life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “Patience”

timing be everything…just wait and see  

 

 walking while waiting…not holding onto the breath…finding the shallow end of the pool, gliding full body under the water…raising expectations while others wonder , slightly wandering , forgetting to remember is not an option while the day is so bright…finding fashion foolishly delightful, while taking ones shoes off …holy hours become …earth and flesh blown open , .birthing beyond time and space, then settling into the sunroom for hot peach tea and a tiny croissant…such a simple remedy while walking and waiting…
Beauty,

Donna Knutson

   
    
    
  

  
 

get quiet  

  
You see it. Everywhere you look people are staring at their flat things. We’re terrified of being bored. No one drifts or wonders. If Robert Frost had lived today he would have written, “Whose woods are these? I think I’ll Google it.”

– Paula Poundstone

 

  

Today I found myself empty

Empty of words

Empty of color

Empty of strength

Empty of empathy

Empty of ability

Empty of thoughts even. 

I’ve been here many times 

I understand it better now. 

I rested a lot 

Did minimal work,

Other than cleaning up and fixing meals,

I mainly stayed in bed,

listened to music,

and the silence. 

I stayed in open, wordless, prayer –

Allowing the emptiness to be. 

I have been giving my life force

to others,

 to grief, 

to walking in the dark,

the draining energy of great faith. 

I have earned this emptiness.  

I must allow myself to recharge. 

I have nothing more to give. 

The filling up of the emptiness

must be done carefully, 

in prayer,

in silence. 

Tomorrow is another day. 

Baby steps. No worries. 

The sun will shine again. Love awaits,

patient and kind. 

💞

AL 

  
   

  
💞

It’s hard to beat a person who never gives up.           ― Babe Ruth 

 

  

 

   

Never. Never. Never Quit. 

    – Winston Churchill 

  
 

and then one day…

 

 The road to forgiveness.. after the pilgrim lanes,
and the ruined chapel,

the gull cries and the sea-hush 

at the back of the island, 

it was the way, standing still 

or looking out

or walking, or even talking 

with others in the evening bar, 

holding your drink

or laughing with the rest,

that you realized part of you

had already dropped to its knees,

to pray, to sing, to look, 

to fall in love with everything

and everyone again,

that someone from far inside you

had walked out into the sea light

and the great embracing quiet

to raise its hands

and forgive

everyone in your short life

you thought you hadn’t,

and that all along

you had been singing 

your quiet way 

through the rosary of silence

that held their names….

😍

Excerpted from LEAVING THE ISLAND by David Whyte

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

create new pathways 

 

 
And here’s what made it happen…
They tell me –

Not to…

Don’t…

Forget the writer, 

leave her be,

Focus on some other things,

words need not be free
They say no need to share adventures..

Stuff the stories, 

hide your truths

Don’t capture the experience, it’s really of no use

They say 

other things need my attention, my energy,
For God’s sake, earn a wage –
I’ll tell you what that does for me –

…finally, finally…finally – 

sends me to the page
And all the walls and stops crash-tumble-trickle down
I sit furious-

typing – 

damn punctuation, tense, pronoun
Does it really matter if they she he we agree?

It’s time to tell my story – for once, for now – for ME

💜

 – Robin OK

   http://www.creativecollaborativeretreats.com

 

  
   

  

