This site is the digital home of our neighborhood poetry box and the nature-planted poetry in San Diego. With the intention of spreading just a bit more beauty into the world, we share poetry and, sometimes, artwork. Feel free to comment here, but most importantly, enjoy the sharing of beauty.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
The wind, one brilliant day, called
To my soul with an odor of jasmine.
In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I’d like all the odor of your roses.
I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead.
Well then, I’ll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.
The wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?
The Actor’s Vow — from Elia Kazan I will take my rightful place on the stageand I will be myself.I am not a cosmic orphan.I have no reason to be timid.I will respond as I feel;awkwardly, vulgarly, but respond.I will have my throat open,I will have my heart open,I will
In that first hardly noticed moment in which you wake,coming back to this life from the othermore secret, moveable and frighteningly honest worldwhere everything began,there is a small opening into the new daywhich closes the moment you begin your plans. What you can plan is too small for you to
I am making a home inside myself. A shelter
of kindness where everything
is forgiven, everything allowed—a quiet patch
of sunlight to stretch out without hurry,
where all that has been banished
and buried is welcomed, spoken, listened to—released.
God speaks to each of us as she makes us
then walks with us silently out of the night
These are the words we dimly hear.
You, sent out beyond your recall
go to the limits of your longing
Embody me
Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror
Just keep going. No feeling is final
Don’t let yourself lose me
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its intensity
Give me your hand
– Rilke
Book of Hours – Love poems to God (trans J. Macy)
There’s a thread you follow. It goes amongthings that change. But it doesn’t change.People wonder about what you are pursuing.You have to explain about the thread.But it is hard for others to see.While you hold it you can’t get lost.Tragedies happen; people get hurtor die; and you suffer and get
Self Portrait It doesn’t interest me if there is one GodOr many gods.I want to know if you belong — or feel abandoned;If you know despairOr can see it in others.I want to knowIf you are prepared to live in the worldWith its harsh need to change you;If you can
Our deepest fear
is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear
is that we are
powerful beyond measure.
Communal Acts of Beauty 