life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “Gratitude”

(slowly) happy birthday to Me… 


Midnight poem

The clock has crossed the finish line 

of yesterday

and begun this beautiful new day

This very minute everything begins new

I start this day soft,

in the darkness,

adjusting to the new date,

this particular date, 

the date of my birth –

51 years ago now –

this year is passing quickly

I am living in this now,

in this wow! 

It’s all happening! 

No more filling time 

No more empty spaces 

No more waiting for…

I breathe my gratitude, 

float away on a smiling cloud

as I drift back to sleep 

🎂

AL


 I am a recovering addict- addicted to artifice, disguise, misidentification, distraction, substitute gratifications, materialism, being right, winning every silly battle. Now I want to be a re-uncovering addict- addicted to baring my naked soul for all to see, particularly me. I want to see straight through my armor to the essential being quivering below. Nothing to hide, no place to hide it.

💞

   – Jeff Brown


I hereby break all contracts I made unconsciously & consciously before I knew the depth of my own Spirit; the silent ones, the ones I inherited, passed down & accepted as my own from generation to generation.
I hereby severe all ties with that which holds me down & back, unable to see the glimmer of what I know to be true, whether by my own creation or by expectations tied like weights around my ankles by others lost in the sea of their own confused hearts.
I hereby reclaim my right to choose how my story unfolds, armed with creativity, a heart made of gold & reverent humility.
I hereby fully accept all of this living & what-is-yet-to-come with brash integrity & loving determination.
I hereby swear to use my superpowers for the love of all beings & I return anything that no longer serves my Higher & Lower Self (& the ones Caught-in-Between) with gratitude & consciousness.
I do this all with love, from the great source of it found in my very own beating heart.

❤️

      – Bryonie Wise



preparation = always ready 


WAITING TO GO ON
…It must be 

we are waiting 

for the perfect moment. 
It must be

under all the struggle

we want to go on.
It must be, 

that deep down,

we are creatures

getting ready

for when we are needed.
It must be that waiting 

for the listening ear

or the appreciative word, 

for the right

woman or the right man 

or the right moment 

just to ourselves,
we are getting ready 

just to be ready
and nothing else.
Like this moment

just before the guests arrive 

working

alone in the kitchen 

sensing a deep

down symmetry

in every blessed thing.
The way

that everything 

unbeknownst

to us

is preparing 

to meet us too.
Just on the other 

side of the door 

someone

is about to knock

and our life

is just

about to change
and finally

after all these 

years rehearsing, 

behind

the curtain,
we might 

just be 

ready

to go on.

From ‘Waiting to Go On’ by David Whyte


The piano, 

not played,

is still a piano – 

patiently waiting 

the music lies quietly

still inside

ready 

not going anywhere else

not making itself heard

not anxious 

or demanding 

all it takes is the right hand

to touch the keys

to fall in love

and the song begins

the strings within

warm to life

always ready to play

💞

AL


needing a dull moment


There are times when I need to rest,

a sabbath of dullness,
because the rest of the time

I am walking around behind God,
even the stirred dust sparkling,

even the shadows gleaming,
God every instant saying

“Let there be light.
Let there be stone. This stone,

and this light laying on the stone.
Let there be this tree, this branch,

and each of these birds singing in it.
Let there be this bee, let there be its labor,

and the wonder of its coming and going.
Let there be this river, and its waters,

its springs and tributaries, and their flowing.
Let there be this person.

Let there be this hope unfolding in this heart.
Let there be this moment.

Yes! And now this one!”
It never stops.

It never stops.

__________________ 
Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net




poetry is not a luxury   – Audra Lourde


For a very long time we had these strange rules around prayers…we forgot the bow at the end of a thought, the lowering of not our head, or our shoulders , but our inner being. The way a heart can break at the sound of the word, Holy or Lord. The urgency of our words when we are lost in darkness or broken by grief. How words can be tangled in territory that seems foreign, but really, home doesn’t look like that at all. 

