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.
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
Invitation by Mary Oliver Oh do you have time to linger for just a little while out of your busy and very important day for the goldfinches that have gathered in a field of thistles for a musical battle, to see who can sing the highest note, or the lowest,
You Start Dying Slowly — By Pablo Neruda You start dying slowly if you do not travel, if you do not read, If you do not listen to the sounds of life, If you do not appreciate yourself. You start dying slowly When you kill your self-esteem; When you do
For the Senses May the touch of your skin Register the beauty Of the otherness That surrounds you. May your listening be attuned To the deeper silence Where sound is honed To bring distance home. May the fragrance Of a breathing meadow Refresh your heart And remind you you are
Sweet Darkness When your eyes are tired the world is tired also. When your vision has gone no part of the world can find you. Time to go into the dark where the night has eyes to recognize its own. There you can be sure you are not beyond love.
Everything is Waiting for You (After Derek Mahon) Your great mistake is to act the drama as if you were alone. As if life were a progressive and cunning crime with no witness to the tiny hidden transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,
A Leaf From the Tree of Songs, Adam Christianson When harpers once in wooden hall A shining chord would strike Their songs like arrows pierced the soul Of great and low alike Aglow by hearth and candleflame From burning branch ot ember The mist of all their music sang As
A Daily Journey And we walked on the foggy low-lit trail Burned at the edges, Rising, stride by stride, slow then quick Then slow. With gratitude— Each step became More deliberate— More lifted— More alive— More amore— Leading to that rare place that rests In the body’s marrow, The mind’s
Communal Acts of Beauty 