We are here essentially to risk ourselves in the world. We are a form of invitation to others and to otherness, we are meant to hazard ourselves for the right thing, for the right woman or the right man, for a son or a daughter, for the right work or for a gift given against all the odds. And in all this continual risking the most profound courage may be found in the radical and simple willingness to allow ourselves to be happy along the way…
😄
LONGING by David Whyte
It’s not how we leave one’s life.
How we go off the air.
You never know do you.
You think you’re ready
for anything;
then it happens, and you’re not.
You’re really not.
The genesis of an ending, nothing but a feeling,
a slow movement,
the dusting of furniture
with a remnant of the revenant’s shirt.
Seeing the candles sink in their sockets;
we turn away,
yet the music never quits.
The fire kisses our face.
O phthsis, o lotharian dead eye,
no longer will you gaze on the baize of the billiard table.
No more shooting butter dishes out of the sky.
Scattering light.
Between snatches of poetry and penitence
you left the brumal wood of men and women.
Snow drove the butterflies home.
You must know how it goes,
known all along what to expect,
sooner or later …
the faded cadence of anonymity.
Frankly, my dear, frankly, my dear, frankly
💞
Only the Crossing Counts by C. D. Wright
Well I won’t back down, no I won’t back down
You could stand me up at the gates of hell
But I won’t back down
Gonna stand my ground, won’t be turned around
And I’ll keep this world from draggin’ me down
Gonna stand my ground and I won’t back down
[Chorus:]
Hey baby, there ain’t no easy way out
Hey I will stand my ground
And I won’t back down
Well I know what’s right, I got just one life
In a world that keeps on pushin’ me around
But I’ll stand my ground and I won’t back down
Hey baby there ain’t no easy way out
Hey I will stand my ground
And I won’t back down
No, I won’t back down
This day maybe be rough and bloody and heartbreaking but it is here and it is now and it is bursting with untold potential and possibility and our response to it is of utmost, urgent importance.
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 if you show up
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 to build the new bridge from the friend bench of this manna-filled moment
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
flaming beauty evolves, drives me to my knees,
shedding shoes, and fear,
as we talk
I lift my face to the sun and free soar
full wing, open soul, with the gulls,
who always fly in trust, never a shadow of doubt, that they are loved to the sky
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
the way a weeping cherry tree delicately drapes pink branches
against the blue sky.
the way a jagged cut tree stump
covers itself with luxurious moss
and pours out green English ivy all over the ground around it.
the way the tires of a bulldozer
make such interesting patterns in the sand
on the way to the salt water.
the way dandelions keep on
cheerfully spreading wishes
and polka dot sunshine
no matter how many times they get labeled weeds.
the way the smell of an orange
colors your hands,
long after the fruit is consumed.
the way a great conversation,
of kith and kin,
on any ol’ friends bench,
can take you miles and miles
around the moon
and back again
changing the course of your day,
sometimes,
even your life.
yes, poems are born
in the senses.
no need for pen or paper,
poems are created
while paying attention,
in the heart of
our ordinary,
extraordinary,
living of life.
🍊
AL
We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here – that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?
I Will Make You Brooches by Robert Louis Stevenson
This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life. Finally, to take a step without feet.
🌸
This world doesn’t improve by demanding perfection. It improves when we reach through our armor and touch another with tenderness. It improves when we bust through the walls of our conditioning, and try a new way of being on for size. It improves when we work through our unresolved shadow and share what little light we can find. It is the small, positive steps that we take when we are at war with ourselves that change the world.
If you believe in the magic of language, then Elvis really Lives and Princess Diana foretold I end as car spin.
If you believe the letters themselves contain a power within them, then you understand what makes outside tedious, how desperation becomes a rope ends it.
The circular logic that allows senator to become treason, and treason to become atoners.
That eleven plus two is twelve plus one, and an admirer is also married.
That if you could just rearrange things the right way you’d find your true life, the right path, the answer to your questions: you’d understand how the Titanic turns into that ice tin, and debit card becomes bad credit.
How listen is the same as silent, and not one letter separates stained from sainted.
life: acoustic & amplified 