life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “Happiness”

feeling it down to the marrow 


Life itself is the great sacrament through which we are wounded and healed. If we live everything, life will be faithful to us. 

❤️

  – John O’Donohue


this birth of awaiting changes
this for that
tit for tat
tuxedo memories
pinstripe debonair
glamour hangs
like confetti in the air
life goes 
round and round
flinging dreams
synthetic roads
leading nowhere 
screams and laugher 
hardest when not fair
up one side now
down the other there
we hang on
we stomp our feet 
and swear
this ain’t right
this we cannot bear
life goes forward
ever on and on
wanting only
to change our point of view
we are loved
no matter what we lose
love will win
love always life’s sweet muse
sight or blind
the vision ours to choose
❤️
AL

Men must endure / Their going hence even as their coming hither; / Ripeness is all. 

    – William Shakespeare / King Lear 

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

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

why should I worry or fret?


Rest is the conversation between what we love to do and how we love to be. Rest is the essence of giving and receiving; an act of remembering, imaginatively and intellectually but also physiologically and physically. To rest is to give up on the already exhausted will as the prime motivator of endeavor, with its endless outward need to reward itself through established goals. To rest is to give up on worrying and fretting and the sense that there is something wrong with the world unless we are there to put it right; to rest is to fall back literally or figuratively from outer targets and shift the goal not to an inner static bull’s eye, an imagined state of perfect stillness, but to an inner state of natural exchange.
The template of natural exchange is the breath, the autonomic giving and receiving that forms the basis and the measure of life itself. We are rested when we are a living exchange between what lies inside and what lies outside, when we are an intriguing conversation between the potential that lies in our imagination and the possibilities for making that internal image real in the world; we are rested when we let things alone and let ourselves alone, to do what we do best, breathe as the body intended us to breathe, to walk as we were meant to walk, to live with the rhythm of a house and a home, giving and taking through cooking and cleaning. 
When we give and take in an easy foundational way we are closest to the authentic self, and closest to that self when we are most rested. To rest is not self indulgent, to rest is to prepare to give the best of ourselves, and to perhaps, most importantly, arrive at a place where we are able to understand what we have already been given.
In the first state of rest is the sense of stopping, of giving up on what we have been doing or how we have been being. In the second, is the sense of slowly coming home, the physical journey into the body’s un-coerced and un-bullied self, as if trying to remember the way or even the destination itself. In the third state is a sense of healing and self-forgiveness and of arrival. In the fourth state, deep in the primal exchange of the breath, is the give and the take, the blessing and the being blessed and the ability to delight in both. The fifth stage is a sense of absolute readiness and presence, a delight in and an anticipation of the world and all its forms; a sense of being the meeting itself between inner and outer, and that receiving and responding occur in one spontaneous movement.
A deep experience of rest is the template of perfection in the human imagination, a perspective from which we are able to perceive the outer specific forms of our work and our relationships whilst being nourished by the shared foundational gift of the breath itself. From this perspective we can be rested while putting together an elaborate meal for an arriving crowd, whilst climbing the highest mountain or sitting at home surrounded by the chaos of a loving family.
Rested, we are ready for the world but not held hostage by it, rested we care again for the right things and the right people in the right way. In rest we reestablish the goals that make us more generous, more courageous, more of an invitation, someone we want to remember, and someone others would want to remember too.


REST By David Whyte

there are words strung together

in such beauty

lined up in perfect sequence

finally arranged in such a way

they touch secret places

of pain so hidden inside us

they have had no way of expression 

they almost don’t exist

they are so deep

so shadowy scarred and twisted

so nameless I can’t acknowledge them

because they might possibly be a ghost

and why would I disturb alien creatures,

when there is quite enough pain

right here in plain sight

to try to heal and deal with?
until these thoughts appear,

the magical key,

and shadows become real,

in these words of another – 

because the other 

has felt 

has written

has sung

has wrestled and wrangled with…

this too!

and the words they have mined 

from these dark, broken quarries 

touch that wispy, pain-filled place

inside of me

with delicate fingers

and declare they are so,

and, somehow,

they make them alright,

binding and healing

my shame-filled broken bones

my secret stab wounds 

my almost too pain-full to be real

merely by sharing them out loud!

