life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “attitude”

it always comes down to choices       

Only when we rest in God can we find the safety, the spaciousness, and the scary freedom to be who we are, all that we are, more than we are, and less than we are.

             – Richard Rohr


The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,

The full round moon and the star-laden sky,

And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,

Had hid away earth’s old and weary cry.

And then you came with those red mournful lips,

And with you came the whole of the world’s tears,

And all the trouble of her laboring ships,

And all the trouble of her myriad years.

And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,

The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,

And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,

Are shaken with earth’s old and weary cry.

😔

The Sorrow of Love by William Butler Yeats
———
Do you have any idea how many princesses have gone unrecognized by their prince because of logic? Or how many princes have gone unrecognized by their princess because of pride? 
How many dreams were dashed when the handmaiden answered the door? Or when the gatehouse was mistaken for the mansion? Or when the calm before the storm of abundance and good fortune was viewed as a sign to retreat? 
Happily, we’ve got forever and ever. And fortunately, it’s never too late to see what one’s missed, remain focused on the dream instead of the hows, and move with unwavering faith. 
Yeeeee-haaaaaaaaaa!! 

         The Universe

           www.tut.com


freedom, 

oh freedom,

that’s just some people talkin’

cause your prison is walking through this world 

all alone. 


there is terrible beauty in every human heart 
tell me a story that will live with me forever
love always shares grace always wins
you can’t miss out
pay attention…
the message is always revealed at the appointed intersection 
letting go brings the right miracle
at the right time the song playlist repeats 
crazy love flows into mystic waters
deep calling to deep
honor chooses to say yes to the best invitations
making the call brings me the messages I need 

there is always more than enough to share

gratitude buckets fill and overflow
removing scales from blurry, tearful, kaleidoscope eyes 
as perfect peace falls into rightful place
color shards blooming into new masterpieces of never before seen glory
diamonds dance on the water

herons bring messages of great importance, 

delivered via my beautiful Mama Bird, 

fluent in language of bird, tree, dreams and laughter…just to name a few. 
flaming beauty evolves, drives me to my knees,
shedding shoes, and fear, 
as I pray
I lift my face to the evening sky 

and soar free
full wing, open soul, with the hawks,
who always fly in trust that they are enough
right here, and in every tick of time,
in, and in-between, every click of the second hand,
around the bend of eternity and back again

💞

AL

fruitopia 










Anticipation of 
coming back to life
moving through the grey
into new 
love
joy
peace
light
There is no guarantee of anything in this lifetime
however there are amazing things hidden
which bring forth their fruit
in their season
Sometimes it feels like it just won’t happen,
then…

before you know it…
flash, boom, bang,
you got more okra than you could ever eat

grown clear-up to the second floor windows! 
Go ahead, 

live with the hope
Plan with the expectancy
of all good things
come in their time
💞
AL 

read all about it


Especially in the afternoon when light slants

through the window, grazing her cheek on its way to the page.

For a woman who appreciates that kind of light for reading. 

Especially in mornings, when coffee makers groan. 

When everyone else is still climbing, still hand-over-handing their way

up from dreams. 

For the book

that fell into the bath

and was fished out — quickly. 

For the line

that swam before her as she fell

asleep. 

In stolen time: 

the check-out line, 

the way to work.

In fits and starts of traffic, 

in the press

of bodies. 

Especially

for anyone who’s ever missed her stop. 

For anyone who’s laughed out loud while reading

in a restaurant. 

Or ever thought of writing

to a stranger:

You told my story. 

How did you know?
Especially for a teenage girl whose touch

turns bookmarks into ash. 

And so she uses rubber bands, 

a roll of tape, 

a stray sock, 

a receipt, 

or my book

to hold her place open. 

Who won’t

come to supper till she finishes her page.

For a grandmother I know

about, who stirred with a book in one hand. 

For everyone stirring

with words in their hands. 

For anyone who’s ever grasped a book in two hands.

Hold your breath, and crack it open.

For books that have burned to be written. 

Books thrown into the fire

because supper wasn’t ready, or her chores had not been done.

For anyone who’s ever had anyone tell her:

All that reading makes you think too much.
 Especially when the leaves against the window

are a chorus from another time.

When evening comes, a woman stretches one curved arm to reach

the light behind her. 

She is reading while the birds take roost, and punctuate

the branches. 

Reading till her book is finished. 

Reading like a girl. 

📖

~Sue MacLeod


I didn’t intend to eat my 

Chocolatini Godiva Truffle 

until the very last. 

It was my shooting star. 

my most special to look forward to. 

my magic bullet. 

my favorite. 

Intented for the ending of the box celebration.  

saved

cherished

savored

but then I finished my book!  

