life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “thankfulness”

aging gracefully

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Young souls lean on science.

Mature souls lean on faith.

And old souls prefer long walks and short talks; whistling to hip-hop, country, or rock; and on occasion, tree spotting.

There! On the horizon! Oak!
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The Universe
http://www.tut.com

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Love unites all, whether created or uncreated. The heart of God, the heart of all creation, and our own hearts become one in love. That’s what all the great mystics have been trying to tell us through the ages. Benedict, Francis, Hildegard of Bingen, Hadewijch of Brabant, Meister Eckhart, Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, Dag Hammarskjöld, Thomas Merton, and many others, all in their own ways and their own languages, have witnessed to the unifying power of the divine love. All of them, however, spoke with a knowledge that came to them not through intellectual arguments but through contemplative prayer. The Spirit of Jesus allowed them to see the heart of God, the heart of the universe, and their own hearts as one. It is in the heart of God that we can come to the full realisation of the unity of all that is, created and uncreated.
– Henri Nouwen
http://www.henrinouwen.org

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fearless

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To go into the darkness with a light
is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark.
Go without light and find that the dark too, blooms and sings
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.
– Wendell Berry

Black. out. black.
Black. on. black.
Dark. on dark. on dark.
I was simply looking for home.
Not knowing the current alley would lead
to where the sidewalk ended
I stepped off the edge
out of the world of light
waking into morning night
a banished sun
no stars
or moon
or streetlights
or fireflies
or lighters
in pitch darkness
I lay, unable to move,
senses adjusting
to what is my new reality
hearing the life
that lives here
wondering if I’ll make friends
while I’m here
learning this new space.

ACL 9/12/13

Sent from my iPhone

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it’s a wonderful world

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I could care less,
I could,
but instead, I care
so much,
so phenomenally.
It happens
when we look, this
mountain
range-sized adoration
welling up
inside us in response
to all that
is present alongside
us, and all
that existed before
the human
thumb squeezed
the top of
the common era’s
stopwatch.
The seven holes in our
heads help
us to take in what we
can of the
ever-altering wilderness
here for us,
with us. How is this not
collaboration.

I Could Care Less
by Hannah Stephenson

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There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million.
– Walt Streightiff

even so, let me thrive

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Today I woke up at 5:15 am, same as yesterday, but today I can lay as still as possible with my sore body snuggled in my blue furry blanket (which I have named Cookie Monster) and listen to the wind and rain howling against the windows and be grateful I was able to execute the events of the past two weeks! I made it here safely to begin my new chapter!
God is very good!

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time to fly

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If I had wings
where would I fly?

You can see God from anywhere,
if you’re looking.

There was a time
when I would sing for you

Where will I fly
now you’re not my self appointed sky?

How about…

Second star from sunrise
straight on to myself

We’re all waiting
on the edge of yesterday
birds of red, blue and black
longing
for our time to fly

cause all the little birdies just got to fly
away away up in the sky
Those mamma birds are born to fly
higher higher in the sky

If I had wings
where would I fly?

You can see God from anywhere,
if you’re looking.

ACL 10/20/14

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joy comes

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May the road rise to meet you! – Irish Blessing

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I stood in the surf
waiting
for what I was to receive
I looked at,
then past,
glistening rocks,
colored shells,
green sea glass,
none of them were right.
My back was to the Sound,
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 cart home with me?
I want it to be romantic.
Maybe…
I search for romance…
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,
and 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 clearer.
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.
The road is everywhere!
It rises to meet me.
It comes one chunk at a time.
This is gift –
teaching me what I need,
bringing me diamonds with each step.
Living,
and breathing,
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.
Remove your shoes,
dance wild by the fire,
dive into the sky,
sing loud and long –
holy,
holy,
holy
and fly away
home.
I’ll meet you there!
xoxo

ACL 9/22/14

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Every now and then I sit and watch the sun rise to remind myself how it’s done – peacefully, steadily, warmly and in beautiful color. – Richelle E. Goodrich

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If I write a love poem
you will read it.

