands, God,
This loneliness.
Into your hands—
This all,
Into your hands, O God,
This grief.
Into your hands—
This sleeping fear.

Into your hands, O God—
What is left,
What is left,
Of me.

            Edwina Gately

Holy fools!
Refusing to be constrained
    by published creed and code,
    daring to pour
    brilliant blobs of color
    on the neat black and white
    of soul-less bureaucracy
and corporate power.

Holy fools!
Challenging small minds
and dried-up spirits
to quicken with forbidden fruit
and burst the narrowed vision,
laying bare
in awesome display
ultimate integrity.

Holy fools!
Breaking the rules
in the name of God
and refusing to recite the law
in favor of the spirit;
breaking down the prisons,
opening forbidden doors
to sing and dance to
a different
and most glorious tune.

            Edwina Gately

We are all called, ultimately, to wholeness and holiness, and that insistent urge for fullness resides within each one of us. We cannot, however, become whole whilst we experience ourselves as separate (physically, mentally, or emotionally) from the anawim — the poor and the disenfranchised. Although many people have an opportunity to live on the margins through their work with the marginalized, it is those who allow themselves to be transformed by them who are truly the icon of a new interconnected vision of the world. The very survival of our planet is dependent on such transformation and vision.

            Edwina Gately in Christ in the Margins

Control

Perhaps, if I tread quietly,
the shadows will not see me,
and I shall creep around them__
soul screaming for the light.

If open wide I keep my eyes,
the night will not absorb me,
and I shall lock the sun
in my unblinking gaze.

If I chant out loud my litanies,
the silence will not seize me,
and I will hear the comfort
of my own proud song.

If I grasp my treasures tightly—
filling every little space—
there’ll be no room for me to make
an empty place for God.

            Edwina Gately

Harmony

Thank you, God,
for quiet time beside the water,
listening to the murmur
of ever flowing
ebb and tide,
the leaping forward,
the pulling back,
eternally harmonious.

I, too,
must learn to flow,
allow myself to fall
and be immersed
in deep waters,
that I may know
the joy of rising up
and being thrust,
trusting,
to new and distant edges.

            Edwina Gately

I feel the silence hears me,
waits for me,
and I am conscious
of intrusion.
Will she receive me,
swallow me,
absorb me,
so that I too
become silence?
Or will I dally
with her,
maintaining separateness,
refusing
to become lost
in her great
and gaping spaces?
Will I flee her emptiness
and stumble,
relieved,
into my waiting car
and the secure comfort
of roaring engine?
I flee.

            Edwina Gately

Dryness

Like a sponge,
dried up and brittle,
I wait,
longing to be soaked,
softened, and
made heavy
by God—
Eternal reservoir.

I wait
ever vigilant
to the first stirrings
of new consciousness,
ever longing
to be filled and swelled
by God in me,
utterly conscious,
in my emptiness,
of my destiny.

            Edwina Gately

Waiting

I need simply and only
to wait upon God
without expectation,
and God,
all longing,
resting in me,
will breathe
in me
the music
of my soul.

            Edwina Gately

Faith

When all around is deadened gray,
help me, God,
keep on believing. 
When dulled my soul,
though the song birds sing,
help me, God,
keep on believing.
When even I dare doubt your grace,
help me, God,
keep on believing.
When dreams collapse
and bright hopes die,
help me, God,
keep on believing.

            Edwina Gately

Expectant

Sitting, stilled,
awaiting
the breath of God
to course through me—
quickening my expectant soul
with new fresh grace—
ah, so longed for!
Sitting breathing gently,
steadily, correctly—a
fitting welcome for divinity.
But, ah,
where are you, God?
Where the spinning rush
of joy settling in the pit of my being—
sure sign
of favored presence?
Where the deep pulsating peace,
(born only of the Other)
that gentles my very essence?
Yet still I sit
like an empty shell
demanding fullness,
longing for completion.
Ah, God,
will you burst within me,
unexpected,
and dizzy me with your presence? 
Or must I sit,
quietly broken
forever longing—forever open,
like a mother
awaiting her term?

            Edwina Gately

Water

I listen to the water
washing oh so softly
upon the rocks and stones
strewn upon the beach.
And, as I listen to the constant rhythm,
I know that God,
in unending  desire,
so washes over us,
desirous to soak and moisten
dry spaces and hard edges,
never ceasing, never pausing,
only changing rhythm,
in the constant pursuit
of gathering us in
the great embrace.

