Saturday Morning

wind-breeze-meadow

We have forgotten the virtue of sitting, watching observing. Nothing much happens. This is the way of nature. We breathe together, simply this. For long periods of time, the meadow is still. We watch. We wait. We wonder. Our eyes find a resting place. And then, the slightest of breezes moves the grass. It can be heard as a whisper of prayer.

— Terry Tempest Williams, Finding Beauty in a Broken World

 


Notes: Quote: Thank you Beth @ Alive on all channels. Photo: Clemens Fantur

Lightly child, lightly.

bird-in-hand
[…]
This is what I want.
I want to keep the past like a pearl on my tongue,
to inherit the salt in my skin. I want to learn how horizon can curve
back into itself so I can say what ocean says of wreckage: Dive into
my chest, stay as long as you can breathe, chart this hull of bones.

Bryce Emley, from “Everything All at Once (My Self as Ocean)


Notes:

  • Photo – mennyfox55. Poem: Memory’s Landscape
  • 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 come to this…

breathe-app-watch-os-1 breathe-app-watch-os-2 breathe-app-watch-os-3 breathe-app-watch-os-4

In addition to reminding you to stand and walk throughout the day, watchOS 3 will also prompt Apple Watch users to take a minute to relax, focus and meditate with a new app dubbed “Breathe.”

When a Breathe notification pops up, users can either begin a session or choose to snooze it. A dedicated Breathe app on the app screen — as well as a new Breathe complication that can be added to watch faces — also allow users to start a session whenever they choose.

Once users begin, the app informs them to “be still and bring attention to your breath.” A series of circles on the Apple Watch display gradually expand, accompanied by taptic feedback on the wrist, letting the user know to slowly inhale.

Read More: New ‘Breathe’ app for Apple Watch reminds you to relax, focus. 


Source: AppleInsider

It’s been a long day

leg-feet-woman

All afternoon I have been walking over the dunes, hurrying from one thick raft of the wrinkled, salt roses to another, leaning down close to their dark or pale petals, red as blood or white as snow. And now I am beginning to breathe slowly and evenly – the way a hunted animal breathes, finally, when it has galloped and galloped – when it is wrung dry, but, at last, is far away, so the panic begins to drain from the chest, from the wonderful legs, and the exhausted mind.

Oh sweetness pure and simple, may I join you?

I lie down next to them, on the sand. But to tell
about what happens next, truly I need help.

Will somebody or something please start to sing?

~ Mary Oliver, “The Roses” from Blue Iris: Poems and Essays


Notes:

I have done this a few times

rest-sit-woman-portrait

[…]
How wonderful it is
to follow a thought quietly

to its logical end.
I have done this a few times.

But mostly I just stand in the dark field,
in the middle of the world, breathing

in and out. Life so far doesn’t have any other name
but breath and light, wind and rain.
[…]

~ Mary Oliver, from “What Is There Beyond Knowing” from New and Selected Poems, Volume Two


Notes:

It’s been a long day

[…]
Sometimes I dream
that everything in the world is here,
in my room,
in a great closet, named and orderly,
and sometimes I am that madcap person
clapping my hands and singing;
and sometimes I am that quiet person
down on my knees.

— Mary Oliver, excerpt from “Something” in Why I Wake Early: New Poems


Notes:

Saturday Morning

hair

Inhalation.
Exhalation.
Each breath a “yes,”
and a letting go,
a journey,
and a coming home.

~ Danna Faulds, “Breath of Life” from Go In and In:  Poems from the Heart of Yoga


Notes: Photo – Purvi Joshi with Tired Rapunzel

 

It’s been a long day

photography
It’s we who breathe, in, out, in, the sacred,
leaves astir, our wings
rising, ruffled—but only saints
take flight. We cower
in cliff-crevice or edge out gingerly
on branches close to the nest. The wind
marks the passage of holy ones riding
that ocean of air. Slowly their wake
reaches us, rocks us.
But storm or still,
numb or poised in attention,
we inhale, exhale, inhale,
encompassed, encompassed.

Denise LevertovIn Whom We Live and Move and Have Our Being from “Selected Poems


Notes:

It’s been a long day

release

You have been given questions to which you cannot be given answers.
You will have to live them out – perhaps a little at a time.’
And how long is that going to take?’
I don’t know. As long as you live, perhaps.’
That could be a long time.’
I will tell you a further mystery,’ he said. ‘It may take longer.”

~ Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow: A Novel


Notes:

to let silence spiral deeper into silence

hands-rest-black-and-white-sit

All of us, child or adult, need time to find our way to that heavenly gate, time to sit back and listen to the sounds outside, and to our own, half-formed thoughts, to attend to the call of the birds and the roar of the air conditioner, and to our own interior voices as well: to let silence spiral deeper into silence. Mary Oliver writes about this beautifully in her book, Winter Hours.

In the act of writing the poem, I am obedient, and submissive. Insofar as one can, I put aside ego and vanity, and even intention. I listen. What I hear is almost a voice, almost a language. It is a second ocean, rising, singing into one’s ear, or deep inside the ears, whispering in the recesses where one is less oneself than a part of some single indivisible community. Blake spoke of taking dictation. I am no Blake, yet I know the nature of what he meant.

The speedy modern reader may not realize it, but poetry comes to us like the holy infant, wrapped in swaddling bands of silence. There is silence, often, in the place where it is made, or at most, a slow heart beat. There is silence in the thought that greets particular words and phrases, and in the care with which they’re weighed and pondered, and again in their particular layout on the page. And finally there’s the silence that surrounds the reading of the poem, and in the quiet intake of breath with which, so often, the poem is received. For all the emphasis that is placed on words and imagery, poems need that silence, as a painting needs the naked canvas, or music needs the pause between the notes. Most poets know this, in however inchoate a way. They slow down, they listen, they learn to pay attention. They root themselves in what the Celtic bard Taliesen called “the cave of silence” from which all words are born.

~ Christian McEwen, World Enough & Time: On Creativity and Slowing Down


Notes:

 

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