Double Dutch

Posted on May 8, 2026 by Esther Hizsa

It’s bad enough when awareness comes  
in a look or a wondering 
with space to soften and say farewell 
to what I thought was real. 

But when I’m up to 97, 98, 99, 100 in Double Dutch  
and the blunt end 
raps my knuckles, 
stuns my body, 
and double pink plastic snaps my cheek 
stings my bare ankle, 

all I want to do is run away and
shove myself
into the back of the bottom drawer, 
hide myself
in the company of mismatched socks 
and stifle
the desire to shoot the messenger–
shoot them, again and again 

until
my breathing slows down, 
and I picture their warm smile,
their kind eyes
and scold myself for being so dramatic.

Eventually,  
I call up the courage to uncrumple the note, 
coach myself to read
their words  
in their voice 
from their hurt 
and, there it is–
a wisp of armistice. 

When will this violent game 
of in/out,
pass/fail, 
kill or be killed
ever stop?
Why does one of us have to be hated?

I go for a walk and thank
the dear friend out there
who honoured themselves and awakened me
and the dear friend within
who panics and desires to be honoured and awakened. 

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning is a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all.
–-Rumi, The Guest House

Credits and References:
Skipping Double Dutch by Beatrice Murch from Buenos Aires, Argentina, via Wikimedia Commons
Double Dutch by Esther Hizsa, 2026
Friend.ship by Felipe Bastos. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2026.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2026.  http://www.estherhizsa.com
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Realignment

Posted on May 2, 2026 by Esther Hizsa

After thirteen days away, 
(a dozen visits with friends and family, six ferries, one airport, a drive through downtown Vancouver, retreating on Galiano and leading a retreat on Bowen),
I looked forward to coming home to home, 
to my Fred,
my kitchen, my plants,
the sparrows, finches,
and deer on the flowering switchbacks. 

They were all waiting for me,
welcoming me with open arms.  
I was back
and not back. 

Between the leaving and the coming home, 
I carried the weight of being human,
the weight of being this human, 
in this body,
and I received joy:
Being this human is needed and cherished. 

Then came a noticing of responsibilities that weren’t mine, 
–to be neurotypical,
to reconcile,
to mitigate disappointment–
another letting go of what I cannot change, 
another softening of the fear
that I’m not enough. 

My mind says, “Wonderful.” 
My feelings smile. 
But my body wants to rest,
needs sleep  
to allow the bones of my soul to heal, 
and set this realignment of truth and light.

O my Beloved… You restore my soul.
–Psalm 23:3,
Psalms for Praying by Nan Merrill

Credits and References: 
American Golden Finch on a Sunflower by Jenny Pansing. Used with permission.
Realignment by Esther Hizsa, 2026
Deer by Scot Close. Used with permission
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2026.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2026.  http://www.estherhizsa.com
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As If I Wasn’t Dying Inside

Posted on April 24, 2026 by Esther Hizsa

I am poured out like water,
    and all my bones are out of joint.
My heart has turned to wax;
    it has melted within me.
–Psalm 22:14 (NIV)

Jesus,
on the cross,
poured out like water
bones out of joint
heart turned to wax,
feeling the agony of being
misunderstood, rejected and crucified
for being human and divine.

I can hardly relate
and yet–
the other day, when conversations
revealed my lack in so many ways,
all my bones felt out of joint
and my heart turned to wax
while I continued to listen
and participate
as if I wasn’t dying inside.

It happens daily,
sometimes two or three times a day–
another death of who I thought I was,
another rising to find I haven’t been abandoned,
another noticing of how I am held
in the long moments
in between.

Deep peace of the running wave to you
Deep peace of the flowing air to you
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you
Amen

Deep peace of the shining stars to you
Deep peace of the gentle night to you
Moon and stars pour their healing light on you
Amen

Deep peace of Christ, the light of the world to you
Deep peace of Christ to you.
Deep peace of Christ, the light of the world to you
Amen
–A Celtic Prayer
Watch this magnificent offering of it.

Credits and References:
“Birds on a Rainy Day” by Macomb Paynes. Used with permission.
As If I Wasn’t Dying Inside by Esther Hizsa, 2026.
“Golden Moth” by Sylvia Sassen. Used with permission.
 

© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2026.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2026.  http://www.estherhizsa.com







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A World Filled with Love

Posted on April 17, 2026 by Esther Hizsa

He showed me a little thing, the size of a hazelnut, in the palm of my hand, and it was as round as a ball. I looked at it with my mind’s eye and I thought, “What can this be?” And the answer came, “It is all that is made. ” I marvelled that it could last, for I thought it might have crumbled to nothing, it was so small. And the answer came into my mind, “It lasts and ever shall because God loves it.” And all things have being through the love of God. In this little thing, I saw three truths. The first is that God made it. The second is that God loves it. The third is that God looks after it.
             –St. Julian of Norwich, The Revelations of Julian of Norwich 

God made me.
God loves me.
God looks after me.

The moment I think
I might crumble into nothing,
I am seen,
held,
protected.

The moment I find myself
thinking I’m alone–
that sacred moment when
I notice that
I’m forcing life 
into something it’s not,
thinking the world’s against me–
I remember
You’re right here
with me,
always
for me.

