Posts tagged ‘poetry’
The boat I travel in is called Surrender.
My two oars are instant forgiveness and gratitude—complete gratitude for the gift of life.
I am thankful for the experience of this life,
for the opportunity to dance.
I get angry, I get mad, but as soon as I remind myself to put my oars in the water,
Balbir Matbur, Heron Dance Interview (Issue 11)
Hope is with you when you believe
The earth is not a dream but living flesh,
That sight, touch, and hearing do not lie,
That all things you have ever seen here
Are like a garden looked at from a gate.
You cannot enter.
But you’re sure it’s there.
Could we but look more clearly and wisely
We might discover somewhere in the garden
A strange new flower and an unnamed star.
Some people say we should not trust our eyes,
That there is nothing, just a seeming,
These are the ones who have no hope.
They think that the moment we turn away,
The world, behind our backs, ceases to exist,
As if snatched up by the hands of thieves.
– Czeslaw Milosz
It is good for a person to receive God
Into himself or herself
And I call this receptivity the work of a virgin.
But it is better
When God becomes fruitful within a person.
For becoming fruitful as a result of a gift is the
Only gratitude for the gift.
I call such a person a wife
And in this sense the term wife is the noblest
Term we can give the soul,
It is far nobler than virgin.
Such a person bears fruit a hundred times
Or a thousand times
Or countless times
Giving birth and becoming fruitful
Out of the most noble foundation of all.
Tend only to this birth in you
And you will find there
All goodness and all consolation,
All being and truth.
~ Meister Eckhart, OP
When despair for the world grows in me,
And I wake in the night in fear . . .
I go and lie down where the wood drake
Rests in beauty on the water,
And the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
Who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day blind stars waiting with their light.
I rest in the grace of the world and am free.
– Wendell Berry
Because we spill not only milk
Knocking it over with an elbow
When we reach to wipe a small face
But also spill seed on soil we thought was fertile but isn’t,
And also spill whole lives, and only later see in fading light
How much is gone and we hadn’t intended it
Because we tear not only cloth
Thinking to find a true edge and instead making only a hole
But also tear friendships when we grow
And whole mountainsides because we are so many
And we want to live right where black oaks lived,
Once very quietly and still
Because we forget not only what we are doing in the kitchen
And have to go back to the room we were in before,
Remember why it was we left
But also forget entire lexicons of joy
And how we lost ourselves for hours
Yet all that time were clearly found and held
And also forget the hungry not at our table
Because we weep not only at jade plants caught in freeze
And precious papers left in rain
But also at legs that no longer walk
Or never did, although from the outside they look like most others
And also weep at words said once as though
They might be rearranged but which
Once loose, refuse to return and we are helpless
Because we are imperfect and love so
Deeply we will never have enough days,
We need the gift of starting over, beginning
Again: just this constant good, this
~ Nancy Shaffer, Instructions in Joy