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Monthly Archives: April 2013

Peace, Vignettes, and Metaphor Fails

An excellent post which ends with a series of questions. These questions should spark conversations, internal and external, about peace in all its manifestations. First, I need to find peace with my self and be grounded in that peace. Then, I offer something to the world and others.

For the Raindrop, Joy Is Entering the River

It was a long day with lousy weather, but I wore sandals without socks. I was an optimist today and felt the warm weather, just around the corner, will be more joyfully experienced. A student asked why I wore sandals and I answered him that way. I want to be hopeful about what is coming. There is enough unhappiness in the world without adding to the weight of it. Weather is a small thing, but small things add up and I can begin that thinking here. I lighten the weight of the larger things in life. I appreciate the richness of life as Ghalib writes about in this poem.

For the raindrop, joy is in entering the river -
Unbearable pain becomes it’s own cure.

Travel far enough into sorrow,
Tears turn to sighing;
In this way
We can learn how water can die into air.

When, after heavy rain,
The storm clouds disperse,
It is not that they’ve wept themselves
Clear to the end?

If you want to know the miracle,
How wind can polish a mirror,
Look:
The shining grass grows green in spring.

It’s the rose’s unfolding, Ghalib,
The creates the desire to see -
In every color and circumstance,
May the eyes be open for what comes.

Life Has Carved Her Callouses

ivonprefontaine:

We have an unpleasant day again with snow and cold weather. Spring in Alberta changes quickly and springtime’s timely rays will re-appear by Wednesday with warm weather. My response is a little toughening up and accepting what today is.

Originally posted on Meanwhile, Melody Muses...:

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Life has carved her callouses

upon my tender heart,

my response was toughening

the epidermis part -

so soften me, oh Holy Son,

with springtime’s timely rays,

that roughened edges would not keep

my soul from grasping grace.

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Only on Special Days

We changed the tires on my car today. An acquaintance has a mobile tire service and comes over each season. I opened the big garage door to retrieve the tires. When  I closed the door, Kathy moved a bag out-of-the-way and retrieved a book from it by Leonard Nimoy called Will I Think of You. Nimoy writes poetry and this is one of his books of poetry.

I chose this poem, because it reminded me that each day is special when I am with those who care for and love me. It reminded me that I sometimes take those people for granted, but they make each day special.

Only on special days

Birthdays, Holidays

And other days….

When those who

                Give to each other

                                And live for each other

                                                Travel

                                                                For hours or day

                                                                                Or for an instant

To hold

                                Or dream-hold

Each other

To exchange

                Heart-warmth

                                And body-warmth

When we commemorate

                And celebrate

                                The Special days

                      Of a life of love

                Then and especially then

Because the day is special

                As your glorious being

                                                                Is special

                                                                                I will think of you

                Only when we’re together

And I can think of nothing else

                And everything else

                                Because we together

                                Are everything

And our togetherness is

                                                                All things

                                Then as always

                                                And forever

                                                                I will think of you

Divine Look

I often think that when things are not quite going my way that is a challenge. As this quote indicates, it is those times I should most look for the small lights that peer through and find me. Those stars help me navigate my life.

Splendor

“More often than not splendor is the star we orbit without a second thought, especially as it arrives and departs.” Thomas Centolella offered that line in the poem Splendor. I stop occasionally and recall what is good about this life; family, a fulfilling vocation, and friends found along the journey. Most days, I travel this orbit rather mindlessly and I need a momentary and mindful pause which brings my world into sharper focus.

Be mindful, weary traveler, be mindful of what you have and hold it close while you can.

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One day it’s the clouds,
one day the mountains.
One day the latest bloom
of roses – the pure monochromes,
the dazzling hybrids – inspiration
for the cathedral’s round windows.
Every now and then
there’s the splendor
of thought: the singular
idea and its brilliant retinue -
words, cadence, point of view,
little gold arrows flitting
between the lines.
And too the splendor
of no thought at all:
hands lying calmly
in the lap, or swinging
a six iron with effortless
tempo.  More often than not
splendor is the star we orbit
without a second thought,
especially as it arrives
and departs.  One day
it’s the blue glassy bay,
one day the night
and its array of jewels,
visible and invisible.
Sometimes it’s the warm clarity
of a face that finds your face
and doesn’t turn away.
Sometimes a kindness, unexpected,
that will radiate farther
than you might imagine.
One day it’s the entire day
itself, each hour foregoing
its number and name,
its cumbersome clothes, a day
that says come as you are,
large enough for fear and doubt,
with room to spare: the most secret
wish, the deepest, the darkest,
turned inside out.

There is some of most of what the poet refers to in that picture.

Neach Coiala hits again…

ivonprefontaine:

Paulo Coehlo is one of the few fictional authors I still read on a regular basis. OK I read old westerns and mystery stories. This is a quote we need to take to heart. Do I only hear what I want to hear? Or, am I open to the possibility of something new?

Originally posted on TeMe - melting pot of cultures & borderless friendship:

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