life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “Miracles”

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

what am I missing? 

The speaker points out 

that we don’t really have

much of a grasp of things, 

not only the big things,

the important questions, 

but the small everyday

things. 

“How many steps up to your back yard? 

What is the name of your district representative? 

What did you have for breakfast? 

What is your wife’s shoe size? 

Can you tell me the color of your sweetheart’s eyes? 

Do you remember where you parked the car?” 

The evidence is overwhelming.

Most of us never truly experience life. 

“We drift through life in daydream, 

missing the true richness and joy that life has to offer.” 

When the speaker has finished we gather around to sing a few inspirational songs. 

You and I stand at the back of the group and hum along 

since we have forgotten most of the words.

😜
The Speaker by Louis Jenkins


Mary Oliver reminds me

to let go of any need that might linger in me

to, even try, to impress anyone. 

But to stay alert to the extravagant impressiveness around me, 

puddling at my feet,

drowning my life with goodness. 

To be easily astonished,

easily filled with wonder,

to let life boggle my mind.

To stay a child of joy and nature,

a collector of miracles. 

To stay in awe of sunsets

and dandelions,

coffee shops

and grasshoppers.

To gasp every time I get a view of the ocean,

to be breathless at the view from a mountaintop road at sunset. 

To feel wonder when I see a leaf change color.

To crane my neck, every single time, to catch a glimpse of sunlight on water,

to thrill everytime I touch the curve of a babies cheek. 

To get a chill of macabre delight

at gnarly, old toenails,

and bats hanging upside down

in a dark damp cave,

or flying around a street light as darkness falls slowly through the air. 

Such things keep me alive. 

These are the true riches of our living. 

Extreme miracles everywhere around us. 

We are here to witness, 

here to share descriptions of such beauty, 

even our feeble attempts are so amazing

they boggle the mind. 

Thank you, Mary Oliver, for this reminder, 

with your every beautiful, glorious word. 

We are each here to do our part,

to record our miracles

in our own voices, 

pens,

paints,

dances,

lyrics,

artistry,

we make up this tapestry,

we record the blazing glory,

the divine masterpiece. 

We each add notes to the grand symphony,

allowing the rocks to stay silent – 

at least for those who

don’t care to listen for the exquisite, out-of-this-world music they share – 

we play on through each day 

with such brilliance, light and passion,

savoring delight, 

everywhere we go…

until we are gone, 

and those who come behind us

find it all fresh and new once more,

and begin to tell their part of the story, 

in their own beautiful, unique ways. 

💞

AL 

If anything matters then everything matters.       – Wm Paul Young


Love sometimes wants to do us a great favor: hold us upside down and shake all the nonsense out.
Your love

Should never be offered to the mouth of a stranger,

Only to someone who has the valor and daring

To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife

Then weave them into a blanket

To protect you.
Stay close to any sounds that make you glad you are alive.
Ever since happiness heard your name, it has been running through the streets trying to find you.

I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in the darkness, the astonishing light of your own being.
There are different wells within your heart.

Some fill with each good rain,

Others are far too deep for that
Fear is the cheapest room in the house. I would like to see you living in better conditions.
Even after all this time the sun never says to the Earth, “You owe me”
There is no pleasure without a tincture of bitterness.

💙

   – Hafez



I stand in the cold surf

waiting 

for what I am to receive 

I look at,

then past,

glistening rocks,

colored shells,

green sea glass,

none of them right. 

My back to the Sound,

head down,

Waves coming and going,

Sand shifting under my wet feet. 

I scan, 

wait for what I must recognize –

 then I see it. 

this????

a black glob of rocks stuck together 

browns and grey and bits of reds

it’s ugly

it’s heavy

it’s rough

it’s jagged

it’s not what I thought I wanted,

it’s not what I thought was valuable. 

what is it, that the water has just delivered, 

and I feel lead to pick up

to take home with me?

I want it to be romantic. 

Maybe…

I search for romance…

Could it be a meteorite?

a mystery from another planet?  
I walk the mile home,

wondering what lessons I will learn from this ‘gift’

I have just received from the ocean. 

Almost home,

one more curve,

I spot my favorite kinda caterpillar,

the brown and black,

softest, loveliest velvet

crawler in the world. 

I loved the feel of them as a little girl,

let them crawl all over me.

I pass it,

then double back, 

as directed by intuition,

to visit this small friend. 

I am bent down,

as my fuzzy friend moves along,

and recognition comes. 

I carry, 

in my hands….
asphalt,

ASPHALT???!!!
a piece of the road,  

which came to me by way of the ocean. 
I belly laugh 

as I my lesson, 

my gift,

becomes clear. 

I am,

 right now,

every moment,

in the ocean of grace

no matter where I am

the path is in the ocean of love,

of God. 
This road is everywhere!
It rises to meet me,

no matter where I stand!
I comes one small glimpse at a time. 
This is gift –

teaching me what I need,

bringing me diamonds with each step. 