You pick me up out of my fear,
carry me close to Your chest,
and put me down again
safe and secure
in a world filled with love.

May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing you as no one ever has,

streaming through widening channels
into the open sea.

― Rainer Maria Rilke, I Believe in All that Has Never Yet Been Spoken

Credits and References:
Painting of Julian by Virginia Wieringa.
A World Filled with Love by Esther Hizsa, 2024.
“Milky Waters”10 mile creek, Buller Gorge, New Zealand by colin hansen. Used with permission.
 
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2026.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2026.  http://www.estherhizsa.com
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Awakening

Posted on April 12, 2026 by Esther Hizsa

I wake again
with the weight of my world 
on my shoulders. 
I choose
to get up, 
to do my knee strengthening exercises, 
to put drops in my aging eyes, 
to make coffee, 
and sit
in the quiet with You. 

Ah, there it is. 
A constriction in my throat 
wants company, 
wants to be seen and felt, 
stronger, louder now
until 
I hear You say, 
This is hard 
and feel You take my hand. 
I’m right here. 

You don’t make it better 
or fix anything.
You wait with me
until we hear  
these feelings say
they are protecting 
my essence.

Tears come 
and ease–

until You add: 
You know, your essence
is Me.

My throat begins to throb:
So much of me isn’t You.

That weight
is on My shoulders,
You say

and everything in me
softens. 

My deepest me is God! 
–St. Catherine of Genoa, 1447–1510 (paraphrased) .

Credits and References:
Waking up by Monteregina (Nicole). Used with permission.
Awakening by Esther Hizsa, 2026
“Water is the essence of wetness” by mohmlet. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2026.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2026.  http://www.estherhizsa.com
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In Christ, I Rise

Posted on April 5, 2026 by Esther Hizsa

For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.
— Colossians 3:3

Hidden in Christ, I rise. 
I leave the tomb of freedom 
and emerge 
awakened to Love.

For an eternal moment,
I tasted the completeness, 
the exquisite settledness of myself
in all that is.

Now, I rise tethered
to a graced discontent.
That eternal moment remains in me, 
but I cannot consummate my intention 
to abide there. 

So I pray, 
that I will not break faith 
with my awakened heart. 

Though I lose You, 
You never lose me. 

Though I turn away, 
I can turn again 
and find You 
right here. 

So, in this way then, we start to see that as I start to have faith in my moments of awakening, I will not break faith with my awakened heart. In my most childlike hour, in the arms of the beloved, reading the child the good night story; in the pause between two lines of a poem, lying awake at night, listening to the rain, I was intimately accessed by a fullness without which my life will be forever incomplete. And having tasted it, I’m incomplete without it, but I, by my own finite powers, cannot find my way to abide in it. This is the graced discontent of the seeker; that one was granted something, and I will not break faith with my awakened heart . . .

And I also know, the intuition is, that in this moment, it isn’t as if something more was given to me, but a curtain opened and the infinite love that’s always been given to me, it touched me. And so, I then seek to know how can I then learn to accept in humility that actually I tend to get absorbed in my obsessions over what I think is the meaning of it all, and I catch myself imposing of it upon myself, the very dilemma I can’t bear. And here I am. Here I am.

And then Merton says that it doesn’t matter very much because no despair of ours can alter the reality of things. We’re staying in the joy of the cosmic dance, which is always there. Indeed, we are in the midst of it, and it is in the midst of us for it beats in our very blood whether we want it to or not. — James Finley, Turning to the Mystics Thomas Merton Meditation 1

Credits and References:
“Wheat” by FarbenfroheWunderwelt. Used with permission. 
In Christ, I Rise by Esther Hizsa 2021.
‘Fresh Bread” by Bram Cymet. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2026.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2026.  http://www.estherhizsa.com
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Hidden with Christ in God

Posted on April 4, 2026 by Esther Hizsa

For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.
–Colossians 3:3 (NIV)

She is dead 
but not lost. 
She is 
hidden with Christ in God–
consummated  
whole 
one 
decomposing and becoming 
soil. 
The grain of wheat fell to the earth and died. 

In the tomb of the earth, 
she is free  
of all that held her back 
of all that was not her. 

She is not lost. 
She is found 
hidden 
ready to rise. 

We’re on this earth to learn to love. That love [is] in God, in death, so the dead aren’t dead. They’re not annihilated; they’re consummated. And they don’t go anywhere, because in God, we live and move and have our being.
—James Finley, Turing to the Mystics, Introductions for the Practice

Credits and References:
“Composting” by  Jason Baker. Used with permission.
Hidden with Christ in God by Esther Hizsa, 2021. 
John 12:24
Acts 17:28
“Soil” by Tina Reynolds. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2026.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2026.  http://www.estherhizsa.com
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With Christ, I Die

Posted on April 3, 2026 by Esther Hizsa

For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.
— Colossians 3:3

In the silence, 
I close my eyes 
and die. 

I release 
all I love, 
all I desire, 
all I wanted to do, 
all I wished to become, 
all that is not resolved. 
My hands open one last time. 
I release my life. 

