Meeting the Light Completely

Even the long-beloved

was once

an unrecognized stranger.

Just so,

the chipped lip

of a blue-glazed cup,

blown field

of a yellow curtain,

might also,

flooding and falling,

ruin your heart.

A table painted with roses.

An empty clothesline.

Each time,

the found world surprises—

that is its nature.

And then

what is said by all lovers:

"What fools we were, not to have seen."

--Jane Hirshfield

All that's required of you

Did you know

there will be poppies

again this year?

It's true. I've seen

their muted green fractals

stockpiling sunlight,

distilling it down

to its purest essence

before igniting into

slow motion fireworks.

In the end, isn't this all

that's required of you?

To drink in what you love,

to concentrate it

in the crucible of your body,

and, finally, to bloom.

--James A Pearson

A Litany for Survival

For those of us who live at the shoreline

standing upon the constant edges of decision

crucial and alone

for those of us who cannot indulge

the passing dreams of choice

who love in doorways coming and going

in the hours between dawns

looking inward and outward

at once before and after

seeking a now that can breed

futures

like bread in our children's mouths

so their dreams will not reflect

the death of ours;

We were never meant to survive.

For those of us

who were imprinted with fear

like a faint line in the center of our foreheads

learning to be afraid with our mother's milk

for by this weapon

this illusion of some safety to be found

the heavy-footed hoped to silence us

For all of us

this instant and this triumph

And when the sun rises we are afraid

it might not remain

when the sun sets we are afraid

it might not rise in the morning

when our stomachs are full we are afraid

of indigestion

when our stomachs are empty we are afraid

we may never eat again

when we are loved we are afraid

love will vanish

when we are alone we are afraid

love will never return

and when we speak we are afraid

our words will not be heard

nor welcomed

but when we are silent

we are still afraid

So it is better to speak

remembering

we were never meant to survive.

--Audre Lorde 

In a Friend’s Garden

“I want to be here to see

the poppies open,” my friend says,

telling me why she never travels

anymore in the middle of summer.

We each hold one of the heavy buds

whose petals already ache to break

free and spread, bursting red at the seams.

The mulch is warm beneath our feet,

and sunlight shimmers pink in the

shifting leaves of the Japanese maple.

I keep hearing her words—I want

to be here—and feel something new

leaning toward the light inside me too,

some seed of need just to be rooted

right where I am for each small pleasure,

every rippling wave of sorrow.

She wraps an arm around me, and we 

go inside for tea. There is nothing

to escape from, but our own desire

to escape at all.

—James Crews

Yes, We Can Talk

Having loved enough and lost enough,

I am no longer searching,

just opening.

No longer trying to make sense of pain,

but trying to be a soft and sturdy home

in which real things can land.

These are the irritations that rub into a pearl

So we can talk awhile

but then we must listen,

the way rocks listen tot he sea

And we can churn at all that goes wrong

but then we must lay all distractions down,

and water every living seed.

And yes, on nights like tonight

I too feel alone. but seldom do I

face it squarely enough

to see that it is a door

into the endless breath

that has no breather

into the surf that human shells

call god.

--Mark Nepo

An invitation to a brave space

Together we will create brave space

Because there is no such thing as a "safe space"

We exist in the real world

We all carry scars and we have all caused wounds.

In this space

We seek to turn down the volume of the outside world.

We amplify voices that fight to be heard elsewhere,

We call each other to more truth and love

We have the right to start somewhere and continue to grow.

We have the responsibility to examine what we think we know.

We will not be perfect.

It will not always be what we wish it to be

But

It will be our brave space together,

And

We will work on it side by side.

-by Micky Scottbey Jones

Messages from Everywhere

light up our backyard.

A bird that flew five thousand miles

is trilling six bright notes.

This bird flew over mountains and valleys

and tiny dolls and pencils

of children I will never see.

Because this bird is singing to me,

I belong to the wide wind,

the people far away who share

the air and the clouds.

Together we are looking up

into all we do not own

and we are listening.

