life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “grace”

and then one day…

 

 The road to forgiveness.. after the pilgrim lanes,
and the ruined chapel,

the gull cries and the sea-hush 

at the back of the island, 

it was the way, standing still 

or looking out

or walking, or even talking 

with others in the evening bar, 

holding your drink

or laughing with the rest,

that you realized part of you

had already dropped to its knees,

to pray, to sing, to look, 

to fall in love with everything

and everyone again,

that someone from far inside you

had walked out into the sea light

and the great embracing quiet

to raise its hands

and forgive

everyone in your short life

you thought you hadn’t,

and that all along

you had been singing 

your quiet way 

through the rosary of silence

that held their names….

😍

Excerpted from LEAVING THE ISLAND by David Whyte

   
 photos found at http://www.pinterest.com

for the love of all things poetry 💞  

 

 I fit words together, 
hoping they mean something.  

Wanting them to make sense. 

To myself. 

To others. 

Allowing them my raw emotion. 

Willing to give them up freely. 

Creating a monument, 

for this one moment in time, 

to share with the world. 

These words become something tangible. 

A thing, 

a gift, 

a piece of art. 

A part of me, 

stays with them. 

Little pieces of me live, 

like shapes in a puzzle, 

becoming 

a picture, 

a flower, 

a song. 

Small particles of my soul, 

like tiny rose buds,

opening in my hand, 

mesmerizes with it’s 

beauty, 

touch, 

fragrance. 

I write words on a page, 

and feel love 

spreading outward, 

as the flowering happens, 

as this thought blooms. 

As words become thoughts about… 

As the pieces become beautiful… 

As the poem is born, 

of water, 

blood, 

star dust 

and becomes… 

a small piece of my soul,

left behind on pages, 

for others to find, 

sharing a small moment, 

never to be lost, 

because it has been 

recorded, 

acknowledged, 

emptied. 

Gratitude makes room for new 

miracles, 

learning, 

beauty, 

as they find their new home 

ready, 

emptied, 

expectant. 

Waiting for more 

truth, 

goodness, 

love, 

to flow and enter in. 

There is always more, 

and more than enough. 

The heart that gives gathers, 

but never tries to hold anything hostage. 

Love, 

giving, 

pretty much everything, 

about life, 

only works when we allow it, 

all of it –

every sacred cow, 

every color on the wheel,

every tiny wildflower we see,

every spec of mud, 

to be free. 

AL

 

  

  
Photos found at http://www.pinterest.com 

  

a graceful feeling

   
    
    

 
  Anything that you learn becomes your wealth, a wealth that cannot be taken away from you; whether you learn it in a building called school or in the school of life. To learn something new is a timeless pleasure and a valuable treasure. And not all things that you learn are taught to you, but many things that you learn you realize you have taught yourself.

― C. JoyBell
  
I spent my weekend with my amazing friends, Kitt, Mike, Rebecca and Christian Haberman, in Louisville. 

I sum this powerful time of connection and sharing with this: 

I learned things. Lots of beautiful things. Things I will have with me always. (Happy Sigh) I am so grateful for all of the great people I have in my life. 

I stayed in the room below (Lesley Haberman being all grown up and off in college) and got ready with these messages before me, reminding me, filling my heart. Messages written by a beautiful, teenage girl to remind herself….remember…remember..

💞

Thank you, Lesley, thank you Haberman Family. Love is so very good to us! 

   
  What a beautiful world… 

even on the hard days    

  Respectfully given,

exalted being

full of grace,

remember to forget:

surrender struggles to catch it’s breath,

then falls soft

as evening prayers at twilight,

gathering into the corners of our hearts

before falling full 

onto the center of our living circle,

 free and happy as a Friday night. 

next morning’s sun fills us, 

each day, each season. 

nurture moves with grace, 

evolving slowly thru 

our caring hands,

our grieving hearts,

our shared experience, 

our acts of courage,

the healing salt of our tears,

the energy generation of our joy. 

with pieces of our true love,

we fly flags, 

of prayer,

of peace,

of poems,

of our own making 

to heal the worlds – 

within us/

without us. 

we allow –

simply complex. 

we understand –

clearly unclear. 

we stand and fill our world with 

the beauty,

the mystery,

of sound,

of hum,

of laughter,

of voice,

of music,

protecting us 

from lesser gods,

the terror all around. 

love is the shield, 

love is the answer,

love is the choice,

love is our glory,

our salvation,

crowning us 

sons and daughters 

of the King. 

at times,

in spite of our broken pieces,

our refusal to believe,

even our darkened hearts. 

 –

astonishing, 

isn’t it?

