Tag Archives: yearning

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Musings

This week with Rumi has been unsettling. On Monday I read what seemed to be a parable about a man and a woman arguing that left me feeling a little bit sad. I recognized parts of me in the woman and parts of me in the man. I think Rumi is sharing the wisdom of compromise. He takes three pages to share this story. What is he really trying to tell us? He concludes his writing with these words:

“A night full of talking that hurts,

my worst held-back secrets. Everything

has to do with loving and not loving.

This night will pass.

Then we have work to do”.

Tuesday’s Poem was titled, An Empty Garlic; Wednesday’s was The Diver’s Clothes Lying Empty. The poetry seemed to be more random than what I have been reading so far. Yet, through it all there is the thread that we have all we need within us.

Today’s is titled, Dissolver of Sugar. It felt like a request for gentleness in a poem of yearning.

“You keep me away with your arm,

but the keeping away is pulling me in”.

and

“I need more grace

than I thought”.

I can relate to the final two lines!

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Pond

pond

A restless energy
prowls through my being

pacing, nudging
looking for answers.

Old behaviours
that pacified unease before

now only add
to restlessness.

Winds of change
disturb pond

the surface ripples
and distorts reflection.

Light is absorbed
not reflected.

Under the rippling surface
energy gathers

twin to restless energy
pacing on shore.

Static air has hairs on end
in this tense, waiting energy.

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Migration

The geese have flown south for winter.
V-formation steadily directs away from me
until only a speck in the sky.
Echoes of their honks linger long after
birds are out of sight.

I am left alone in a frozen landscape,
surrounded by mounds of dirty ice
untouched by a teasing Chinook passing through town,
its gift of warmth followed by cerulean skies and cold nights.

I awaken to a pink, glowing sunrise,
eastern clouds painted brilliant shades of golden orange,
bittersweet apricot and tints of tangerine.
I am startled from my daybreak reverie by enclosing silence.

Absence of my feathered friends
creates an absence of purpose.
Instead of scattering harvested grain to supplement
diets of my feral flying fowl,
I collect my ricocheting thoughts,
settle into an overstuffed chair, warm cup of tea in hand,
and a book I have been wanting to read.

Black print on a white page cannot distract my longing
to hear from my friends.
Sadness puts an arm around my shoulders,
shadows me throughout my days.

Sometimes I sprinkle kernels of grain atop newly fallen snow
for shy ptarmigan that look surreptitiously at me from afar.
I am happy to provide a treat in this harsh climate
but my heart remains true to the geese.

I yearn for the first honk that will reach my covered ears,
a raspy, grating sound demanding attention,
unlike the gentle coo of a dove,
a honk to announce:
We’re Home
We’re Back
Spring and renewal are just around the corner