life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “Miracles”

awareness changes everything

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No one knew the name of this day;
Born quietly from deepest night,
It hid its face in light,
Demanded nothing for itself,
Opened out to offer each of us
A field of brightness that traveled ahead,
Providing in time, ground to hold our footsteps
And the light of thought to show the way.

The mind of the day draws no attention;
It dwells within the silence with elegance
To create a space for all our words,
Drawing us to listen inward and outward.

We seldom notice how each day is a holy place
Where the eucharist of the ordinary happens,
Transforming our broken fragments
Into an eternal continuity that keeps us.

Somewhere in us a dignity presides
That is more gracious than the smallness
That fuels us with fear and force,
A dignity that trusts the form a day takes.

So at the end of this day, we give thanks
For being betrothed to the unknown
And for the secret work
Through which the mind of the day
And wisdom of the soul become one.

The Inner History of a Day by John O’Donohue

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enter the ocean to find the road

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Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief,

turning down through it’s black water
to the place we cannot breathe,

will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,

nor find in the darkness glimmering,
the small round coins,
thrown by those who wished for something else.

The Well of Grief
David Whyte

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I grieve
a simple bottle of shells,
it has held me for years.
it has held years for me.
In this large, stormy cloud is also hidden:
the apple tree,
coffee on the deck,
Aunt Margie,
the saxophone,
guitars I bought –
not for me –
the songs I couldn’t sing for you,
the losses I couldn’t prepare for,
the love I couldn’t earn,
the lessons I have learned,
more than a few, broken pieces
of my soul
mending as the salt falls,
making room for something new,
more must be felt,
but I know,
as spring comes to April,
sun breaks through and finds room
to grow some new flowers
in my heart

ACL 4/5/13

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Green things change,
become the color of surprise,

the color of gratitude,
the color of morning.

Bees still buzz quietly
but it is the color of letting go.

The color of something inside you.
An eye opens, and closes.

A reckoning, even as leaves fall:
not subtracting, but adding up.

Seed pods lift their empty hands
and blacken, become still.

Trees tunnel down into themselves.
Garden plants become song.

They are not dying, not giving up.
They are getting ready for something new.

________________________
Weather Report

A day also otherwise,
as even mourning bears joy,
and the beginning of autumn here
signals in the Southern Hemisphere,
where also our beloved live,
Spring’s splendid revival.

______________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net

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on a day like today

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Every day, at least once, one must allow a picture to form
Out of the random scene before one’s eyes.
It may take shape easily, in front of a window, say,
with table and bench, light silhouetted,
plants enclosed by the window frame.
Objects on the table, a tea cozy and tea egg
in a dish. A ruffled napkin askew on the oilcloth.
One must observe the entire field of view
and the angles and harmonies of color.
And then back up to form a new picture
out of the wider context framed by your eyes.

Every day, at least once, one must listen to
music with complete attention and concentration.
Or, stop and listen to whatever form takes
shape in the random sounds of the air.
One must attend to several voices at once
in random balance, letting the mind make
sense of it. Some balance or imbalance.

One must, every day, become aware of
one’s body in as much of its totality
as possible. Complete physical awareness.
With arms and legs extended or curled up,
active or passive.

One must on a daily basis be in a garden
of whatever choice or kind, urban or country,
and sit and look, being calm.

One must watch and listen to the birds.
This is very important to being alive.
The birds can help you rediscover
your soul.

And one must read a poem or listen,
remembering the world from which
the poem speaks and takes life,
paying attention to the world the poem
creates.

One must eat meals with knowledge
of what one is eating. Full consciousness.

And one must acknowledge one’s
lack of complete consciousness,
one must realize one’s own
place.

“Every Day” by Bill Wahman

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the breeze dances across my face
like a fairy in ballet slippers made of the finest feathers.
the world is all azurite and emerald
I listen for the wings of angels, hawks and dragonflies
soaring
miles and miles above.
under the music of the leaves,
the peace of a quiet silence,
as butterflies fan the heavy hanging goldenrod.
I hear an infant cry,
the kind of music only a mother and father can interpret –
sounds like hunger to my instinctual response.
Airplanes, bees and flies drone at different intervals.
the silly dog barks at occasional squirrels and passersby,
then settles back into napping.
a goose honks somewhere to the distant left.
a loud truck makes a dissonant note in this beautiful melody.
I am here wrapped in my snuggly blanket and this joy,
for these perfect falling-from-summer moments.
tomatoes and squash are warm ripe
in the friendly neighbors garden.
we have pushed through some hard work,
you and I,
we have made it through a tough act,
a brutal season,
burdens now roll off stooped shoulders,
just in time to enjoy a new beginning.
a celebration.
a new and better path.
a shining light,
right here
guiding us all
home.

ACL 9/18/14

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courage, dear heart

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If you could be soft in what you are. In what you’ve felt in the world.

If you could release, just for a moment, how he held you, or how the kids should have come home.

If you just put down the can of paint. Listen.

All along you’ve been waiting. A couple long sighs, a piece of the way things wave and you’re off.

Have you considered much what it is to sit on the lawn. What is under your fingers, what is under your hands. And how to live an agreeable life, and how much it takes in a night to get through what you must first get through in order to just sit here and be happy.

“If You Could Be Soft” by Nina Alvarez

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Spirit Prayers

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Above all temples
You chiefly prefer
Oh Spirit
The heart upright
and pure.

