Thursday - April 23, 2026
READING
The Empty Dark
Oh let me, too, be willing to sit in the empty dark
and let the darkness enter me.
Let me not pretend to know how it will be.
Let me lose my plans, though it terrifies me.
Let me not imagine any better time
to practice than now.
Let me be the bowl that sings when touched,
the bowl that is content with its own stillness.
If I want answers, let me sit with my longing.
If I want lessons, let me find them right here.
And if it is dark, let me not run from the dark,
but lean into it. And if it is light,
let me long for the light. Let it enter me.
Let me not pretend to know how it will be.
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
WORDS OF HOPE
I have been so grateful for the many renown spiritual writers committed to posting during this time of chaos, division, and violence. They speak truth to power and write with insight and compassion about how to stay grounded and hopeful in spite of the darkness. Among this contemporary pantheon is Diana Butler Bass whose substack platform The Cottage draws readers from around the world. Beside her longer posts, during Lent each morning she sent brief Lenten moments— short scripture readings, songs, poems, and excerpts from her books. It has been a rich resource for individual practice and for sharing with our life group.
Featured each Friday was the wonderful poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, with “The Empty Dark” being her first offering. She prefaced the reading by saying that the creative spark for the poem was a line in a letter from her friend Michael Phelan which said: “Answers don’t arrive if you’re afraid of sitting in the empty dark of the room of not knowing long enough for them to arrive on their own schedule.” She confessed that it is something she yearns for, and her poem on the subject drew me in.
***
With palms upturned and comfortable on my lap, I sit in the early morning dark for what has become an important spiritual practice. Deepening my breath, I play the audio clip of Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer reading her work and then let the stillness surround me, enter me, opening a space inside to be filled by whatever the Spirit lifts up for me to listen for, attend to. The quiet itself is centering and healing—a balm for the chaos and violence of our world. That is a gift in itself. But often enough a message, a guiding direction, a reassurance of Love comes as well. Once an urge to offer a class on grief in Hamnet bubbled up. Another morning I saw the crack in the trunk of my Grandmother Oak tree and honored the strength of her endurance while aching at her injury. A line from Hamlet arose at another time: “Now cracks a noble heart”….and feelings of sorrow came. I was especially drawn to “Let me be the bowl that sings when touched” and felt the touch of the Holy at the edges of my heart. I prayed: Let me sing again. Twice the line “Let me not pretend to know how it will be” came up with power—reminding me that too often I let anxiety or fear carry me down a road of unknowing or when I imagine I can predict the outcome of something. Now it has become a mantra whenever such thinking swells.
This practice—which can be done with poetry or song lyrics or a passage of spiritual reflection as well as scripture—can be a rich way of hearing the voice of the Divine.
PRAYER
Word of God speak in the stillness of the empty dark. Amen.
DEVOTION AUTHOR
Dr. Pat Saxon
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