life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the month “September, 2014”

on a day like today

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Every day, at least once, one must allow a picture to form
Out of the random scene before one’s eyes.
It may take shape easily, in front of a window, say,
with table and bench, light silhouetted,
plants enclosed by the window frame.
Objects on the table, a tea cozy and tea egg
in a dish. A ruffled napkin askew on the oilcloth.
One must observe the entire field of view
and the angles and harmonies of color.
And then back up to form a new picture
out of the wider context framed by your eyes.

Every day, at least once, one must listen to
music with complete attention and concentration.
Or, stop and listen to whatever form takes
shape in the random sounds of the air.
One must attend to several voices at once
in random balance, letting the mind make
sense of it. Some balance or imbalance.

One must, every day, become aware of
one’s body in as much of its totality
as possible. Complete physical awareness.
With arms and legs extended or curled up,
active or passive.

One must on a daily basis be in a garden
of whatever choice or kind, urban or country,
and sit and look, being calm.

One must watch and listen to the birds.
This is very important to being alive.
The birds can help you rediscover
your soul.

And one must read a poem or listen,
remembering the world from which
the poem speaks and takes life,
paying attention to the world the poem
creates.

One must eat meals with knowledge
of what one is eating. Full consciousness.

And one must acknowledge one’s
lack of complete consciousness,
one must realize one’s own
place.

“Every Day” by Bill Wahman

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the breeze dances across my face
like a fairy in ballet slippers made of the finest feathers.
the world is all azurite and emerald
I listen for the wings of angels, hawks and dragonflies
soaring
miles and miles above.
under the music of the leaves,
the peace of a quiet silence,
as butterflies fan the heavy hanging goldenrod.
I hear an infant cry,
the kind of music only a mother and father can interpret –
sounds like hunger to my instinctual response.
Airplanes, bees and flies drone at different intervals.
the silly dog barks at occasional squirrels and passersby,
then settles back into napping.
a goose honks somewhere to the distant left.
a loud truck makes a dissonant note in this beautiful melody.
I am here wrapped in my snuggly blanket and this joy,
for these perfect falling-from-summer moments.
tomatoes and squash are warm ripe
in the friendly neighbors garden.
we have pushed through some hard work,
you and I,
we have made it through a tough act,
a brutal season,
burdens now roll off stooped shoulders,
just in time to enjoy a new beginning.
a celebration.
a new and better path.
a shining light,
right here
guiding us all
home.

ACL 9/18/14

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beyond the fear

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“I was afraid but
 that is the beauty of past 
tense. It’s over now.”
– Amanda Helm
amandaspoetry.tumblr.com/

The simplest things in life
Are the most extraordinary
Let them reveal themselves.
– Paulo Coelho

There is magic in every little thing.
Your very breath is magic.
You, showing up on this tiny planet,
at this very time in history,
purest magic.
The way the sun glints off your hair,
magic-magic.
The way the trees recognize you,
all magically-like.
The way a child can turn their head
and plunge you into instant grief,
the deepest-darkest magic.
It’s all about perspective.
Einstein reminds us,
We have a choice in how we live.
One of two ways –
As if nothing
OR
As if everything
Is miraculous!

I’m so glad,
so extremely blessed by,
that moment I chose to see the enchanted pathway.
It’s always a fine day here.
No matter the circumstance I find myself in,
Magic abounds.
And somewhere,
along this bewitching, musical, star strewn, pathway,
I forgot to be afraid anymore.
ACL 11/22/13

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Light of Dawn, awaken me,
that I may always be mindful of You.

Warmth of the sun, fill me,
that I may radiate the love of Christ.

Breeze of wisdom, give me breath,
that all I say may be true and loving.

Embracing earth, receive me,
that I may always forgive.

Songs of birds, delight me,
that I may sing joy, sing joy.

Falling rain and growing grass remind me
that I live and die into You.

Flesh of my body, rejoice,
for I am Your vessel, I am alive,
I am here.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net

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touches of the wings

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Some Sunday afternoon, it may be,
you are sitting under your porch roof,
looking down through the trees
to the river, watching the rain. The circles
made by the raindrops’ striking
expand, intersect, dissolve,

and suddenly (for you are getting on
now, and much of your life is memory)
the hands of the dead, who have been here
with you, rest upon you tenderly
as the rain rests shining
upon the leaves. And you think then

(for thought will come) of the strangeness
of the thought of heaven, for now
you have imagined yourself there,
remembering with longing this
happiness, this rain. Sometimes here
we are there, and there is no death.

“1996, V” [“Some Sunday afternoon, it may be”] by Wendell Berry

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On this bitter-sweet morning
I spot the jar,
and deliberately,
lick spun honey from a spoon.
Remembering my Grandma Duvall,
always a mystery person for me,
always had that,
and other, oh-so-wonderful,
treats at her house.
As a little girl,
I loved it so,
I love it still,
tho it goes right to my head,
and makes me a bit dizzy.
My more mature tastebuds know
there must be balance.
Remembering the wisdom
of Solomon in Proverbs.
How kind words are like honey.
How important it is to choose the sweet,
right in the bitter.
I suck the last bit off the spoon,
smile a bit,
and move along.
Angels visit us in strange ways some days.
A bit of healing
right there in the kitchen.
A bit of grace
right in the mess.
A bit of heaven,
right here and now,
on a rainy Tuesday.

ACL 9/16/14

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courage, dear heart

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If you could be soft in what you are. In what you’ve felt in the world.

If you could release, just for a moment, how he held you, or how the kids should have come home.