Instruct me
You who know
For You were present
from the first.

You sat
dove like
With might
and outspread wings
Brooding over
the vast abyss
And made
it pregnant.

Oh Spirit
what in me
is dark
Illumine.

The prayer of John Milton as he took up his pen to write Paradise Lost

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moods of nature

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the sky is varying shades
of pale baby blue.
the water is like a silver mirror,
endless beautiful.
the same rocks that glittered
like a million diamonds,
just yesterday,
are silent today.
big dependable rocks,
ready for Monday work week.
still the same.
still awesome.
still beautiful.
just in a different mood.
today the brilliant emerald moss
on those huge rocks,
suspended
in the metallic mercury,
glow against the silver.
I think of Ireland.
my heart yearns to visit
the Emerald Isle
on the other side of this pond.
life is different there,
yet the same.
I watch as the oyster boat trolls.
a heron waits,
until just the right moment –
then takes off,
flying so close to the water.
on and on
until I lose him in the horizon.
I feel him.
I am waiting for my moment.
resting for the next phase of flight.
and in the fullness of time,
at just the right moment,
I will take a breath and
fly.
staying close to the water,
my source of life,
as the epic journey home
continues.
My heart knows one thing for sure –
my love story has
a very happy ending

AL 4/15/13

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Morning light, green shoot,
door quietly opening,

what dawns upon you
that hadn’t before,

pilgrimage toward this moment,
first step at the Red Sea,

so much left behind,
and what abides,

and who,
and what is not yet,

what you have and
what will be provided,

divine promise,
its keeping yet to come,

new, and yet from of old
prepared, awaited,

led into the room
already set for you,

without your being able to know
what blessing is in store,

how you are needed here,
what grace is about to unfold.

First day of school.
Let there be light.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net

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miracles of losing

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I lost my shadow to find myself
I lost my house to find my home
I lost my money to find my value
I lost my motherhood to find my children
I lost my belongings to find my treasure
I lost my song to find my words
I lost my words to find my silence
I lost my illusions to find my voice
I lost my ego to find my truth
I lost my knowing to understand
I lost my anger to find my peace
I lost all my people to find my friends
I lost my insecurity to find my joy
I lost my surety to find my mystery
I lost my perfect to find my human
I lost my dogma to find my divine
I lost my seeing to find my sight
I lost my pride to find my beauty
I lost my fear to find my faith
I lost my religion to find my love
I lost the world to find eternity
I lost my failure to find my victory
I lost my light to find my dark
I lost my dark to find my fire
I lost my will to find my life
I lost my life to be reborn

Sometimes you have to lose everything you think is most important,
to find what really is.

AL 8/22/14

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That day I carried the dream around like a full glass of water, moving gracefully so I would not lose any of it. – Miranda July

oh yeah, it’s a brand spankin’ new day!!’

You wake with
no aches
in the arms
of your beloved
to the smell of fresh coffee
you eat a giant breakfast
with no thought
of carbs
there is time to read
with a purring cat on your lap
later you walk by the ocean
with your dog
on this cut crystal day
your favorite music and the sun
fill the house
a short delicious nap
under a fleece throw
comes later
and the phone doesn’t ring
at dusk you roast a chicken,
bake bread, make an exquisite
chocolate cake
for some friends
you’ve been missing
someone brings you an
unexpected present
and the wine is just right with the food
after a wonderful party
you sink into sleep
in a clean nightgown
in fresh sheets
your sweetheart doesn’t snore
and in your dreams
an old piece of sadness
lifts away

“The Perfect Day” by Alice N. Persons

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the natural

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Biology: Course Review
by Marilyn McEntyre

If you forget what axons do,
or how a virus invades a cell,
remember this—

that light becomes food.
That the seasons rhyme,
a different word each time

turning soil into living song.
That all things work together.
Even death. Even decay.

That this is the way
of the world we got: what is given
grows by grace and care

and knows what it needs.
That life is strong, and precarious,
full of devices and desires.

That what we hold in common
may not be owned. Control
is costly. Close attention

is the reverence due
whatever lives and moves,
mutant and quick and clever.

That our neighbors—
the plankton, the white pine,
the busy nematodes—

serve us best
in reciprocal gratitude:
what they receive, they give.

The way the heart accepts
what the vein delivers and sends it on,
again. Again.

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yes

You do not have to choose the bruised peach
or misshapen pepper others pass over.
You don’t have to bury
your grandmother’s keys underneath
her camellia bush as the will states.

You don’t need to write a poem about
your grandfather coughing up his lung
into that plastic tube—the machine’s wheezing
almost masking the kvetching sisters
in their Brooklyn kitchen.

You can let the crows amaze your son
without your translation of their cries.
You can lie so long under this
summer shower your imprint
will be left when you rise.

You can be stupid and simple as a heifer.
Cook plum and apple turnovers in the nude.
Revel in the flight of birds without
dreaming of flight. Remember the taste of
raw dough in your mouth as you edged a pie.

Feel the skin on things vibrate. Attune
yourself. Close your eyes. Hum.
Each beat of the world’s pulse demands
only that you feel it. No thoughts.
Just the single syllable: Yes …

See the homeless woman following
the tunings of a dead composer?
She closes her eyes and sways
with the subways. Follow her down,
inside, where the singing resides.

“Permission Granted” by David Allen Sullivan

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