We’re so driven to make ourselves “better” all the time…
We are mercilessly hard on ourselves for our losses, our defeats, our wounds, our failures, the parts of us that don’t measure up.
This is a weekend in non-self-improvement….
~ Francis Weller, in an interview with Tim McKee titled The Geography Of Sorrow. Francis Weller On Navigating Our Losses
Photo: Nap time by Aku*S
Each second the earth is struck hard
by four and a half pounds of sunlight.
Each second.
Try to imagine that.
No wonder deep shade is what the soul longs for.
And not, as we always thought, the light.
~ Charles Wright, from “In Praise of Thomas Hardy,” A Short History of the Shadow: Poems
Notes:
When you were small, your cupped palms
each held a candlesworth under the skin,
enough light to begin…
~ Carol Ann Duffy, from The Light Gatherer in “Collected Poems”
Notes:
Light staggers through the trees.
Every moment is filled with other moments…
In the silence that follows
don’t we all have to begin again? At the end of a line, the door
left open for a moment where you can fall in love, remember
what you wanted to forget, forget what you wanted to remember…
We have to light
our dark spaces with the sputtering matches of our words.
We have to follow wherever they lead us. There’s this little
hole in existence we all pass through…
—Richard Jackson, from “About This Poem” in Out of Place
Notes:
Awakened by the sun flooding my bed.
A day like a crystal cup overflowing with an uninterrupted blue and gold light.
Notes:
We pulled away from the gate at DFW 30 minutes late, late Friday afternoon. Not bad. Could be worse.
Exit row, reclining seat. God Bless Shara (My Assistant). We’ve been together 6 years now. This seat, this trip, the car pick-up, managing trip expenses – here and there and there, always just right.
Jet engines on this late model Boeing throb, I’m sitting over the wings. We taxi out, make a slow turn, and then…
The engines shut down, and the Pilot comes on the intercom. No. No. No. Yes.
“Folks, I’m sorry. But there is flow control at LaGuardia. We’ve been advised that the wait could be up to 90 minutes. We need to wait on the runway in the event we get cleared sooner.”
Not a free seat open on this plane. A chorus of groans, a shifting in seats. We settle in. My arrival time, now potentially 10pm on Friday night. Shoulders slump, heaviness sets in.
I grab my smartphone and tap in “P-h-o-e-n-i-x:” (in classical mythology) a unique bird that lived for five or six centuries in the Arabian desert, after this time burning itself on a funeral pyre and rising from the ashes with renewed youth to live through another cycle.
Let’s skip the funeral pyre part. But, the rest? Bring it on. To rise from the ashes. Live through another cycle. This trip that just won’t end. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday in Phoenix at a firm wide conference. Thursday and Friday with our team in Dallas.
What did you remember? [Read more…]
the mist
moved slowly across
the field held down
by stones, stitch of trees
what colour was the mist
x-ray grey
how still was it
the iv drip before it falls…
I stopped the car to watch it cross the field
black earth breathing its winter breath…
the field disappeared in the mist
still the bison stood
life can become so still
the iv drip
before it falls
earth of the body
where a life grows
the stillness between silence
and muteness…
– Anne Michaels, from “Bison” in All We Saw: Poems
Notes: Poem from Whiskey River. Photo: Winter Morning Mist by Sébastien Mamy
It’s not you.
It’s anyone.
Sometimes I don’t want anyone around.
Some afternoons I lie on my bed and the light comes through the shutters on the floor and I think I never want to leave my own room.
-Joan Didion, Run River: A Novel
Notes:
Tuesday morning.
Early morning traffic is frictionless, commuters float down I-95 S.
It’s 42° F. It’s January. Soft, light rain. Electronics somehow (?) sense that the windshield is damp, wipers flap intermittently. Miracle. All of it.
It’s quiet in the cabin.
No radio.
No talk shows.
No podcasts.
No playlists.
The soft hum of the engine. The shifting of the sole of my right shoe on the accelerator.
And, those pernicious bumpin’ Thoughts. [Read more…]
When you get into your car, shut the door and be there for just half a minute. Breathe, feel the energy inside your body, look around at the sky, the trees. The mind might tell you, ‘I don’t have time.’ But that’s the mind talking to you. Even the busiest person has time for 30 seconds of space.
– Eckhart Tolle, from Oprah Talks to Eckhart Tolle (Oprah.com)
Notes: Quote – Thank you Beth @ Alive on All Channels. Photo: maggie kirkpatrick