I finished reading 

The Night Circus 

and my chocolatini was the closest thing

I could find to a chocolate mouse…

and so, I had to eat it! 

to celebrate!!!

What a cool book! 

Reading is my life,

books my passion, 

the smell of old libraries one of my favorites. 

Yet, I have not read a novel for a long time… 

have not found one that captured me in years…

until now. 

No hesitation with my truffle choice today,

it was the best show of respect

and gratitude I could give. 

The circus arrives without warning…

the circus of dreams…

and we are swept away by the very taste of it…

📚

AL

say it…live it…be it muchly


that is all for today…

Make me sweet again, fragrant and fresh and wild, and thankful for any small event. – Rumi


Passion is a feeling that tells you: this is the right thing to do. Nothing can stand in my way. It doesn’t matter what anyone else says. This feeling is so good that it cannot be ignored. I’m going to follow my bliss and act upon this glorious sensation of joy.

― Wayne W. Dyer


I dreamt we walked together along the shore. 

We made satisfying small talk and laughed.

 This morning I found sand in my shoe and 

a seashell in my pocket. 

Was I only dreaming?

🌊

      – Maya Angelou

I see you


A woman in the city, who was a sinner,

stood behind him at his feet, weeping,

and began to bathe his feet with her tears….

He said, “Do you see this woman?”

—Luke 7.37, 44

……………………..
No, we do not see.

To one of Jesus’ most arresting questions,

we have to answer: we don’t see her.

We see our prejudices and stereotypes. W

e see our fears and projections.

We don’t see this woman;

we see what we think of her.

We see a sinner.

We see someone disrupting our dinner.

We see someone who makes us uncomfortable.

Which is to say, we see our judgment,

our expectations,

our discomfort.

We see our own stuff.

We don’t see her.
But Jesus saw this woman,

really saw her.

He saw her pain and her strength,

her gratitude, her courage,

her transformation.

He saw the precious value of her gift.

He saw her soul at work.

He saw God’s grace in her.
Jesus really saw people.

He saw who they were and knew their story,

not because he had ESP

but because he paid attention.

The woman at the well,

the bent over woman,

the rich man,

Bartimaeus,

the woman who touched him in a crowd…

he really saw people because he wanted to. He

paid attention.

And there was healing in his seeing.

What he saw in people was not their flaws

but the mercy of God.

And seeing the grace was like sunlight on plants:

it made people heal and grow and bear fruit.
God, help me really see.

Help me set aside my feelings and judgments,

and see whole people,

your beloved,

precious souls.

Help me see myself:

help me notice my projections,

and name my fears and expectations;

help me confess my blinders

and set them aside so I can see.

Beloved, help me really see people,

really see your grace,

really see at all.

Beloved, I want to see.

 

__________________

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net



At dusk, by the irrigation ditch

gurgling past backyards near the highway,

locusts raise a maze of calls in cottonwoods.

A Spanish girl in a white party dress
s

trolls the levee by the muddy water

where her small sister plunks in stones.

Beyond a low adobe wall and a wrecked car

men are pitching horseshoes in a dusty lot.

Someone shouts as he clangs in a ringer.

Big winds buffet in ahead of a storm,

rocking the immense trees and whipping up

clouds of dust, wild leaves, and cottonwool.

In the moment when the locusts pause and the girl

presses her up-fluttering dress to her bony knees

you can hear a banjo, guitar, and fiddle

playing “The Mississippi Sawyer” inside a shack.

Moments like that, you can love this country.

—–
“Passing through Albuquerque” by John Balaban


I wanna take this moment to look into your eyes.
Linger there with courage, allow your soul to rise
Feel your loving spirit
Touch your hidden dreams.
Let you know you’re not alone

that you’re finally seen…

Now’s there’s one less stranger in the world.

One less lonely heart in the night.

Lift your eyes and look at me

now there’s one less stranger in the world.

If you speak right from your heart
and let me do the same
If you allow my point of view
As we grow and change
If we both ask questions
to answers we seek
Then just sit in silence
allow our hearts to speak….

There’d be one less stranger in the world.
One less lonely heart in the night.
Lift your eyes and look at me
now there’s one less stranger in the world.

💑

AL


TRUE LONGING 


When you forget or repress the truth and depth of your invisible belonging and decide to belong to some system, person, or project, you short-circuit your longing and squander your identity. To have true integrity, poise, and courage is to be attuned to the silent and invisible nature within you. Real maturity is the integrity of inhabiting that “immortal longing” that always calls you to new horizons. Your true longing is to belong to the eternal that echoes continually in everything that happens to you. Real power has nothing to do with force, control, status, or money. Real power is the persistent courage to be at ease with the unsolved and the unfinished. To be able to recognize, in the scattered graffiti of your desires, the signature of the eternal.  

