life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “healing”

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 🙏🏻

grid & flow  

 

THE SEA IN YOU
When I wake under the moon, 

I do not know who I have become unless 

I move closer to you, obeying the give and take

of the earth as it breathes the slender length

of your body, so that in breathing with the tide 

that breathes in you, and moving with you 

as you come and go, and following you, half in light 

and half in dark, I feel the first firm edge of my floating palm 

touch and then trace the pale light of your shoulder 

to the faint, moon-lit shadow of your smooth cheek, 

and drawing my finger through the pearl water of your skin,

I sense the breath on your lips touch and then warm

the finest, furthest, most unknown edge of my sense of self,

so that I come to you under the moon 

as if I had swum under the deepest arch of the ocean, 

to find you living where no one could possibly live,

and to feel you breathing, where no one could 

possibly breathe, and I touch your skin as I would 

touch a pale whispering spirit of the tides that my arms 

try to hold with the wrong kind of strength and my lips 

try to speak with the wrong kind of love and I follow

you through the ocean night listening for your breath

in my helpless calling to love you as I should, and I lie 

next to you in your sleep as I would next to the sea,

overwhelmed by the rest that arrives in me and by the weight 

that is taken from me and what, by morning, 

is left on the shore of my waking joy.

THE SEA IN YOU by David Whyte
  
 
It is the great mystery of life

That to every part

there is a counterpart

the polarity is the great gift

Also the great curse

The friction keeps us learning

else we die, even as we live. 

Gravity keeps on earth

Anti-gravity surrounds us a few miles above 

without both we would not exist. 

Trees breathe carbon in

Exhale oxygen

We do the opposite. 

The sun and moon 

are in the perfect spots for us to survive. 

We fight change,

though it is the one thing 

that truly allows us to become. 

We want to have answers –

Cut. 

Dry. 

Concrete. 

We want to KNOW 

Yet the great mystery of life is letting the mystery be greater than us

while inhaling the small parts we can comprehend

and using them to create good with our part. 

seeing new every day.

evolving slowly. 

The yin. 

The yang. 

Within the darkness

We find the light. 

With letting go of the other

We finally own our oneness. 

Within the deepest sorrow

We release ourselves

for our most complete joy. 

When we give ourselves empty

we receive back waves of abundance and are filled fresh. 

We want what glitters, 

but find the best gifts 

are always on the bottom shelf,

sometimes a little dusty from not being used. 

Each and every day, in order to find our way into the unlimited potential of our highest self

we must first commit to our holy and unique calling,

our own glorious belovedness. 
AL

💜

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

  

 

handle with care 

 

   

 

   
Hanging on by the proverbial thread

heart hungry for more

feeling ready

to break 

properly

crash and burn to ashes

Am I the only one

on the edge of sideways

trying to walk a straight line

as that slight right turn 

ends up being a hard right circle 

where I end up facing myself

in an old west gun-slinger shoot the lights out,

death of my dreams

duel?

Am I the only one? 

I hold my heart in my hands tenderly

hoping my repairs hold

that it won’t give way

and slide through my fingers

like sand on a summer day

which can never hold a shape 

longer than when the next high tide

washes it away
AL 

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

what sacrifice?

how can you call it a sacrifice when you do it willingly because you believe in it?   – Aung San Suu Kyi 

 

 
I am this morning meadow

         into which you pour yourself.
I am the still air

         in which you rise, a mountain, huge.
I am this city street

         which you walk, a crowd 

         with your stories, your nations.
I am this bird

          and you are flight, and song.
I am the ocean

         and you are my water.
I am the desert

         and you are my stillness.
I am this heart

         and you are my beating.
You are this day

         into which you pour me, 

         breath by breath.
Together,

         we are this life.
__________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

  

there is no cage 

love must be stepped into 

freely. 

there is no withholding 

love gives it all away. 

there is no have to’s 

love must be given and received willingly. 

there is no selfish motive 

love always wants the highest and best for the other person. 

there are no ‘no’s’ 

love always says yes. 

love takes commitment. 

it is not an easy job, 

both parties – 

equal and 

100 percent in it. 

you must choose what you want, 

along with the consequences of those choices. 

Just know, for sure, 

love will always set you free 

there is no fear in love

AL

  

when you’re ready 

   
    
  
  
 

 Again I resume the long 
lesson: how small a thing 

can be pleasing, how little 

in this hard world it takes 

to satisfy the mind 

and bring it to its rest. 
With the ongoing havoc 

the woods this morning is 

almost unnaturally still. 

Through stalled air, unshadowed 

light, a few leaves fall 

of their own weight. 
                  The sky 

is gray. It begins in mist 

almost at the ground 

and rises forever. The trees 

rise in silence almost 

natural, but not quite, 

almost eternal, but 

not quite. 
        What more did I 

think I wanted? Here is 

what has always been. 

Here is what will always 

be. Even in me, 

the Maker of all this 

returns in rest, even 

to the slightest of His works, 

a yellow leaf slowly 

falling, and is pleased. 