We breathe our last breaths together, 
yours laboured with every breath ever breathed, 
mine among them. 

I have feared this moment more than any other. 
Now, I am here 
in the valley of the shadow of death. 
You are with me. 

We go into death, 
your heart beating in mine, 
your voice a knowing, 
that pulses, 
beats, 
speaks. 

In me, you have always and will always
live and move and have your being. 
I will never, never, never 
not know who you are. 
In a moment, 
I will take in my breath 
and your soul will come to me 
like a needle to a magnet. 

I breathe my last 
and the illusion 
that we were ever separate 
vanishes. 


From all eternity, God eternally contemplates who you eternally are hidden with Christ in God before the origins of the universe. This is the unborn you that never began, because God never, never, never, never, never has not known who you eternally are, who God eternally contemplates you to be . . . 
Mechthilde of Magdeburg says, God says to her, “Do not fear your death for when that moment comes to, I will take in my breath and your soul will come to me like a needle to a magnet.” See? So, when God inhales and takes us, we go back home, like, lesson learned. We’re on this earth to learn to love. That love [is] in God, in death, so the dead aren’t dead. They’re not annihilated; they’re consummated. And they don’t go anywhere, because in God, we live and move and have our being.
—James Finley, Turing to the Mystics, Introductions for the Practice

Credits and References:
The Crucifixion of Christ by Titian (1490–1576). Wikimedia commons.
Palm 23
Acts 17:28
With Christ, I Die by Esther Hizsa, 2021.
“Extinguished” by Earl. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2026.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2026.  http://www.estherhizsa.com

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Another Disguise

Posted on March 27, 2026 by Esther Hizsa

God comes to you disguised as your life.
–Paula D’Arcy

Dust to dust 
is not 
nothing to nothing 
as if dust were not precious, 
as if returning to dust meant our lives didn’t matter,  
as if we could disappear without a trace, 
as if God could ever lose us. 

The dust, the soil, the particles of Earth 
are particles of what once was living 
and now nurtures life. 

If Earth, which is made up of all that was, 
isn’t enough 
to make me feel secure, 
I remember that
all creation came from God in the beginning. 

Today, it’s enough to know that Mother Earth 
is one of God’s disguises. 
Mother Earth/God feeds and cares for me 
providing food, air, water,
trails to walk on, 
beauty to awaken me. 

My father’s ashes 
are in the ground and soon my mother’s will be too. 
Wherever I walk, I am supported and loved
by mothers and fathers from many generations– 
not to mention the parents of animals, birds and other creatures. 
Yes, their essence is with God,
who is in heaven. 
But where is heaven?
Is it not where
God is? 
And God is 
everywhere. 
God is 
in the dust. 

As I walk in the hills 
and enter the silence of now, 
I hear Mother Earth say,
“My child, I’m here for you.” 

I hear my heart respond, 
“I’m here, Mother Earth,
here for You, too.” 

I breathe in 
I am Your child.

I breathe out 
One of Your wonders.

Mother, I am here as a child of yours, as part of the wonders, I am free.
–Thich Nhat Hanh, The Silence Within

Credits and References: 
Village School Cambodia by Bryon Lippincott. Used with permission.
Another Disguise by Esther Hizsa, 2026
Woman admiring nature by by Jenny Uhling. from Pexels, royalty free photos.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2026.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2026.  http://www.estherhizsa.com

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Room to Be

Posted on March 22, 2026 by Esther Hizsa

“Look at all your plants!” my guest said. 
“They’re so healthy.” 

Before I could stop myself, 
I recounted the story
of my rare cactus who died
because I misunderstood her. 

Later, as I walked to church, I noticed how 
I’m quick to balance everyone’s perception of me. 
As if it were a teeter-totter, 
I run from one end to the other to keep it perfectly horizontal. 
Compliment me, and I have to confess a fault.
Comfort me, and I minimize my misery. 

What if I simply received recognition for nurturing beauty 
and acknowledged my sorrow and the weight of it, 
as is, 
without comment 
except, perhaps, a
“Thank You”? 

I walked on, beside my friends– 
the budding trees, the trampled grass– 
annoyed at my propensity for balance 
until
I
sank
deeper. 

I didn’t want balance. 
I wanted room– 
plenty of space 
for beauty and sorrow to co-exist. 

I looked, and I saw, 
around me and within, 
a thriving ecosystem 
of health and decay, 
hope and despair, 
not taking turns being up or down, 
not needing to be balanced, 
but with room for each  
to be
whatever they are
at the same time. 

And wouldn’t you know it? 
A few minutes later, 
a random act of beauty 
ignited a memory, 
tenderness, tears. 

I let grief come, 
felt it prick my heart 
as I walked home. 

I knew then, 
life wasn’t waiting for me to get over this. 
Grief, or should I say love, 
is a perennial.

Take a long loving look at the real.
– Walter Burghardt, SJ

Credits and References:
Old Teeter Totter by Peggy Riley. Used with permission.
Room to Be by Esther Hizsa, 2026
Ecosystem by Scott McCracken. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2026.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2026.  http://www.estherhizsa.com
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