Living,

 breathing,

learning, 

expanding

thanks 

is the best gift. 
We are always loved

The message is waiting in 

every surf,

every leaf,

every tree,

every song,

every heart beat,

every tiny created thing,

every little moment,

breathes and burns. 
Oh, Beloved,

Remove your shoes. 

Dive into the sky! 

sing

holy, holy, holy!

then fly away 

home.

I’ll meet you there! 

xoxo

🏞
AL


gone fishing 


There is sensual pleasure in a small act done well 

My whole being loves how you cast that fishing rod

sight, sound, smell, touch, hearing all involved

observing,

absorbing,

thrilling; 

It sticks with me and loops in my memory – 

this beautiful dance of motion

playing again and again

the quick, sure whip of the rod,

the slow arc of the line against the blue sky before it breaks the water,

the vulture floating high in the blue and white, being themselves, 

sure of their importance,

not questioning their beauty,

or the importance of their purpose,

the graceful, smooth winding of the reel,

the flash of the silver lure dancing below the surface of the green water 

your patience as you teach me, 

a very amature student –

all revealing a new layer of beauty,

I want to learn this rhythm,

my soul responds with deep desire,

I want to be a natural part of this world,

a silver flash,

a big blue sky. 

🎣

AL


Birds know north without looking.

Some fish have a line down their bodies

to sense electrical fields

or changes in water pressure.

Jumping spiders see ultraviolet.

Bees have a little compass of iron

and can read earth’s magnetic field. 

And there’s a little silver thing in you

that listens to the Holy Spirit.

It’s really quiet, so you have to be quiet

to hear it listening, but it hears.

You don’t have to hear God;

just let the little silver thing in you

listen to the Spirit and speak 

to the rest of your body. 
__________________  

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net


* 4 middle Fish photos above were taken by Fisherman Dan @ Branford, CT

go outside to go inside


The plains ignore us,

but these mountains listen,

an audience of thousands

holding its breath

in each rock. Climbing,

we pick our way

over the skulls of small talk.

On the prairies below us,

the grass leans this way and that

in discussion;

words fly away like corn shucks

over the fields.

Here, lost in a mountain’s

attention, there’s nothing to say.

Visiting Mountains by Ted Kooser


going on  



You have burned your bridges.

You have passed through the gate

marked “no return”

And for you there is no going back

No going back to the security of

the known, familiar house,

To the well-worn dispensations

and the threadbare coverings.

Now you are out there in uncharted

territory

heavy with threat and shadows not

yet entered.

The risks are high, and yet you

strike out boldly,

Guided only by unwavering conviction

And the longing for the true centre

of the land.

This is what it means to do a new

thing.

So, you travel lightly.

You are abandoned, given up in all

things

To the task that lies ahead.

Therefore, you may be exactly who

you are.

You have inhabited yourself,

You are at home,

And home is where you are,

Even if it is the desert.

No one can dispossess you of your own in-dwelling.

This is what it means to be free.

We stand, one foot upon the bridge,

Wondering if we too have the courage to go over

And strike the match behind us.

🔥

The Dream of Learning our True Name by Kathy Galloway 


Trees not yet leafed out,

the woods aren’t green,

just tiny flakes of green
in their childish little hands,

soft and small.

Something larger than them
from deep down stirs,

exceeds itself in them.

Among those who dare
a new thing

God grant me

such ancient courage.
__________________ 
Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net




photo sources found at http://www.pinterest.com

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




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





spring slowly but surely


The trees here are still mostly bare,

their infinite fingers of resolute patience.

They are in no hurry. What will come, 

will.
South of here it’s different, and farther north. 

But this is here. 
On some twigs the tenderest green

emerges, a different green, and fragile

as new things are.
Without yet the singing, buzzing and sweetness

they gather life in near-freezing wind, bare,

or nearly so.
Sap runs. You can’t see it.

Small things underground shift,

and something larger than all this.

Tomorrow is more open than the western sky,

moving.

__________________ 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net



photos above by Fisherman Dan @ Branford, CT

🌾

If you have become ash,

Then wait you become a rose again.

And do not remember how often you have become ash

But how often you were reborn in ashes to a new rose.

🌹

~ Rumi


I’ve been paying attention this spring

my current obsession is 

the dogwoods birthing 

it’s been a patient process

over the past couple of weeks

it all started with tiny beads on the end of bare branches

every day they appear a bit more 

they’re almost fully blooming now

my favorite tree is early in my walk

it’s mainly white with pink centers

but three large branches are pink with white centers 

it’s simply beautiful

the magnolias came 

and went quickly this year

the weeping cherries

are currently bawling their pink tears 

falling in puddles on the ground

I find them on my shoulders

in my hair

This slow spring is reminding me

not to rush

just allow

beauty in all she is

knows herself

everything we love

is always

right on time

🌳

AL

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