💜

Sabbaths 1999, VII by  Wendell Berry
   

 The sky in my rearview 

is a huge bowl of rainbow sherbet 

the beautiful kind 

with raspberry, orange-n-lime 

swatches of lemon, indigo and periwinkle 

float like barges – 

in, out 

around. 

Framing. 

Dancing. 

Living. 

At one point tangerine fills the top of the hilly crest 

and head light stars 

blaze brilliant against the backdrop 

indigo stretched above framing the masterpiece. 

At times I find it hard to keep moving forward 

into the matte gray of the sky just ahead. 

so much loveliness is going on 

right behind me 

how can I keep heading away from it? 

How can I not be a part of this splendor? 

Eventually midnight blue seizes its moment of glory, 

then night falls over all 

and I am left 

aching with the beauty, 

the majesty, 

the extravagant display, 

of this wonderful world. 

I go to wondering 

if this longing for your kiss

will ever be answered? 

if my whole life I will wait 

for a moment which has already passed, 

never to be again under this piece of sky. 

always a whisper.  

The magic of love, 

a thing with wings 

hovering over my heart 

for years 

echoing on into eternity.  

💞

AL

recognizing. redefining. redeeming. 

  
Healthy aggression has been given a bad name for far too long. I remember the day when it was acceptable to stand down those who behaved unjustly. Not in a way that was disproportionate to the crime, but in a way that met it right where it lived. This seems to have been lost in the last decades, both because of the softee toffee premature forgiveness movement and because of our growing awareness of the horrifying effects of unhealthy aggression. As a man, I have found this entirely confusing. Often I have stood down injustice with appropriate ferocity and been judged for it, as though I was the unjust one. I have some compassion for this interpretation, as I do recognize that it is difficult for many trauma survivors to not be triggered by aggression of any kind. But something is lost when we don’t make the distinction between the kinds of aggression that rectify wrongs, and those that perpetuate them. It is time to again raise healthy aggression to the rafters of acceptability. Sometimes its the truest path of all.

💪

   – Jeff Brown

 

 Change and growth are painful 
not because we’re gaining, 

but because we’re losing. 

We lose old ideas. 

Old habits. Old stories. 

Old comforts. 

We shed all that’s become

too heavy to carry onward, 

wrapped too tight around skin 

that needed to finally breathe. 

A body that had to break loose 

from the once present chapter. 

Blank pages had been begging. 

Ink aching to write 

a new road and world. 

A soul that could no longer deny

the taste of something else. 

Something that felt true. 

Something not yet seen.

We don’t have to see something

in order to believe.

💪

 – an excerpt from Victoria Erickson’s fantastic new book- Edge of Wonder, available on Amazon

   
 It is time to go deeper, to find your rudder
The unswerving truth of who you are
To keep you on track to your destiny.
 
Some tacking and jibing – yes
But with minor adjustments
On your way once more
Wind at your back to carry you
To ease your way
for a time.
 
The storms will come, for oceans will be oceans
Fear appears
Fear of being tossed about in the waves
Fear of not surviving rough seas
Fear is to be your teacher
Fear is to be your guide
Fear is to hold your hand as you look beyond the horizon
Of what you have always known
To the truth you can only know
Once you face fear
And see the love in its eyes.

💪

The Truth of You by Brenda Newberry

 

 

in this time

  
Hokusai says Look carefully.

He says pay attention, notice.

He says keep looking, stay curious.

He says there is no end to seeing.
He says Look Forward to getting old.

He says keep changing,

you just get more who you really are.

He says get stuck, accept it, repeat yourself

as long as it’s interesting.
He says keep doing what you love.

He says keep praying.

He says every one of us is a child,
every one of us is ancient,

every one of us has a body.

He says every one of us is frightened.

He says every one of us has to find a way to live with fear.
He says everything is alive—

shells, buildings, people, fish, mountains, trees.

Wood is alive.

Water is alive.

Everything has its own life.

Everything lives inside us.

He says live with the world inside you.
He says it doesn’t matter if you draw, or write books.

It doesn’t matter if you saw wood, or catch fish.

It doesn’t matter if you sit at home

and stare at the ants on your verandah or the shadows of the trees

and grasses in your garden.
It matters that you care.

It matters that you feel.

It matters that you notice.

It matters that life lives through you.
Contentment is life living through you.

Joy is life living through you.

Satisfaction and strength

are life living through you.

Peace is life living through you.
He says don’t be afraid.

Don’t be afraid.

Look, feel, let life take you by the hand.

Let life live through you.

🌳

by, Roger Keyes is an American professor of East Asian studies. This poem is apparently his cross-media translation of the art of Katsushika Hokusai (1760-1849) into poetry.

  
the stones are alive

the stones speak

tell stories of my life

sing me love songs

respond to my touch

grow warm when I’m near

glow with my compliments

smile with my encouraging words

blush as they rest against my skin

absorb my secrets

reveal my favorite colors

are perfectly comfortable with themselves –

hot or cold

polished or raw

the stones never argue

always tell the truth

give with no demand

accept themselves as beautiful

never question that they are 

amazing,

valuable,

beloved

just the way they are 

just the way we are
AL 

  
  

  

  

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…
😘

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 

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