I sat outside near the pergala this morning, where the trumpet vine is greening with strength and its power to flow with tendrils over twenty feet of wood, and the cardinals came to sit near me on the yellow wicker chair. Their song blending into my skin and I could feel the beat of their hearts as prayers grew within me, touching their backs and stroking the song coming forth into the morning hours. The sun beat warmth down to the bone and the sphere of time and space slid to the side of the garden where purple salvia has grown to a foot, and all the words of prayer that flow as love from Spirit, out into the world, came like silence from the realm of one beam of light, and I heard, and I witnessed, and I prayed…where the bow meets the stillness, is where I stayed…

Beauty,

Donna Knutson



photos by Fisherman Dan @ Branford, CT


I wonder if writing this poem
will spill you out of me
through my fingertips
will the ink become your blood 
this paper your skin
for me to touch 
again and again?

I wonder if stretching my hands to the sky,
while standing on my tiptoes
will release you into the blue
so you can fly free with me
into the starry sky
discovering all the worlds we have inside?

I wonder if I stand as tall, and as still, as a tree
you will come to me
climb up inside me
twist your arms and legs into my branches 
hold me close and sleep with me always?

I wonder if I sing you a love song
if I will become a part your soul
and a part of mine
both of us sewn within the chords
of words and notes
absorbing our crazy love 
into our very dna? 
Will we ever begin becoming each other? 
Forever becoming each other’s other?
mirrors of beauty
dancing eternally 

within the aleph
where heaven meets the earth?

🌎

AL


Prayer comes in many forms. Beauty to bless the space between. 

goodness runs wild everywhere 


Too bad you weren’t here six months ago,

was a lament I heard on my visit to Nebraska.

You could have seen the astonishing spectacle

of the sandhill cranes,

thousands of them

feeding and even dancing

on the shores of the Platte River.

There was no point in pointing out

the impossibility of my being there then

because I happened to be somewhere else,

so I nodded and put on a look of mild disappointment

if only to be part of the commiseration.

 

It was the same look I remember wearing

about six months ago in Georgia

when I was told that I had just missed

the spectacular annual outburst of azaleas,

brilliant against the green backdrop of spring

 

and the same in Vermont six months before that

when I arrived shortly after

the magnificent foliage had gloriously peaked,

Mother Nature,

as she is called,

having touched the hills with her many-colored brush,

a phenomenon that occurs,

like the others,

around the same time every year when I am apparently off

in another state,

stuck in a motel lobby

with the local paper and a styrofoam cup of coffee,

busily missing God knows what.

☕️
The Sandhill Cranes of Nebraska by Billy Collins

On vacation I witnessed
birds and whales

that had traveled farther than I.
They take with them

their memories, their songs

and the sacred longing
that guides their migrations,

that leads me

in all my rambling,
the silent knowing

that seems like hunger,

seems like not knowing,
the sure desultory path

that is life, the way

that is the blessing,
the holy wandering

to life that awaits,

always toward you.
__________________

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

oasis 

  

On this day of your life I believe God wants you to know…

 

…that when we do the best we can, we never know what miracle

is wrought in our life, or in the life of another.

 

Helen Keller said that, and she was right. There is a situation

in your life right now where you are being asked to do your best,

your very best. Maybe it is in finding forgiveness for another.

Or is understanding something that you just haven’t been able to understand.

Or in accepting what has to this point felt unacceptable.

 

Whatever that situation (and you know exactly what it is right now)…

are you doing the best that you can? If you are, so be it, and good. Yet if you think you might do better,

allow this little nudge today to be your gift from the soul.

A miracle awaits if you will reach back now

and do your very, very, very best in this.

     – Neale  Donald Walsh

  
   

 

   

  
 

  

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

Good Friday 

 

 Copperleaf Lane is dancing in white,
like a row of brides,

as ready, 

as they possibly could be 

to say, I do. 

I drive through the flower strewn pathway

feeling special,

like life is unfolding,

just for the love of me.  

I am beloved, 

a daughter of graces,

twirling within this beauty,

this bounty,

the world’s abundance falling freely around me. 

I sing,

la dee da dee da

You keep filling my senses,

you keep walking towards me,

smiling,

that beautiful heart of yours,

held gently, 

tenderly,

within your hands –

the perfect gift

for a girl like me. 

