Lightly child, lightly.

morning,sun,sunlight,light

Good poetry begins with
the lightest touch,
a breeze arriving from nowhere,
a whispered healing arrival,
a word in your ear,
a settling into things,
then, like a hand in the dark,
it arrests the whole body,
steeling you for revelation.

In the silence that follows
a great line,
you can feel Lazarus,
deep inside
even the laziest, most deathly afraid
part of you,
lift up his hands
and walk toward the light.


Notes:

  • Photo: Saravut Whanset with Monk bhudalist – The monk in the plain of Bagan in during sunlight, Mandalay, Myanmar (via Mennyfox55).
  • Poem: Thank you Make Believe Boutique
  • 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.”

Walking Cross-Town. With Scruffy Shoes.

shoe-shine-stand

Tuesday morning. It’s early. I’m walking down the tunnel at Grand Central Station. The air is heavy, the mammoth air conditioners have not yet fired up. I punch through the day’s calendar as I walk: Light.

I look down at my shoes. Scruffy.  Light Day, nothing major looming, scruffy shoes.

I accelerate the pace, the step counter on my watch silently records the activity. I stare at the watch face as the counter tracks each step, and marvel at the technology. I speed up and slow down, speed up and slow down, the step counter with me with each step.  What a child.

I walk by the shoe shine stand. It’s not yet 6 a.m. They are setting up:  A middle aged man and his wife (?) of Central American (?) origin. I slow, but decide I don’t have time to wait, and keep walking.

He catches the flicker of my interest, not unlike the habits of thousands of commuters who walk by, slow their pace, and think: Do I have time? Do I stop? Or some other time?

“Sir, please. Come. I can help you.”

[Read more…]

Saturday Morning

boy-child-impatient-gif

Love, these lines
accompany our want, nameless
or otherwise, and our waiting.
And since we’ve not learned
how not to want,
we’ve had to learn,
by waiting, how to wait.

—Li-Young Lee, from “The Waiting” in The City In Which I Love You


Notes: Poem: Thank you Beth @ Alive on All Channels. Gif: Newthom

Sunday Morning

face,portrait,red,

It could happen any time, tornado,
earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.
Or sunshine, love, salvation.

It could, you know. That’s why we wake
and look out – no guarantees
in this life.

But some bonuses, like morning,
like right now, like noon,
like evening.

~ William Stafford, “Yes,” The Way It Is: New and Selected Poems


Sources:

It’s been a long day

hossein-zare-end-of-rope

But what happens is that when I finally leave my work
abandoned inside, on top of my desk,
I desire a wordless world, desire nothing
more than the silent vines of my mind
feeling into dark places—blood-sweet—
like a tongue exploring the hole left by a tooth that’s been extracted

~ Aleida Rodriguez, Extracted from The Face of Poetry by Margaretta Mitchell

 


Notes: Photograph: philippe conquet with Som 15. Poem: Thank you Beth at Alive on All Channels. Related Posts: “It’s Been a Long Day

 

Thundering Hubbub

patty-maher

Nothing is wrong.
The mind says that
Something is wrong which activates
An inner drive to do something
It is thought alone that destroys your peace.

~ Wu Hsin, excerpt from Morning Statements from This Too: The Water Cave Tutelage


Photograph: Patty Maher via Aberrant Beauty

 

Saturday Morning

ocean-cloud

I’d like to walk there again.
It was so lonely — a nice kind of loneliness,
and all grass and clover and soft sea air.

– C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, The Chronicles of Narnia


Source: Quote – Schonwiener. Photo: Newthom

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:

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