If I say my lover’s eyes are oceans, or galaxies
you will understand.

If I say I long for the feel of the curve of her waist
your hands will feel empty.

If I say her comfort is my earth
you will smile to yourself.

If I say she is larger than the world
you will grow confused.

If I say she is older than music
you will become wary.

If I say she is God
you will sigh and put the book down.

What can I do but sing of my love,
her hands like fields of wheat?

So I will not tell you the secret part,
only that her mouth is a river I kneel and drink from,

her love makes dawn arise in me,
her voice is like rain.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net

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💞

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And now I know what most deeply connects us

after that summer so many years ago,
and it isn’t poetry, although it is poetry,

and it isn’t illness, although we have that in common,

and it isn’t gratitude for every moment,
even the terrifying ones, even the physical pain,

though we are halfway through
it, or even the way you describe the magnificence

of being alive, catching a glimpse,

in the store window, of your blowing hair and chapped lips,
though it is beautiful, it is; but it is

that you’re my friend out here on the far reaches

of what humans can find out about each other.

“Coda” by Jason Shinder

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In love’s service only the wounded soldiers can serve. – Thornton Wilder

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Dreams we can’t envision

Once there were three little trees, all with big dreams. The first tree dreamed of being carved into a beautiful and ornate treasure box that would hold the greatest treasure the world had ever seen. The second tree dreamed of being fashioned into a great ship that would sail the Seven Seas. The third tree didn’t want to leave its home on the mountaintop. “I want to grow so tall that when people stop to look at me,” he said, “they’ll raise their eyes to heaven and think of God.”
One day when the young saplings had grown into tall, strong trees, three woodcutters climbed the mountain. As they cut down the first tree, it could barely contain its excitement – it just knew it would soon fulfill its destiny. But instead of an elaborate treasure chest, workers made the tree into a plain, ordinary feedbox for farm animals. The tree felt bitterly disappointed.The second tree got made into a ship, all right – but not the kind to crest the waves of mighty oceans. It became just a simple fishing vessel, floating in a lake – not the stuff dreams are made of.
The third tree, to its horror and dismay, got chopped down, cut into wooden beams, and then left to gather dust in a lumberyard. “All I ever wanted was to stay on the mountaintop and point to God,” it moaned.
Time passed and the trees forgot their dreams, until one night when a young woman placed her baby in the animal feedbox – and the first tree knew that indeed it carried the greatest treasure on earth.
Another night, a tired man and his friends crowded into the little fishing boat. They got halfway across the lake when a terrible storm blew in, threatening to tear the boat to pieces. The tired man stood up and said, “Peace, be still.” The second tree knew then that it was carrying the king of heaven and earth.
One Friday morning the third tree felt itself yanked from the woodpile and dragged through city streets, where crowds shouted insults. The tree felt cruel and ugly when it realized it had become an instrument of torture. Soldiers nailed a man’s hands and feet to its beams, as the tree cried in shame. But on Sunday morning, when the sun rose and the earth trembled with joy, the tree stood tall, finally knowing that from now on, it would be the tree on the mountaintop, forever pointing people to God.
-traditional folk tale
as told in, God Loves Broken People, Sheila Walsh

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The power of suffering to create beauty in your life lies almost entirely with you, in how you chose to react to the difficulties and even catastrophes that invade your life.
– Sheila Walsh

God’s kind, gentle love is not the sentimental, sappy variety…Instead, this love is strong. This love is a fierce love, a positive force that conquers sin, evil, and death. It is the burning passion to overcome evil with good. It is steadfast commitment to the ultimate, highest good of another – even if that other is one’s enemy. It is a love that does not put self or stuff at the center of life, but gives itself away with joyful abandon. It is a love so secure in another that it loses its life for others, only to find its life again.
– Richard J. Vincent

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