            Edwina Gately

Mama

I did not know
how fiercely
a child could squeeze and loose
my heart.
I did not know
how deeply
his sudden, momentary absence
could chill my guts.
And I did not truly know
the passion
of God’s love
for me
until a child slipped
into my life
and called me “mama.”

            Edwina Gateley

I watch the waves
surge and suck
in wild motion.
I  hear the great rising up,
the tumbling forward,
and the thud of watery force
upon the rocks.
But if I stand
against the wind
and listen deeply
to the ebb,
my soul catches
the whispered hush
of breaking bubbles
beneath the mighty crashing,
and I become aware
of little things
that hide and play
in joy
beneath the roaring
of the great.

            Edwina Gateley

Listen

It is not my business
to seek enlightenment
or holiness;
mine only to listen
to the wind
caressing all creation,
to be awed
at the tumbling of the waters
soaking all dried things;
mine only
to delight
in the song of the bird
and be attentive
to the rhythmic beating
of the earth
beneath my feet;
mine only
to receive with love
all that rises to meet me
at the dawn
of each new day.

            Edwina Gately

Diminishment

To the degree that we
are broken and wounded—
so is God.
As the earth sickens and shrivels
through neglect and greed
—so does God.
As the little ones hunger
and are trampled upon
—so is God.
As more are imprisoned
and starved of light—
so is God.
So will God
be diminished
and hidden from us,
until—
deeply wounded—
we dare rise
from our dying
and, groaning mightily,
break open
our dark and tiny hearts
in the Spirit’s new birthing.

Edwina Gateley

Presence

See there,
amidst the strewn garbage,
a tiny perfect shell,
so intricately formed,
so delicate in shape,
lodged within
our washed up debris,
whispering loveliness
right in the garbage,
its very being
urging wisdom
by its lone persistent presence
within the broken.

Nothing

I must come to understand
what it means
to hold on to nothing—
it is the ultimate
experience of faith. 
There is nothing left,
only God,
only God and me—
my little self
in God.

            Edwina Gateley

Sitting

Just in the act
of sitting receptive and still—
just in the desiring
to pray—
is the moment
of grace.
Just in the small attention
given to letting go
is the dying itself.
For God delights
in my desiring
and is content
with my restlessness.
God sits
with my nothing
gently loving me
in it all.

            Edwina Gateley

Dam

God’s grace
is like a great dam
held back
within us,
and God,
a longing mother,
waiting to break open
and immerse us
in her waters.

            Edwina Gateley

Mission

Sometimes I remember,
in a hushed moment,
the daring of my youth,
all I claimed
and gathered in,
built up
and spread out—
casting the word of God
all over the world
in a great young surge
of mission zeal.

Sometimes I remember,
in a hushed moment,
the thousands of miles
I traveled,
crossing mountains,
desert and bushland
to far distant peoples,
inspiringly different
and gloriously colored.

Sometimes I remember,
in a hushed moment,
how they molded me,
giving me new voice
and a deeper vision,
leaving me lonely
amongst my own.

Sometimes I remember,
in a hushed and sacred moment,
how my small familiar God
slipped from my hold
like a doll,
as I stumbled,
gasping,
into the divine expanse.

Edwina Gateley

Reunion

Wake, small soul,
and dare believe
that God,
like a willing prisoner—
harboring secret sweetness—
sits rooted
in my being,
waiting for
the ridiculous in faith
to fall into
the inner chasm,
(milky with God
and flowing with honey),
there to find,
small soul,
that I am lost
when God,
Eternal Seeker,
is found
and leaps from within me
to run free and passionately,
scattering joy
and juiciness
on all the dried-up earth.

            Edwina Gately

Deeply Grateful

When I stopped waiting
and only sat,
breathing gently, steadily,
lost simply
in the flow of air…
Ah, then,
you tumbled, God,
like an avalanche
fast falling
within me,
gathering self-energized force,
unexpected, unrequested,
but suffusing and possessing all—
leaving  me
stunned,
stilled,
and deeply grateful.

            Edwina Gateley

Ground

I must creep very quietly
in this space
for it is unfamiliar
and leaves me feeling
like an intruder
on Another’s Ground. 
But this is not so—
no intruder am I.
My deepest self knows,
in soundless awe,
that this
is my ground
and that this,
my ground,
is God.

But hush, quit now,
lest I flee
in disbelief,
for I am not yet home
in God.
Hush, quiet now, until
in the lengthening
hours of night,
I make my home
here
in this sacred place.

            Edwina Gateley