Suddenly, my soul says, aha!

And I breathe again, 

and I lay down to rest. 

Then roses in my heart

turn from blush to deepest crimson

and birds come and build nests in the trees,

which declare every moment that

Yahweh is always gracious,

and the morning wakes up

new and alive. 

Then love burns seven times hotter 

than I ever even thought possible

and I count gift after gift

of never-before-seen riches at my fingertips

as I step into a life 

that matters

because I am beloved

because I understand myself better

and the meaning of,

It is what it is

and

the truth shall set you free

become my praise songs

because I AM

with every word

and I grin and say,

‘You aren’t much, my girl’

and I belly laugh…

because it is true!

and then I laugh even harder because,

truth is also,

I AM everything I need to be! 

oh, hallelujah 

glory be!

🌞

AL

happy days 



Hello, Friday. 

Bon voyage, day ‪in May‬. 

Good night, daylight.  

so long, sunny de-light. 

see ya later, ‘gator-‘gator. 

After while, crocodile.  

‪tomorrow‬ is another day,

where the flowers sing and sway. 

dancing will commence at daybreak. 

Good night, darlin’ moon,

see ya again real soon. 

Oh, hi there, Saturday,

Good morning to you, happy day,

let’s have a groovy one, 

K?

💃🏻

AL

make the most of it


Setting priorities is a difficult process…
No, it’s not!

That’s just what I keep saying. 

But, it’s really very simple –

Just this…
What is the most important thing(s) in my life?
How do I reorganize my life around 

the most important thing(s)?
Am I willing to do the work focused on that/those?
Those questions are on me. 

The answers are very clear,

very simple. 
YES! 
Ok, then…

Get busy

make your music happen 

Focus 

Work

Do it!

This is it!

Set your sites…

Now…

Go…

💃🏻

AL





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

reborned

 

The days are cold and brown,

Brown fields,  no sign of green,
Brown twigs,  not even swelling,
And dirty snow in the woods.
But as the dark flows in

The tree frogs begin

Their shrill sweet singing,

And we lie on our beds

Through the ecstatic night,

Wide awake,  cracked open. 

There will be no going back.

April in Maine by May Sarton

 

 Though I know better
the trees look dead.

Here and there a little prison 

of ice is forgiven.

Little green hands reach up through leafmold

and I can’t let go.

A door opens inside me
I didn’t know was there.

________________________

Weather Report
Possibility,

which only recently 

seems to have become possible

though it has been riding upper currents

from the other side of the world.

A clear front develops

as everything emerges from within.

Expect variable conditions,

and completely predictable

intermittent surprises.
__________________  

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

  
 It seems we have made pain 

some kind of mistake, 

like having it 

is somehow wrong. 
Don’t let them fool you— 

pain is a part of things. 
But remember, dear Ellie, 

the compost down in the field: 

if the rank and dank and dark 

are handled well, not merely discarded, 

but turned and known and honored, 

they one day come to beds of rich earth 

home even to the most delicate rose. 

🌹

selected from A Poem for My Daughter by Teddy Macker

 

 I am ready
when a voice has spoken,

a path opened its arms,

ready to resolve and to follow.

And if not I am ready to be still,

and more still yet, 

to wait,

to shed my wants and fears,

my wishes and words, and even 

the words I have for the silence

and for you, 

until not I but you speak

and I follow.

And when I have resolved,

and I am sure of myself, 

and my wishes reappear 

in the costume of devotion,

help me to return 

to be still and listen again.

Another Eve. Another Day. 

I yield to you fully,

and ask you only 

to help me to return

and to return

and to return,

to be still and ready

each day. 

__________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

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

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