Heaven is holding its breath…

counting intensely…

1…

2..
❤️

AL

  
  
TURNING TOWARD HOME 
The moment you have spoken the exact words that describe your distance from where you want to be, the moment you have uttered the exact aching dimensionality of your own exile, you have already turned around, faced the other way and taken the first steps on the long awaited journey home… 

🌳

David Whyte

THE THREE MARRIAGES

Re-imagining Work, Self and Relationship

   yesterday I was born a leaf

a small fragile tender wisp

trembling as I hung on the vine

yesterday I was a gust of air

short lived, but not insignificant 

full of bone rattling cold and hat disturbing bravado

yesterday I was a large, slow, snow flake

plopping down like a wet goose feather

making the world a magical place

yesterday I was a world made of glass

lying shattered on the floor

hoping to be recycled into a new and useful object

yesterday I was various people

a student, a host, a friend, a lover

feeling my way into the next moment hoping to find a way home

yesterday I stood tall as a tree

proud yet with humble confidence 

accepting what winter brought, gently weeping, 

embracing this brand new life bringing

spring

🌿

AL
 

here’s the thing…

what’s a girl to do with all this happiness?

what sort of containers can hold this amount of wild joy?

will howling at the moon help disperse it into the world?

or dancing in a beautiful fountain, with you, bring sanity?

what if I shout it proud to everyone I pass on street? 

will they clap to hear my good news? 

will you wish me happy for every morning and evening? 

will you take a train, plane or automobile to see me? 

will you hold me & tell me that I’m the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen?

will you love me with all you are for everything I am right now,

and ever will be becoming?

living well is my best revenge

won’t it would be nice to share this happiness? 

do wild and crazy things?

come on, everybody,

let’s let joy flow in big puddles all around us,

till we jump like children,

till we swim in the ocean of all this blessed grace

🌫

AL

blinders off

 

 IN A FAR OFF CORNER

In a far off corner of a wide wide world

lies the circumstance that faces another.
A circumstance so abject that life

never really begins. And then it

dies quietly, announced by

an unheard whisper.
And from our corner of this world,

safe and secure under bejeweled roofs,

we pay our cursory glance of sympathy.
We forget that all corners connect, and

that the experience of each life lives

within us all. Albeit in disguise.
And we miss the possibility hidden

in the circumstance of another.
The possibility that compassion might soften

the edges of our own uneven experience,

and that the simple act of togetherness

might liberate our disheartened lives.
There are no far off corners

in this wide wide world.
And there are no separate lives.

💔
Nic Askew 

Home

  

I ride Greyhound

because it’s like being
in a John Steinbeck novel.
Next best thing is the laundromat.
That’s where all people
who would be on the bus if they had the money
hang out. This is my crowd.
Tonight there are cleaning people appalled
at the stupidity of anyone
who would put powder detergent
into the clearly marked LIQUID ONLY slot.
The couple by the vending machine
are fondling each other.
You’d think the orange walls
and fluorescent lights
would dampen that energy
but it doesn’t seem to.
It’s a singles scene here on Saturday nights.
I confide to the fellow next to me
that I suspect I am being taken
in by the triple loader,
maybe it doesn’t hold any more
than the regular machines
but I’m paying an extra fifty cents.
I tell him this meaningfully
holding handfuls of underwear.
He claims the triple loader
gives a better wash.
I don’t ask why,
just cruise over to the pop machine,
aware that my selection
may provide a subtle clue.
I choose Wild Berry,
head back to my clothes.

🌎

I Ride Greyhound by Ellie Schoenfeld 

  
I spot one. 

a coin laudro-mat

I feel blessed to be able to wash my clothes. 

towels and unmentionables. 

a small bag. 

I walk into the familiar,

yet for a while now, 

Blessedly Unfamiliar. 

I remember the years of this in my life

my most missed luxury in all of life

was washing and drying clothes

at home. 

So hard this part of life became. 

So challenging and humbling. 

$4.50 to wash 

a quarter for 5 minutes to dry. 

I struggle to adjust. 

I hadn’t planned on this. 

I don’t look the part today. 

I have to ask questions to reacquaint myself with this system. 

Here in the midst of 

hard working-and-living men, 

tired mothers and crying babies,

the immigrants and struggling,

These to whom I belong. 

those who make their living 

through making clean the dirty.
I stand and watch the circle go round 

Hot tears stinging my eyes

I remember. 

Those days. 

Those tough-as-nails days. 

Plunged from luxury to poverty

in a heartbeat-break of life. 