AL

A sob in the night 

awakens us from dreams,
a crack opens in the wall

and in seeps the dark stream
with pieces of broken things in it,

and blood, and our own ragged edge,
and in seeps the light,

and the voice singing.
We want to pull the wall around us,

the sorrow pouring in,
but it is breached now,

it is only an illusion,
and we are out in the dangerous light,

the fragile street,
tender as everyone else,

ready to duck, ready to weep.
We are all refugees now,

foreigners, except to foreigners.
It’s the egg that is cracked,

the stone rolled away.
If there is a place for love,

for your own brave soul, this is it.
The cord in another’s heart

knotted in yours, 
the hand reaching for you

you can reach out to.
Terror and the stillness,

and the voice singing. 
__________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

   
   
and for each person in this world 🙏🏻

just a thought

  
My life was the size of my life.

Its rooms were room-sized,

its soul was the size of a soul.

In its background, mitochondria hummed,

above it sun, clouds, snow,

the transit of stars and planets.

It rode elevators, bullet trains,

various airplanes, a donkey.

It wore socks, shirts, its own ears and nose.

It ate, it slept, it opened

and closed its hands, its windows.

Others, I know, had lives larger.

Others, I know, had lives shorter.

The depth of lives, too, is different.

There were times my life and I made jokes together.

There were times we made bread.

Once, I grew moody and distant.

I told my life I would like some time,

I would like to try seeing others.

In a week, my empty suitcase and I returned.

I was hungry, then, and my life,

my life, too, was hungry, we could not keep

our hands off our clothes on

our tongues from

💃🏻

My Life Was the Size of My Life by Jane Hirshfield 
   

… and if what I desperately think I want doesn’t happen…God, and life, are still good…
😘

wherever you go

 

Now I understand that there are two melodies playing, 

one below the other, one easier to hear, the other 
lower, steady, perhaps more faithful for being less heard 

yet always present. 
When all other things seem lively and real, 

this one fades. Yet the notes of it 
touch as gently as fingertips, as the sound 

of the names laid over each child at birth. 
I want to stay in that music without striving or cover. 

If the truth of our lives is what it is playing, 
the telling is so soft 

that this mortal time, this irrevocable change, 
becomes beautiful. I stop and stop again 

to hear the second music. 
I hear the children in the yard, a train, then birds. 

All this is in it and will be gone. I set my ear to it as I would to a heart. 

💞

 The Second Music by Annie Lighthart
 

 God is my presence of mind 
My anger 

My passion 

My resistance 

God is my breathe 

My movement 

My flow 

God is my present circumstance 

My living 

My future 

My past 

God is my water 

My fire 

My earth 

My loving 

My glory 

My holy 

God is my music 

My melody 

My harmony

My song 

🎼

AL

  

tricky 

  
So, I’ve been thinking about discipline- you know, the thing we think we need to find if we are going to do the things we know are good for us (like eating well, exercise, daily meditation etc.) I can clamp down with my will and pick up those aspirations daily- but at times it just feels like endless work, and sooner or later I run out of steam. 
So lately, I’ve been trying something different. Instead of berating myself and insisting that today (or tomorrow) I will dig deep and find the necessary discipline, I’ve been thinking about giving myself gifts. 
As in- today, I’m giving myself the gift of taking a walk in the autumn leaves, of taking my time in prayer and meditation, of making a wonderful stew for dinner. If I can keep my attitude in the range of doing something kind for myself (as opposed to doing something I think I “should” do) not only is it easier to create good self-care, it becomes about receiving that care with gratitude. 
And that’s just a more enjoyable way to receive the gift of this day. 

~Oriah 

 

   


   

Halloween was confusing. All my life my parents said, ‘Never take candy from strangers.’ And then they dressed me up and said, ‘Go beg for it.’ I didn’t know what to do! I’d knock on people’s doors and go, ‘Trick or treat.’ ‘No thank you.’

– Rita Rudner  

  

 

let the light  

  
You work with what you are given, 

the red clay of grief, 

the black clay of stubbornness going on after. 

Clay that tastes of care or carelessness, 

clay that smells of the bottoms of rivers or dust.
Each thought is a life you have lived or failed to live, 

each word is a dish you have eaten or left on the table. 

There are honeys so bitter 

no one would willingly choose to take them. 

The clay takes them: honey of weariness, honey of vanity, 

honey of cruelty, fear. 
This rebus —slip and stubbornness, 

bottom of river, my own consumed life— 

when will I learn to read it 

plainly, slowly, uncolored by hope or desire? 

Not to understand it, only to see. 
As water given sugar sweetens, given salt grows salty, 

we become our choices. 

Each yes, each no continues, 

this one a ladder, that one an anvil or cup. 
The ladder leans into its darkness. 

The anvil leans into its silence. 

The cup sits empty. 
How can I enter this question the clay has asked? 

🔹

Rebus by Jane Hirshfield

 

 The lion still roars 
I walk in grief 

On the purple beach 

the grey-green water 

meeting the sky 

Into infinity 

the world unending 

I sit on driftwood 

Fascinatingly carved by water 

Into pieces of art 

and shapes that look like 

cattle skulls in the desert 

I cry as I pick up rocks 

Why do i grieve such simple things?

