Source: Kelsey MacDonald @writeskelsey
Lightly Child, Lightly.
January 4, 2018 by 19 Comments
I have seen the sun break through to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
treasure in it. I realize now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying
on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.
~ R. S. Thomas, “The Bright Field” in From Laboratories of the Spirit
Notes:
- Photo: Book Cover of The Program (by Suzanne Young) via Mennyfox55. Poem: Thank you Beth @ Alive on All Channels
- 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.”
Each small accomplishment completed brings me closer to…what exactly? The finish line?
December 20, 2017 by 25 Comments
All month I’ve been making lists, crossing things off lists, making new lists – grocery lists, to-do lists, gift lists. Somehow the act of writing things down and crossing them out calms me, as if each small accomplishment or task completed brings me closer to…what exactly? The finish line?
Of course, the idea of completion is an illusion. There will be to-dos until the day when there aren’t, and I’m certainly not in any hurry to get there. Nor do I want to look at December 25 as the end of some silly holiday race.
So my challenge today, and every day this season, is to simply relax into the day’s doings, whatever they may be. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that the closer I stay to home and hearth during these short, dark days, the more peaceful I feel.
~ Katrina Kenison, from “Spicy Holiday Granola” (December 15, 2017)
Monday Morning Wake-Up Call
April 24, 2017 by 26 Comments
For all matters having to do with that four chambered, fist-shaped muscle we carry – that carries us – with constancy. That beats – did you know? – more than one hundred thousand times a day. Imagine that. Even when we’re pressing snooze and rolling over in bed, folding ourselves into our covers and postponing the day’s bubbling over, and soon after notching cold butter on warm toast, or later coming to a halt as we bound up a flight of subway stairs only to stall behind an elderly woman whose left leg trails behind her right leg – one leaden step at a time – even then, when time decelerates and the relative importance of our lives, of our hurry, undergoes a sudden audit, even then, our heart never stops…My heart continues as ever, pulsing towards its daily quota. More than one hundred thousand times a day. Eighty beats per minute.
~ Durga Chew-Bose, from “Heart Museum” in Too Much and Not the Mood: Essays
Photo: Durga Chew-Bose @ Twitter
Morning Call
March 15, 2017 by 26 Comments
Today, if you’re confronting an issue for the ten thousandth time, or feeling that your life is going nowhere, or panicking over how little you’ve achieved, stop and breathe. You’re not falling behind on some linear race through time. You’re walking the labyrinth of life. Yes, you’re meant to move forward, but almost never in a straight line.
~ Martha Beck, from The Labyrinth of Life
Notes:
- Quote: Thank you Beth @ Alive on All Channels
- Art by Gottfried Helnwein in “I was a child” exhibition; Payton Blue 2, 2010, Oil & acrylic on canvas, (via mennyfox55)
It may take God
February 14, 2017 by 22 Comments
Today, God, help me focus on a peaceful pace rather than a harried one.
I will keep moving forward gently, not frantically.
Help me let go of my need to be anxious, upset, and harried.
Help me replace it with a need to be at peace and in harmony.
~ Melody Beattie, from “Going Easy” in The Language of Letting Go
Photo: Alejandro García Restrepo via I Hear It in the Deep Heart’s Core
It’s been a long day
July 20, 2016 by 4 Comments
I empty myself with light
Until I become morning.
— Charles Wright, from “33,” Littlefoot: A Poem
Notes:
- Sources: Photo – Candice Swanepoel photographed by Adam Francine for Vogue, Spain July 2016 via Precious Things Between Waves; Poem – The Vale of Soul-Making
- Related Posts: “It’s Been a Long Day“
It’s been a long day
July 7, 2016 by 6 Comments
There is joy to be found in the most minuscule of choices, in the pockets of slowness concealed inside each ordinary day: ten minutes in the morning in which to write down our dreams, five minutes in the late afternoon in which to stand by a window and watch the changing colors of the sunset, another pause before bed for a brief moment of prayer. Such things do not demand an inordinate commitment. From outside, our lives may look much as they have always done. We alone will recognize the small, rejuvenating pleasures, the invisible sustenance: the difference between skimming a text and taking the time to read it slowly and in depth; between emailing our friend, and making time to sit with her and talk; between rushing through our days, and honoring “the space between,” allowing space to muse and brood and wonder and exult, to bask in our accomplishments.
~ Christian McEwen, World Enough & Time: On Creativity and Slowing Down.
Notes:
- Art: Donatella Marraoni (Italy) – Enough is Enough via Your Eyes Blaze Out
- Related Posts: “It’s Been a Long Day“
- Related Posts: Christian McEwen
Guilty
June 22, 2016 by 10 Comments
I distrust the perpetually busy; always have.
The frenetic ones spinning in tight little circles like poisoned rats.
The slower ones, grinding away their fourscore and ten in righteousness and pain.
They are the soul-eaters.
~ Mark Slouka, excerpt from Quitting the Paint Factory
Art: Hélène Boutanos, illustrator from Paris, France.
Walking Cross-Town. 47th, wrong side.
June 15, 2016 by 36 Comments
6:32 a.m. I exit Grand Central onto 47th. I glance at my watch, plenty of time for the 7 a.m. breakfast.
The crane’s steel arm groans and stretches up four floors. One worker guides the load of sheet rock in through the window. Another waves off the early morning commuters with his red caution flag. He looks me in the eye and directs me to the other side of the street.
I cross.
Have you ever walked this side of 47th? Ever? Eight years. 100’s of cross-town walks. Zero recollection of ever walking on the other side.
I glance over. It’s now free of construction. The wind whistles. Come back. Now. Come Home to me.
I lean right but resist. No. Not today. Live dangerously DK. Go way out on a limb.
I walk.
The legs and feet are heavy. I trudge on alien ground. The Amygdala twitches.
I pass delivery upon delivery truck offloading the day’s supplies.
“Fiji Water. Fiji. Untouched by man. Every drop is green.”
I pass the jewelry district
“Time in Motion – Watch Repair”
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