we are privileged. we are pilgrim.
Be infinitesimal under that sky, a creature
even the sailing hawk misses, a wraith
among the rocks where the mist parts slowly.
Recall the way mere mortals are overwhelmed
by circumstance, how great reputations
dissolve with infirmity and how you,
in particular, stand a hairsbreadth from losing
everyone you hold dear.
Then, look back down the path to the north,
the way you came, as if looking
over your entire past and then south
over the hazy blue coast as if present
to a broad future.
Recall the way you are all possibilities
you can see and how you live best
as an appreciator of horizons
whether you reach them or not.
Admit that once you have got up
from your chair and opened the door,
once you have walked out into the clear air
toward that edge and taken the path up high
beyond the ordinary you have become
the privileged and the pilgrim,
the one who will tell the story
and the one, coming back from the mountain
who helped to make it.
…
From MAMEEN
River Flow: New and Selected Poems
Many Rivers Press © David Whyte
rituals
I’ve eaten a shrimp
and a scallop
in celebration
keeping the shell to remember
this unique pilgrimage of mine
I’ve drunk a bottle of wine and smashed the empty bottle against the barn door
enjoying the mirroring sound of my broken heart
as well as, the dizzying freedom of that fruited company
I’ve burned the scroll
I made when the moon was full
the one where I prayed for you to return to me
then wrapped it in a tight roll
tied with a silk ribbon
I smiled smugly as I watched it burn
I’ve given away all my shoes and boots
(the ones you bought me)
along with the Mont Blanc Pen
the phone, the computer, the music
the collection of special wooden cutting boards
(I loved so much)
and every other little everything connected to you
gone
I’ve tossed and turned in my bed
full of pain and confusion for long drawn months
singing the same song over and over
just for you
(though I know your heart won’t hear me)
I’ve lifted my palms to heaven
and given you to God
pictured you floating free
in a beautiful ballon
waving bravely to you as you disappear in the clouds
I’ve taken you to the alter
and left you there
encased in a special heart shaped stone
I had filled it with love for you from my palm of my empty hands
still longing to touch
and be touched
I’ve written you
and danced you
and walked you
and run you
I’ve sung you
and cried you
and left you
and wanted you
What else am I supposed to do?
I can’t forget you
I can’t unlove you
❤️
Amy Lloyd
Fold him up and tuck him away in your pocket. Take him with you. Grief is good. You will learn to be happy in your grief. Even tho it will always be with you tucked away. You will learn to be happy in it. And some day you will be walking along and you will come to a bridge.
Take your grief from your pocket, tear it into a thousand pieces. Let them flow over the bridge. Watch the beauty of all the tiny pieces fluttering away in the breeze. You will smile. You will feel freedom…………d.d.
life: acoustic & amplified 