life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “Love”

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…
😘

maybe the truth…

   
 Maybe when you open the sacred book

the little bits of truth come flying out

like birds and if you’re lucky

one of them lands in the tree of you.

It doesn’t have much to do with 

penetrating the world with your wisdom,

just being there waiting.
Maybe when you open the book 

they all hold very very still

like frogs in the pond 

and you have to be as still as they

to see one of them move.

They are not hiding, just waiting.
Maybe you are the book

and none of the birds in you are caged

and none of them ever fly away.

__________________ 
Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

   
   
photos found on facebook

somewhere in New Jersey…

  
‘I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it’s very difficult to find anyone.’ 

‘I should think so — in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!’

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

 

this morning began at 4! I’ve been on my adventure for a couple hours now. This post is at my first Starbucks stop (chestnut praline latte, how I love thee) more posts and poetry as I go today… ❤️

   
    
 http://youtu.be/dBN86y30Ufc

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

  

epic

  
Life is an epic journey 

A pilgrimage 

Not for the faint of heart 

Without the challenging parts of the path 

We grow weak 

Without those things that can kill us 

We grow bored 

We need life to be interesting 

challenging

changing

to feel alive 

Yes, life is a crazy sort of journey 

Welcome to the great adventure 

💃🏻

AL

 

 Wild Mercy
The eyes of the future are looking back at us and they are praying for us to see beyond our own time. They are kneeling with hands clasped that we might act with restraint, that we might leave room for the life that is destined to come. To protect what is wild is to protect what is gentle. Perhaps the wildness we fear is the pause between our own heartbeats, the silent space that says we live only by grace. Wilderness lives by this same grace. Wild mercy is in our hands.

– Terry Tempest Williams

Red: Passion and Patience in the Desert Dwellers

 

Listen to Ain’t No Mountain High Enough

hello

   
    
    
   
   
listen to Michael Buble sing Feeling 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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