If you just put down the can of paint. Listen.

All along you’ve been waiting. A couple long sighs, a piece of the way things wave and you’re off.

Have you considered much what it is to sit on the lawn. What is under your fingers, what is under your hands. And how to live an agreeable life, and how much it takes in a night to get through what you must first get through in order to just sit here and be happy.

“If You Could Be Soft” by Nina Alvarez

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always within reach

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In the woods at sunrise voices speak,
dark, tunneling beneath roots.
Not uttering vast wisdom,
but saying enough.

Between our bodies some kind of energy,
not electric, but warm, a reaching.
In the day’s little catastrophes some light,
soft, awakening, enough to see by.

Crossing the desert of the living room,
the impossible distance from the store,
tired, or angry, or despondent,
desperate for escape, or treaties,

when certainly the gods have left you,
you are fed. The soul’s strange nourishment,
the morsel held in the palm of your disaster,
left in plain sight after every dark night.

Through your incoherent landscape runs
this steadfast mystery, the Holy One’s vow
that you will make it. A layer of dew,
flakes like frost on the desert floor.

______________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net/

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Romans‬ ‭8‬:‭22-39‬ KJV
“For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now. And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body. For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for? But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it. Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God. And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. For whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brethren. Moreover whom he did predestinate, them he also called: and whom he called, them he also justified: and whom he justified, them he also glorified. What shall we then say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us? He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things? Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth. Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter. Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

settle in

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I smiled at myself
in the mirror this morning
said, ‘good morning’
to the crazy haired girl
looking at me with happy eyes
I make happy coffee
and smile as the heaven-brew
hits morning tastebuds
I have many thoughts this morning
plans and inspiration
floating through
I smile at the fresh pink fuzz
on the backyard tree
at the birds hopping through grass
at the dirty pig statue
looking so perfectly thrilled
To be so dirty
I believe I will live this quote today:
The only thing that ultimately matters is to eat an ice cream
cone, play a slide trombone, plant a small tree, good God, now
you’re free.
– Ray Manzarek
Hmmm wonder where I’ll find that trombone?

ACL 4/15/13

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Sunday morning easy…😉

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tree-mendous

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For today, I will memorize
the two trees now in end-of-summer light

and the drifts of wood asters as the yard slopes away toward
the black pond, blue

dragonflies
in the clouds that shine and float there, as if risen

from the bottom, unbidden. Now, just over the fern—
quick—a glimpse of it,

the plume, a fox-tail’s copper, as the dog runs in ovals and eights,
chasing scent.

The yard is a waiting room. I have my chair. You, yours.

The hawk has its branch in the pine.

White petals ripple in the quiet light.

“Solitudes” by Margaret Gibson

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A tree you pass by every day is just a tree. If you are to closely examine what a tree has and the life a tree has, even the smallest thing can withstand a curiosity, and you can examine whole worlds.
– William Shatner

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The aspen glitters in the wind
And that delights us.

The leaf flutters, turning,
Because that motion in the heat of August
Protects its cells from drying out. Likewise the leaf
Of the cottonwood.

The gene pool threw up a wobbly stem
And the tree danced. No.
The tree capitalized.
No. There are limits to saying,
In language, what the tree did.

It is good sometimes for poetry to disenchant us.

Dance with me, dancer. Oh, I will.

Mountains, sky,
The aspen doing something in the wind.

“The Problem of Describing Trees” by Robert Hass

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the real truth of forgiveness

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Forgiving is not forgetting bad behavior,
not condoning or excusing or minimizing it,
not pretending that it didn’t hurt, that “it was nothing.”

Forgiving is not about the behavior.
It’s loving the person,
and letting nothing, even their hurtful actions,
diminish or deter your love.

Forgiving is accepting what is—
that they have wronged you—
without desire to amend that,
to get even, exact payment
or get them to see your hurt.
It is accepting that the hurt is real,
and yet your love for them, and yourself, remains.

Forgiving is accepting the person,
even with their hurtfulness,
without needing to change that.
Forgiving is accepting yourself:
allowing yourself to be hurt or wronged
without the need to correct that
to know your belovedness, dignity and worth.

Forgiving is owing and being owed nothing.
Forgiving is letting go of the past,
letting the hurt be in the past instead of the present,
choosing to stop hanging on to it, stop being chained up in it.
Forgiving is getting free.

Our forgiving blossoms from our being entirely forgiven.
We have been forgiven for deeper hurts than we ourselves forgive.
We choose to be in the heaven of infinite forgiving
rather than the hell of unfinished and never-ending resentment.
Forgiving is coming alive,
and entering into eternal life.

Forgiving is not a chore or obligation.
Forgiving is joy, freedom, compassion, and peace.
Seven times seventy times.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net

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walking free!

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You’ve been wronged:
hurt perhaps, betrayed, accused,
robbed of something, someone.
The wound still bleeds,
smoke still rises in twin columns.
You can pretend,
and your ruse will imprison you.
You can rage,
and your rage will enslave you.
You can believe your deserving,
and your shame will bury you.

Or you can walk to the sea,
the sea at the end of the world,
the dark, chaotic waters of Creation,
the Red Sea bounding your Egypt,
the ocean of forgiveness.
A bitter Pharaoh will follow you,
but don’t turn back.
You will walk into the pain, up to your ankles,
the grief, up to your waist,
the powerlessness, up to your chest
before the waters part

and you walk free.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net/

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‭Romans‬ ‭15‬:‭13‬
Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that you may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Spirit.

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