And then there comes a moment 

when all you have suffered 

all you have learned 

all you have lost and found 

rise up and become 

and suddenly you are 

here 

you are 

who you dreamed of being 

so many years ago 

suddenly you have arrived 

at what you caught glimpses of 

for so many years 

and the search, 

the free fall of broken dreams, 

broken hearts 

broken everything 

tumbling down rabbit holes 

stumbling over the feet 

of your own lack of knowledge 

is over 

you find yourself on solid ground 

stable 

steady 

raising your Ebenezer 

those tributes to God 

for all the mighty stones of help 

building this foundation on the solid rocks 

you know so well 

and though the pilgrimage may continue 

though the journey is definitely not over 

though life is fragile 

and security an illusion 

there is a new sureness to your step 

a trusting unshakable 

a calm in it all 

a new assurance of provision 

a new traveling song to be sung as you walk forward 

always forward 

always pilgrim ready for new adventures 

forgetting the names of what lay behind 

you press on to your calling 

the prize set before 

reveling in the mercies ever new

for each new day 

there is no stopping now 

you have found something 

which cannot ever be taken 

you have arrived here by your own determination 

reached a place 

both spiritual and physical 

a place of such magnitude 

the light shines from every angle 

it has sealed up the oldest sores

bound up the deepest wounds 

satisfied the deepest longings 

changed everything 

settled old scores with finality 

no longer will you settle for less than you deserve 

no more will you tolerate anything less than your best and highest offerings 

you must be all you can be 

gratitude fills you for this place 

a place so lovely 

it can bear up 

even under the weight 

of our hearts wildest desires 

with just this simple name 

it resounds inside our souls like a bell – 

home 

yes, beloved, 

you are home. 

right where you belong. 

❤️ 

AL

  

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 🙏🏻

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

perception shift

 

   

  

  

  

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

look where you’re standing  

 
Pick a crevice, 

a homey gap 

between stones 

and make it 

your own. 
Grow a life here 

from wind 

rain 

and the memories of ancients 

embedded in limestone. 
The bees will use you 

for their sweet honey. 

The rock will soften under 

your touch. 

You will draw moisture from fog 

and hold it. 

Your presence 

will build soil. 
This is all we have 

in this life 

all we own: 

a flowering 

an opening 

a gap between stones 

for tiny tender roots. 

🎋

Flowering by Linda Buckmaster 
 

   

 

    

Listen to Eli Young Band sing Even if it Breaks Your Heart 

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

fall. falling. fallen.   

  
Fall, falling, fallen. That’s the way the season 

Changes its tense in the long-haired maples 

That dot the road; the veiny hand-shaped leaves 

Redden on their branches (in a fiery competition 

With the final remaining cardinals) and then 

Begin to sidle and float through the air, at last 

Settling into colorful layers carpeting the ground. 

At twilight the light, too, is layered in the trees 

In a season of odd, dusky congruences—a scarlet tanager 

And the odor of burning leaves, a golden retriever 

Loping down the center of a wide street and the sun 

Setting behind smoke-filled trees in the distance, 

A gap opening up in the treetops and a bruised cloud 

Blamelessly filling the space with purples. Everything 

Changes and moves in the split second between summer’s 

Sprawling past and winter’s hard revision, one moment 

Pulling out of the station according to schedule, 

Another moment arriving on the next platform. It 

Happens almost like clockwork: the leaves drift away 

From their branches and gather slowly at our feet, 

Sliding over our ankles, and the season begins moving 

Around us even as its colorful weather moves us, 

Even as it pulls us into its dusty, twilit pockets. 

And every year there is a brief, startling moment 

When we pause in the middle of a long walk home and 

Suddenly feel something invisible and weightless 

Touching our shoulders, sweeping down from the air: 

It is the autumn wind pressing against our bodies; 

It is the changing light of fall falling on us. 

🍂

Fall by Edward Hirsch

   
    
    
    
 In Fall I saw 

a skyline of tree roofs 

blowing off in 

natural disasters 

of Biblical proportions. 

Every treehouse laid bare 

roofs to be mended in April 

when surplus roofing supplies arrive 

from Mother Nature 

painted bright shades of spring green 

with all the colors of the rainbow 

adorning the mended windows 

as the birds move into their summer homes. 

All in the right time 

not before 

I have known days of the extreme

Both hot and cold 

Pain and joy 

Full and empty 

I have wsited for spring 

I have been healed 

like the trees 

Now I wait for the time 

when the lovebirds come build their nest 

in my heart 

🍁

AL

   

Nature Photos by Fisherman Dan @ Branford, CT

Word art found on facebook

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