💞

John O’Donohue 

Excerpt from ETERNAL ECHOES


TOUCH is what we desire in one form or another, even if we find it through being alone, through the agency of silence or through the felt need to walk at a distance: the meeting with something or someone other than ourselves, the light brush of grass on the skin, the ruffling breeze, the actual touch of another’s hand; even the gentle first touch of an understanding which until now, we were formally afraid to hold.
Whether we touch only what we see or the mystery of what lies beneath the veil of what we see, we are made for unending meeting and exchange, while having to hold a coherent mind and body, physically or imaginatively, which in turn can be found and touched itself. We are something for the world to run up against and rub up against: through the trials of love, through pain, through happiness, through our simple everyday movement through the world.
And the world touches us in many ways, some of which are violations of the body or our hopes for safety: through natural disaster, through heartbreak, through illness, through death itself. In the ancient world the touch of a God was seen as both a blessing and a violation – at one and the same time. Being alive in the world means being found by the world and sometimes touched to the core in ways we would rather not experience. 
Growing with our bodies, all of us find ourselves at one time violated or wounded by this world in difficult ways, and still we live and breathe in this touchable, sensual world, and through trauma, through grief, through recovery, we heal in order to be touched again in the right way, as the physical consecration of a mutual, trusted invitation.
Nothing stops the body’s arrival in each new present, except death itself, which is intuited in all cultures as another, ultimate, intimate form of meeting. Nothing stops our ageing nor our witness to time, asking us again and again to be present to each different present, to be touchable and findable, to be one who is living up to the very fierce consequences of being bodily present in the world.
To forge an untouchable, invulnerable identity is actually a sign of retreat from this world; of weakness, a sign of fear rather than strength, and betrays a strange misunderstanding of an abiding, foundational and necessary reality: that untouched, we disappear.

Excerpted from ‘TOUCH’ From 

CONSOLATIONS: The Solace, Nourishment 

and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words. by David Whyte


let’s do something new
me and you
let’s travel uncharted territory 
make new maps of all we find

let’s create a new heaven
and a new earth
just by touching each other’s souls
tracing hearts around each other’s scars

being kind to one another

let’s do something extraordinary 
something spectacular 
 something world changing
something wild

let’s create a brand new star
just by loving each other
so completely 
it starts a supernova of epic proportion

let’s do something fun
something we can laugh at forever
something to bring joy into the room
peace into this broken world

💞

AL

Things take their own time. The seeds planted do not sprout the next day, but that does not mean they never will. Be patient. Your life only gets better when you do. Work on yourself and the rest will follow. You will bloom to the person you were always meant to BE. — Unknown

do the work

Each of us in our own work, our own play,

can transform the earth,

can ring a thousand stars

with any insignificant

anonymous sacrament

of the commonplace…

This little bowl of tea

could bring peace to 

all my ancestors,

to a hundred unborn 

generations, if I hold it 

tenderly, like a planet 

in the vast ancient space

of my palm, sip darkly 

without naming the flavor, 

and taste nothing with my 

mind but This…

then give thanks 

with a breath of silence in

no hurry to go.

_________
Fred LaMotte


Your faith is not your steadfast belief,

not certainty beyond questions.

Your faith is not what you think of God

or God’s anointed, for you yourself

have done some powerful anointing.

Your faith is giving your gifts,

without questioning how valued they are,

without questioning how worthy you are,

but simply offering what is in you.
What saves you is knowing you are received

without price, without judgment.

The Savior’s love is indeed powerful,

but how precious 

is what you have done for the Beloved.
God’s giving and receiving

are married in you. 
All that is broken is forgiven,

all that is wounded is healed,

all that is offered is cherished. 
All that is broken is forgiven,

all that is wounded is healed,

all that is offered is cherished. 

__________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net


we do not need to stay broken
healing is our natural state of being
once we are whole again
we must be aware of the release of our pain
and open ourselves to move 
to the next natural state of living
we leave the brokenness behind
and dance in the light again
stronger than before
spreading our wings to fly 
higher than we ever dared before!

🎁

AL

gifts appear  


I give you an emptiness,

I give you a plenitude,

unwrap them carefully. 

— one’s as fragile as the other —

and when you thank me

I’ll pretend not to notice the doubt in your voice

When you say they’re just what you wanted. 
Put them on the table by your bed. 

When you wake in the morning

they’ll have gone through the door of sleep

Into your head. Wherever you go

they’ll go with you and

wherever you are they’ll wonder,

smiling about the fullness 

you can’t add to 

and the emptiness

that you can’t fill.  
When you feel nothingness 

and emptiness gnawing at your life, 

there is no need for despair.