So soon we forget…

So quickly we remember…

I watch the water rise – 

  I didn’t put in enough soap. 

      There are no suds. 

I pray that hot water I chose 

for those 2 extra, hard-earned quarters,

 will do it’s work

and my clothes will smell good. 

I will not prolong my stay –

or use more of my precious coins. 
I pray each of our guardian-laundry angels 

will bless each of us

doing laundry every day 

in all types of conditions. 

This would be pure luxury in parts of this world. 

I pray for grace. 

I pray to remember. 

I pray to be grace. 

I pray to be The Words of God to heal the broken. 

I pray for grace. 

I pray for the crying baby,

and the tired man,

whose current outfit could use a good washing itself. 

I pray for the immigrant family,

quietly folding together,

speaking Spanish in hushed voices. 

I pray for the fabulous girl at the dryers,

with the faux Burberry scarf flung jauntily over her shoulder,

I hope to carry myself with such flair and dignity. 

We are all here –

Bearing the high cost,

and inconvenience,

of poverty in our society. 
I pray as quiet tears run. 

I stand in my washer’s corner hoping nobody sees my memories. 

I blow my over-productive nose. 

and give thanks for all things. 

Especially that I have known these struggles.

That I know how this feels. 

That I am part of this humanity. 

Not separate 

I am one with all God’s created people. 

All seeking clean clothes,

washing machines

and hope. 
The crying baby starts to laugh

I smile as well. 

God is always good

I am always blessed – 

If I am willing to see the blessings –

even if it takes years and years to see them.

🔘

AL

  

amazing grace

 

 God, save me from the lie 

of an acceptable death,

the heroic sacrifice (too many spent),

a crazed god’s scheme

to sell forgiveness for blood.

Save me from the anticipated gesture,

the deal agreed upon.

Deliver me instead into truth’s sordid lap,

the bewildering perversion

that comes of fear, and death its only issue, 

violence its only hands and feet;

the way we judge, the way we think we can.

Let me not blame this on you.
No: only in the jumpy torchlight 

of the unnecessary flames

of another lynching, another rape,

a war, an execution,

the tragedy of power,

only here in honest horror

do we see your awful love in all its range,

your inexplicable grace unbending,

mercy nailed and crowned with thorns.

Only here in our deepest depravity,

not planned, not paid for, but accepted,

can I know love strong enough

to save me and all this trembling world

not from that but this,

not from the fear of hell

but from the hell itself of fear.

Only in my deepest loss, and yours,

do I see love win

and raise me up to something new

and really alive. 
__________________  

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

  
walking by faith
expecting miracles 
we rely on things to come
we hope in what is not seen
we stand on invisible ground
fly without evidence of our wings
we fight battle with foes from another dimension
we teach without seeing the whole vision
we trust what we cannot see with our eyes
we walk on 
knowing, 
for sure, 
we are going the right way
directed by the silence
in bright, beautiful pathways of grace
and dark, eerie forests of fog
somedays we are surrounded by fellow pilgrims, or foes, or strange bed-fellows,

other days we seem to walk alone
no matter
we walk on
or we sit and wait
relying on radical trust
we learn the virtues by living 
because we have truly learned
what we could never learn
by our own understanding 
faith is the victory
everything is grace

☀️

AL
 

 

you do what you do

  
There Will Be Things You Do 
you won’t know why.

Maybe waiting to tie

your shoelaces

until everything else

is in place.

Could be you’ll slide

your egg yolks aside

eat every bit of bacon,

toast, whites while the forsaken

yellow orbs stare at you

from the side pocket

of your empty plate.

People will ask

why do you save

your yolks for last

and you won’t know—

won’t recall

the cousin from the south

came to visit one summer

ate his eggs so odd

your family said

stuck with you

like the way

you love to be kissed

on the back of your neck

can vaguely recollect

your mother’s kisses

after your bath

too gentle for memory.

There will be things you do

you won’t know why

like the way you look
up at the sky

when anxious or blue

it’s what your father

used to do

every family trip

when nothing else

was right

except those clouds

moving north by northwest
through the night

he showed you
 

what pilots knew:

factors for safe flying

are visibility

and how low

and mean the clouds are.

☁️☁️☁️☁️

There Will Be Things You Do by Kim Dower

  
 

happy birthday to my dad!  

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