--Naomi Shihab Nye

I forgive 

you 

~ to release me from you 

for so so 

long 

I’ve been holding my breath

waiting on an apology that will

not ever come 

~ it turns out that 

mercy for you 

is mercy for me 

I didn’t need a confession

  ~ just an admission that being 

a human is a messy venture 

and we can often get it all wrong 

but sometimes our 

tongues get 

knotted by pride

~ so I’m letting go for the both of us 

and the scar you left on me 

will be a reminder

of all the ones 

I’ve given others 

I forgive you

I forgive you

I forgive you

     and now I’m the breeze

and I hope you remember 

me fondly whenever you see the 

waves whip and whirl 

under a whistling windy sky 

~ john roedel 

You will never make anybody's life better

by agreeing to not be yourself.

Denying who you are will never

bring any other person true peace.

Though it may not seem so from the outside,

every soul in the universe is invested

in every other soul living inline with their truth.

Therefore, anyone asking you

to live in opposition to your essence,

to who you really are,

is not speaking from their soul.

They are speaking from their

learned biases, hatreds, and fears.

So, to be you is not only to be the guardian

of your own spirit, but also to be the guardian

of the spirits of those who mistakenly think

their lives would be better if you would

agree to be someone other than you are.

--Andrea Gibson

No Wrong Way

Pay attention to the interruptions, the wrong turns, 

the plans gone awry. 

Bow to the rude waiter, the overdue bill, 

All of the ways this world disappoints you.

This is the marrow of the practice, 

the heartwood: knowing how to love an imperfect life.

Still your mind, slow your breath. 

And witness the messy miracle of this moment 

revealing itself to you 

now

            and now

                                    and now.

--Stephen Pradarelli  August 11, 2023

Briefcases

Fifteen years ago I found my father's

    in the family attic, so used

       the shoemaker had to

repair it, and I kept it like love

until it couldn't be kept anymore.

    Then my father-in-law died

       and I got his, almost

identical, just the wrong initials

embossed in gold. It's forty years old,

    falling apart, soon

       there'll be nothing

that smells of father-love and that difficulty

of living with fathers, but I'd prefer

    a paper bag to those

       new briefcases

made for men living fast-forward

or those attaché cases that match

    your raincoat and spring open

       like a salute

and a click of heels. I'm going

to put an ad in the paper, "Wanted:

    Old briefcase, accordion style,"

       and I won't care

whose father it belonged to

if it's brown and the divider keeps

    things on their proper side.

       Like an adoption

it's sure to feel natural before long—

a son without a father, but with this

    one briefcase carrying

       a replica

comfortably into the future,

something for an empty hand, sentimental

    the way keeping is

       sentimental, for keep-

sake, with clarity and without tears.

-- Stephen Dunn

From New and Selected Poems 1974-1994

Better

We'll meet, yes - of course we will.

But not tomorrow or the week after.

Because work is hectic, or the kids unwell

or if we're honest, we're too tired or too lazy.

And haven't we all the time in the world?

Until we hadn't.

My last memory of you is singing

in the Hibernia Bar to an unruly crowd.

And above the clamour of barroom chatter

you dedicated every song to your audience of one,

who left before the set's closure

because there'd always be another.

And I wonder what right have I to mourn

when others did so much better?

Maintained the meetups, the texts, the calls.

Failed to let time slip by like we did.

Waiting for a better hour, a better day.

But grief does not discriminate.

--Tanya Farrelly

ME: When are things going to get easier? 

OLD WOMAN: They already are. 

ME: Doesn’t feel like it. I keep waiting for Creator to step in. 

OLD WOMAN: She already has. She always will. Keep faith burning in your heart. 

ME: I have. I’ve been waiting for things to change. 

OLD WOMAN: Faith isn’t about waiting for things to change. Faith is the constant effort to keep pushing through. 

ME: What’s on the other side? 

OLD WOMAN: You. 

― Richard Wagamese, Embers: One Ojibway's Meditations

All that we are is story. From the moment we are born to the time we continue on our spirit journey, we are involved in the creation of the story of our time here. It is what we arrive with. It is all we leave behind. We are not the things we accumulate. We are not the things we deem important. We are story. All of us. What comes to matter then is the creation of the best possible story we can while we’re here; you, me, us, together. When we can do that and we take the time to share those stories with each other, we get bigger inside, we see each other, we recognize our kinship – we change the world, one story at a time. 