 This is a call from your soul, 

awakening your life to new possibilities. 

Nothingness is the sister of possibility. 

🎁

Presents by Norman MacCaig


knowing the way,
learning when to say yes –
when to walk away

how to tell the differences between, 
the people truly wanting to change themselves, thus the world, 

your helpers, 

the light-walkers, 

from the ones with underlying, unsavory, motivations
– discernment,

intuition –

we use them everyday
or we get ourselves into
hot,
sticky,
uncomfortable 
situations…
where we hone our skills
by finally struggling,

 like a fly in the spider web,

finally extricating ourselves 

as we learn our newest lessons

the, God awful,
hard way
🎁

AL



circles keep circling 


This is the beginning.

Almost anything can happen.

This is where you find

the creation of light, a fish wriggling onto land,

the first word of Paradise Lost on an empty page.

Think of an egg, the letter A,

a woman ironing on a bare stage

as the heavy curtain rises.

This is the very beginning.

The first-person narrator introduces himself,

tells us about his lineage.

The mezzo-soprano stands in the wings.

Here the climbers are studying a map

or pulling on their long woolen socks.

This is early on, years before the Ark, dawn.

The profile of an animal is being smeared

on the wall of a cave,

and you have not yet learned to crawl.

This is the opening, the gambit,

a pawn moving forward an inch.

This is your first night with her,

your first night without her.

This is the first part

where the wheels begin to turn,

where the elevator begins its ascent,

before the doors lurch apart.


This is the middle.

Things have had time to get complicated,

messy, really. Nothing is simple anymore.

Cities have sprouted up along the rivers

teeming with people at cross-purposes—

a million schemes, a million wild looks.

Disappointment unshoulders his knapsack

here and pitches his ragged tent.

This is the sticky part where the plot congeals,

where the action suddenly reverses

or swerves off in an outrageous direction.

Here the narrator devotes a long paragraph

to why Miriam does not want Edward’s child.

Someone hides a letter under a pillow.

Here the aria rises to a pitch,

a song of betrayal, salted with revenge.

And the climbing party is stuck on a ledge

halfway up the mountain.

This is the bridge, the painful modulation.

This is the thick of things.

So much is crowded into the middle—

the guitars of Spain, piles of ripe avocados,

Russian uniforms, noisy parties,

lakeside kisses, arguments heard through a wall—

too much to name, too much to think about.


And this is the end,

the car running out of road,

the river losing its name in an ocean,

the long nose of the photographed horse

touching the white electronic line.

This is the colophon, the last elephant in the parade,

the empty wheelchair,

and pigeons floating down in the evening.

Here the stage is littered with bodies,

the narrator leads the characters to their cells,

and the climbers are in their graves.

It is me hitting the period

and you closing the book.

It is Sylvia Plath in the kitchen

and St. Clement with an anchor around his neck.

This is the final bit

thinning away to nothing.

This is the end, according to Aristotle,

what we have all been waiting for,

what everything comes down to,

the destination we cannot help imagining,

a streak of light in the sky,

a hat on a peg, and outside the cabin, falling leaves.

💞

Aristotle by Billy Collins




So that 

I stopped 

there

and looked 

into the sun,
seeing not only

my reflected face

but the great sky

that framed 

my lonely figure
and after a moment

I lifted my hands

and then my eyes

and I 

allowed myself

to be
astonished

by the great 

everywhere

calling to me

like an

invisible 

and unspoken

invitation,

like something

in one moment

both calling to me

and radiating

from where I stood,
as if I could 

encompass

everything 

I had been given

and everything 

taken from me 
as if I could be

everything 

I have learned 

and everything

I could know,
as if I knew

in that moment

both the way 

I had come

and, secretly,
the way

I was still 

promised to go,
brought together,

like this,

with the 

unyielding ground

and the symmetry

of the moving sky,

caught in still waters.
Someone 

I have been,

and someone

I am just, 

about to become,
something I am

and will be forever,

the sheer generosity

of being loved

through loving:

the miracle reflection

of a twice blessed life.

Twice Blessed by David Whyte

From Work in Progress


the path keeps winding

I keep walking

always into surprises

always into adventures

today an unexpected ‘wow’ on the path

love always wins,

though the windmills of God 

do grind slowly, for sure!

grace always changes us

I keep seeing it

reflecting back at me

from eyes I meet in every place

I let go into the the flow

the mystery keeps expanding

this thing, love, is truly the only thing 

that could possibly change this world….

or anyone……

mainly….

namely….

someone….

like…

me.

☺️

AL

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