Walking Cross-Town. In Vogue.

new-york-city-rain-street

Dawn breaks. The air is heavy for April. I peek into my bag, and I’m reassured by the pocket umbrella. It’s the second train of the morning. 55 minutes, 2 stops. Destination: Grand Central Station. But for the clack of steel on steel, the train is silent.

We arrive at Grand Central. The masses, bees awakened and agitated, pour out of the hive and race for the exits.

A count of the passersby between Madison and Fifth: it’s 6 of 9, 7 of 10 if you include me. The count is Secluded. Sequestered. White cords are draped from ear lobes to pockets, strapped to the Source, private and away.  One smiling. One solemn. One harried, a Working Mom?  One at peace. One head bobs with lips’ syncing.  And the narrator, Madonna in Strike a Pose.

When all else fails and you long to be
Something better than you are today
I know a place where you can get away

“You long to be Something better than you are today.”
[Read more…]

Lightly child, lightly

butterfly-hand-lightly

Wake up, you poets:
let echoes end,
and voices begin.

— Antonio Machado


Notes:

  • Image Source by Elâine Cristine.
  • Poem source: “XXIV” of “Forty Poems Chosen from ‘Moral Proverbs and Folk Songs,’” Times Alone: Selected Poems of Antonio Machado via memoryslandscape
  • Prior “Lightly child, lightly” Posts? Connect here.
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”

It’s been a long day

A man takes shower

…Take a shower, wash off the day.
Drink a glass of water.
Make the room dark.
Lie down and close your eyes.
Notice the silence.
Notice your heart. Still beating. Still fighting.
You made it, after all. You made it, another day.
And you can make it one more.
You’re doing just fine.
I’m doing just fine.

~ Charlotte Eriksson, The Glass Child


Credits: Photo: The Guardian. Poem Source: Schonwieder

 

I step quietly from my bed

feet-walk-souls-black-and-white

I have risen early. Far in the distance, a faint glow paints the horizon. Dawn is coming, gently and full of prayer. I step quietly from my bed, alive to the silences around me. This is the quiet time, the time of innocence and soft thoughts, the childhood of the day. Now is the moment when I must pause and life my heart – now, before the day fragments and my consciousness shatters into a thousand pieces. For this is the moment when the senses are most alive, when a thought, a touch, a piece of music can shape the spirit and color of the day. But if I am not careful – if I rise, frantic, from my bed, full of small concerns- the mystical flow of the imagination at rest will be broken, the past and the future will rush in to claim my mind, and I will be swept up into life’s petty details and myriad obligations. Gone will be the openness that comes only to the waking heart, and with it, the chance to focus the spirit and consecrate the day. What is needed is only a passing of the heart so the spirit can take wing and be lifted toward the infinite. I walk silently toward the window. The darkness is lifting. A thin shaft of lavender has creased the horizon, setting the edges of the trees on fire with morning light. I pause and bow my head…

~ Kent Nerburn, Small Grace: The Quiet Gifts of Everyday Life


Notes:

Poof!

bubble-gif-pop

Everything permanent is due for a surprise,
The stopped stunned by the ever-changing.
What everybody always took for granted
Astonishes a second before it disappears.

~ Howard Moss, from section 4 of “Rome: The Night Before,” New Selected Poems


Credits: Image Credit. Poem: Memory’s Landscape

 

Saturday Morning: Flying Low

pellican-flying-low

Today I’m flying low and
I’m not saying a word.
I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.
The world goes on as it must,
the bees in the garden rumbling a little,
the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.
And so forth.
But I’m taking the day off.
Quiet as a feather.
I hardly move
though really I’m traveling a terrific distance.
Stillness.
One of the doors into the temple.

~ Mary Oliver, Today from A Thousand Mornings


Photo: Robdownunder

Full Moon Rise

full-moon-new-york-city-april-5-2015

Full moon over New York City skyline, seen from West Orange, NJ on Saturday, April 5, 2015.


“How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that’s so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.”

—Paul Bowles, from The Sheltering Sky


Photo Source: Julio Cortez. wsj.com Photo of the day, April 5. Quote Credit: Memory’s Landscape

 

Saturday Morning: Listen. Can you hear?

fern-close-up

Can you hear the voices
of the ferns up-pushing,
the little whippets of fresh air
running through the trees?

~ Mary Oliver, Long Life: Essays and Other Writings


Notes:

Good Friday

woman-sleeping-Laura-Schaeffer

I woke up in the morning
and I didn’t want anything,
didn’t do anything,
couldn’t do it anyway,
just lay there listening
to the blood rush through me
and it never made any sense, anything.

Richard Siken, excerpt from Straw House, Straw Dog from Crush.


Source: To escape from the commonplace of existence. Photo: Laura Schaeffer via eikadan

Lightly child, lightly

gif-bird-fly-wings

Listen,
everyone has a chance.
Is it spring,
is it morning?
Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then — open the door
and fly on your heavy feet…

— Mary Oliver, New And Selected Poems, Volume Two


Notes:

  • Prior “Lightly child, lightly” Posts? Connect here.
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”
  • Image Source: A Clean, Well-Lighted Place. Poem Source: Violent Waves of Emotion