A poem by Susan Glickman One Hand Clapping Some questions have no answers. These are the ones we must ask. How finds the way. Why builds the road. One travels light in darkness; Two, both lighter and darker. We are what the light makes when it stops moving.
The landscape painter at the artist colony in the country noted for its messianic light, its sparse, hard-to-capture beauty, complains she's come all this way to paint al fresco but the mosquitoes have driven her inside, no matter the netting on her hat, her cuffed sleeves and pants, a heavy does of Deet. They bite through everything. And when she tries to snap a picture, a breathy handkerchief of mosquitoes flutters over the lens. What can I do? she moans, trapped in a dull and narrow room, thinking of booking a ticket back to her studio in Vancouver. Paint the mosquitoes, god replies. Lorna Crozier from God Of Shadows 2018 McClelland & Stewart (image credit: Trichy Insights)
Tonight I offer you a poem by David Whyte. This particular poem speaks to me at this time of so much change and upheaval in our lives. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
Start Close In by David Whyte Start close in, don't take the second step or the third, start with the first thing close in, the step you don't want to take. Start with the ground you know, the pale ground beneath your feet, your own way to begin the conversation. Start with your own question, give up on other people's questions, don't let them smother something simple. To hear another's voice, follow your own voice, wait until that voice becomes an intimate private ear that can really listen to another. Start right now take a small step you can call your own don't follow someone else's heroics, be humble and focused, start close in, don't mistake that other for your own. Start close in, don't take the second step or the third, start with the first thing close in, the step you don't want to take.
As spring rain washes away winter remnants during this time of Covid our hearts turn toward the sun. Somehow the tilt of the earth is a little different. If we aren't careful we may lean too far and fall off.
I wanted to write something profound. Something uplifting and fun to help lift our focus… I’m sorry it just isn’t there tonight. So I offer you this poem written by Canadian poet, David O’Meara. However, what I do want to add is that we do have the perfect opportunity at hand to have those deep conversations that we may not otherwise share. Take care, everyone.
Nothing "Nothing," he said, "it's nothing." Then nothing was said. Silence; nothing. What she asked had come from nothing. Sweet nothing, really, was all he said. They cut their links like little wires, said nothing about it afterward, nothing. All over nothing. So never to talk of what they said until all that was ever said was nothing, and so nothing was ever said.
The past several day I’ve had the pleasure of seeing owls when I am out for my walk. Standing in the space of their presence brings me a sense of joy and calm – a moment to forget everything that is happening in the world around me.
A Quiet Strength Hope is a great-horned owl. It is yellow eyes that harness strength. It is open eyes that face shadows. Hope allows you to soar on winds of change to leave some old habits and bring something new into your life. Hope settles on a tree limb, listens, looks for subtle signs, sees what usually goes below your radar. Hope uses the beauty of night to inspire creativity. Little can stop an owl once it has set its sights on "the prize"
Some Fun Facts About Owls
Owls have specialized feathers with fringes of varying softness that help muffle sound when they fly. Their broad wings and light bodies also make them nearly silent fliers; which helps them stalk prey more easily.
An owl has three eyelids; one for blinking, one for sleeping, and one for keeping the eye clean and healthy.
Hope and fear cannot occupy the same space, invite one to stay.
By Jan Zwicky On a bad day, you come in from the weather and lean your back against the door. This time of year it's dark by five. Your armchair, empty in its pool of light. That arpeggio lifts, like warmth, from the fifth of B minor, offers its hand - let me tell you a story...But in the same breath, semitones falling to the tonic: you must believe and not believe; that door you came in you must go out again. In the forest, the woodcutter's son sets the stone down from his sack and speaks to it. And from nothing, a spring wells, falling as it rises, spilling out across the dark green moss. There is sadness in the world, it says, past telling. Learn stillness if you would run clear.
Today I am sharing from Sharlyn HiDalgo's "The Healing Power of Trees." In her book March 21 - April 17 is Hawthorn Month Here is a sample of what she says: "Despite the jubilant celebration of spring's arrival, this month is a time to quiet oneself and go within. ...it refers to personal sovereignty in which we reclaim our personal power and pay attention to our own inner life. Fasting, ritual cleansing, and refraining from one's usual habits and patterns is encouraged. We may want to seek retreat and silence in order to reconnect with the divine and the unseen worlds." How timely!!
when day equals night may signs of love emerge from the fear