Those precious shells 

I spent hours snorkeling for 

In 1985 

You polished them 

til they were smooth as silk 

So beautiful 

I loved everything about them 

and that memory they held 

Back When the world was still 

A mystery 

And I knew nothing about hardship 

Loss or pain 

I thought love and life were simple 

That you wanted me to be happy

That you loved me 

That we would build a family together 

I kept those shells in a special jar 

Would let the kids play with them

For a special treat 

I loved their delight in them 

As they played for hours 

sorting the colors and shapes 

Loving the story of us at the start

I Kept them close to me 

Through all the losses 

Then they were gone 

lost to me forever 

way after my innocence 

but somehow they took 

some shred I was holding on to 

Some secret part of me and you 

that was still beautiful 
As I picked up small beautiful rocks 

today at the beach 

They reminded me 

and it all returned 

all the losses 

all the pain 

What you chose 

The choices I was forced to make 

The price of gaining my soul 

The cost of winning my freedom 

I cry so deeply 

Right to the core 

such intense love 

for the wounded heart 

carried in small pieces 

of the world 

connecting all the pain 

and love together 

Bittersweet grief 

Bittersweet love 

Exquisite pain 

Exquisite joy 

Will I ever find love that understands this? 

Will I ever share this same heart as one? 

Will I ever make it home? 

Will I ever make it? 

Will I ever? 

Will I? 

Will? 

💙

AL

 

    

photos found at http://www.pinterest.com 

one step 

 

 The wasps outside

the kitchen window

are making that
 

thick, unraveling sound
 again, 

floating in
 and out 

of the bald head
 of their nest,

seeming not to move

while moving,
 

and it has just occurred
 to me, 

standing,
 washing the coffeepot,

watching them hang
 

loosely in the air—

thin
 wings; 

thick, elongated 
abdomens; 

sad, down-
pointing antennae—

that this 
is the heart’s constant
project: 

this simple
 learning; 

learning
 how to hold 

hopelessness 
and hope together;

to see on the unharmed 
surface of one

the great scar 
of the other;

 to recognize 
both 

and to make 
something of both;

to desire everything 
and nothing

at once 

and to desire it
 all the time;

and to contain that desire
 fleshly, 

in a body;
 to wash it and rest it

and feed it; 

to learn
 its name and from whence
 it came; 

and to speak 
to it—oh, 

most of all
 to speak to it—

every day, every day,
 

saying to one part,

“Well, maybe this is all
 you get,” 

while saying 
to the other, 

“Go on, 
break it open, let it go.”
💞

Want by Carrie Fountain 

 

   Have you sat with grief? 

Have you let it wring you dry? 

Leave you swollen and exhausted

in it’s wake? 

Allowed the pain from the inner depths of hell, 

deeper than you knew existed, 

to ooze out, 

bubble up into your heart, 

so that your tears could begin 

to wash you clean? 

Have you asked yourself 

the questions with no answers? 

then allow them to just co-exist with you, 

allowing that life is good, 

finding space for gratitude 

even in the unanswerable? 

Have you walked, and talked, 

with death and your losses? 

The innocence murdered 

by anger and hate? 

Precious time stolen 

by monsters and ogres? 

Hearts trampled 

by words of violence and sarcasm? 

Are you familiar with vulnerability? 

With allowing your deepest feelings, 

painful feelings, 

raw feeling, 

real feelings, 

to come out of the grave 

where you try to hide them? 

Exposing your wounds, 

old and new? 

I know how hard it is, 

I know. 

I try to avoid it too. 

I also know the truth. 

It must be done. 

It is the broken road to healing. 

To life! 

The more we feel, 

the more we can feel. 

Go deep, my friend 

Open up wide. 

Sit a spell and let it bubble. 

Feel it all. 

It will feel rotten for a while, 

then comes the morning 

you wake up good as new! 

New and improved. 

I promise you won’t regret it. 

Just trust me on this one. 

I am intimately familiar 

with this process. 

💔

AL

 

 😘
photos found at http://www.pinterest.com

you get to choose 

 

 You do not have to be good. 
You do not have to walk on your knees 

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. 

You only have to let the soft animal of your body 

   love what it loves. 

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. 

Meanwhile the world goes on. 

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain 

are moving across the landscapes, 

over the prairies and the deep trees, 

the mountains and the rivers. 

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, 

are heading home again. 

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, 

the world offers itself to your imagination, 

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting— 

over and over announcing your place 

in the family of things. 

🌎

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

   
   
 It’s all connected 

All the love 

All the loss 

All the joy 

All the pain 

The world is made of God 

We live in the ocean of his breath

Life is love is truth is love is Life 

All connected 

Everything I really needed to know 

I learned from the ocean 

and the trees. 

The mountains 

Introduced me to the angels. 

Acorns were my very first teachers and the finest flock of seagulls 

were my most recent. 

We are the temple 

‘We’ includes the universe 

we find ourselves in 

brothers and sisters 

to stars and starships 

🌎

AL

  

 

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