― Richard Wagamese 

I am constantly surrounded by noise: TV, texts, the internet, music, meaningless small talk, my thinking. All of it blocks my consciousness, my ability to her the ME that exists beneath the cacophony. I am my consciousness, my awareness of my circumstance, my presence in every moment. So I cultivate silence every morning. I sit in it, bask in it, wrap it around myself, and hear and feel me. Then, wherever the day takes me, the people I meet are the beneficiaries of my having taken that time - they get the real me, not someone shaped and altered by the noise around me. Silence is the stuff of life.

― Richard Wagamese, Embers: One Ojibway's Meditations

Me: What if we're wrong?

Old Woman: Wrong about what?

Me: All this ceremony, prayer, meditation. What if, at the end of it, all there is is nothing?

Old Woman: Then we still come out better people.

Me: How?

Old Woman: Can you think of a better way to live than in gratitude? Can you think of a better way to be than to be kind, loving, compassionate, respectful, courageous, truthful, and forgiving? Even if we're wrong, can you think of a better way to breathe than through all that?

...

I couldn't. I can't. I continue.

― Richard Wagamese, Embers: One Ojibway's Meditations

If grief can be a doorway to love, then let us all weep for the world we are breaking apart so we can love it back to wholeness again.

--Robin Wall Kimmerer

"come to your senses"

isn't about using your brain

(or at least it shouldn't be)

it is an instruction to come into the current moment

imagine if we stopped

a few times each day

and truly came to our senses

maybe for a moment

all of our collective narratives

would pause

and we would simply

hear the sound of rain

smell the lilacs blooming

taste sweetness of an orange

see the colours of a rainbow

feel the warmth of a human hand

everybody, come to your senses

--daniel baylis

Winter, Spring

Winter is black and beige down here

from drought. Suddenly in March

there’s a good rain and in a couple

of weeks we are enveloped in green.

Green everywhere in the mesquites, oaks,

cottonwoods, the bowers of thick

willow bushes the warblers love

for reasons of food or the branches,

the tiny aphids they eat with relish.

Each year it is a surprise

that the world can turn green again.

It is the grandest surprise in life,

the birds coming back from the south to my open

arms, which they fly past, aiming at the feeders.

by Jim Harrison

from Dead Man’s Float

Shoulders

A man crosses the street in rain,

stepping gently, looking two times north and south,

because his son is asleep on his shoulder.

No car must splash him.

No car drive too near to his shadow.

This man carries the world’s most sensitive cargo

but he’s not marked.

Nowhere does his jacket say FRAGILE,

HANDLE WITH CARE.

His ear fills up with breathing.

He hears the hum of a boy’s dream

deep inside him.

We’re not going to be able

to live in this world

if we’re not willing to do what he’s doing

with one another.

The road will only be wide.

The rain will never stop falling.

--Naomi Shihab Nye

From Red Suitcase

People don't live on [Earth]. ... Oh, [it] may be the place where the body eats, but they live elsewhere, in worlds of their own which orbit... the centre of their heads. 

-- The Last Continent, Terry Pratchett

when the moon passes by

and blocks out the sun

the world will see

but only for a moment

what grieving can feel like.

darkness.

and no one knowing

how to look at you.

sara rian

Words for the Road

Know, now, there is no one

who can guide you.

Know there will be nothing

to return to.

Know, now, that the trial

will be long.

Come, then. You were called to this,

this wild life.

Go in

and lie down in the darkness.

Hear them now, the wild flocks

in the starlight,

thrashing in the vastness of their passing?

If you cannot have a home, become a song.

-Joseph Fasano

If we shut our hearts to the pain of the world our celebrations become superficial. If we let that pain overwhelm our hope, we are lost in the dark. Tears in which pain and joy flow together do justice to life in its fullness.

--Brother David Steindl-Rast

The more you think you need to accumulate, the bigger fence you need to build around yourself and the fewer people you will trust and let into your life. It’s the inverse of what it means to live in true peace and security, which only comes in the context of relationship with people you can trust.

--Gareth Higgins