The title of this poem comes from the above icon of the Panagia Kardiotissa, photographed in September of 2019 in a little chapel near Agios Thomas, Crete. This name for the Virgin Mary roughly translates from Greek as the Holy Mother of the Heart, but with a deeper sense of the word “heart” than in normal conversation. I like to think of it as “heartfulness,” which doesn’t sound terribly elegant or poetic, but widens and activates the word.
Our Lady of the light edges of a summer night Our Lady of the bedtime taper Our Lady of singing hymns I don't know and yet I know: there is no difficult path where the heart is simple (Ode 34, Odes of Solomon) Our Lady of the Cretan lullaby Our Lady of singing lullabies to yourself, grown woman, grown man, when you've been weeping Our Lady of singing lullabies to all the children in the world: sleep, morning star sleep, new moon κοιμήσου άστρο της αυγής κοιμήσου νιο φεγγάρι Our Lady of the stars' nightly stations Scorpio setting under the old wooded hill past midnight Venus and Jupiter stepping up out of an eastern field before dawn Our Lady of all the sacred icons and statues in museums that long for their people and their earth: Demeter Demeter Demeter Our Lady of the Mantle of Peace (dove-colored) Our Lady of the courage it takes some men to cry Our Lady of those tears Our Lady of the first nightingale in my whole life: a sound like everlasting water Our Lady of half-grown lambs calling to their mothers Our Lady of the hawthorn blossoms falling away and the red fruit coming Our Lady of the threshold Our Lady of salt on the threshold Our Lady of sweet water on the threshold Our Lady of the bride carried over the threshold Our Lady of the part of me that is too afraid to surrender Our Lady of the part of me that already has Our Lady of every tree on earth, at once Our Lady of all the caves and chapels on the island where candles have been lit Our Lady of not knowing and so sitting still: mantle, taper, lullaby, dawn star, salt, hawthorn berry, summer night (c) Sylvia V. Linsteadt 2022
a note:
I wrote this poem recently for my heart after a night of old tears resurfacing, and a week of collective grief in the US. I wrote another poem like this at the beginning of the pandemic two years ago and described it as “a litany for the weary.” It arose spontaneously, this urge to name each specific thing that felt holy to me as an epithet of the Mother of God. As a facet of her nature. As somehow sanctified by her love. By their love, hers and her son’s. An extension of them. A mantle.
The specificity of this kind of praise, both then and now, reminds me of the beauty and sacredness of the small things close at hand in every moment and season. And the vastness of the title “Our Lady” reminds me that I am never alone. That none of us are. And that we are always loved.
I urge you to try this practice yourself. It is profoundly regenerating, soothing, and uplifting to spell a poem-prayer like this from your own experience and being, a communication between you and some greater trust.
As a closing treat, here is a lullaby, inspired by Greek traditional ones, from the magnificent young Cretan-born singer, Marina Satti.
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Incredible poem, and I favourited the song Miroloi on that album.
~Our Lady of not knowing and so sitting still~ A beautiful reminder to surrender to a moment, a feeling and to life itself, in all its mystery. Thank you!