This post sat waiting for today to be re-blogged. Being grateful, rising with grace, and thanking the World for its presence is living fully.
Monthly Archives: March 2015
Song of a Dream ~
This is a wonderful excerpt and image. There are magical and spiritual places where we can find Truth, Love, and Peace. Or, perhaps it is more apt to say they find us.
Once in the dream of a night I stood
Lone in the light of a magical wood,
Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang;
And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,
And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,
And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed
In that magical wood in the land of sleep.
Excerpt from: Song of a Dream
Sarojini Naidu
Happy Goodwill
The image and poem work together so well. It is what we, as adults, give our children: time, a kind ear, and support.
Dialogue
The linked poem uses the word nature in an ambiguous and lovely way. Perhaps, we want to know our nature? Or, is it that we wait for nature to reveal itself more fully to us?
When we wait quietly and listen deeply, we hear the questions which are essential to dialogue. It is in the quiet we hear.
being…in the silence
Silence and solitude are our friends. They form a healing space we occasionally need. Gandhi suggested we speak only when it improves the silence. That might fit with what Carried shared in this post.
Eliminating the Horizon
We need boundaries. They create structure in our lives. Having said this, I think Linda Nemec Foster asks a great question, “Who needs boundaries?” Can we close our eyes and imagine where the earth ends and the sky begins? Or, where the stream wanders it disappears from our sight?
Many years ago, Kathy and I camped with friends at Quesnel Lake, a beautiful and isolated glacially-fed lake, in central British Columbia.
There is a waterfall, named Niagara Falls, that flows into the east end of the lake.They are 30-40 metres high and narrow. As we approached the falls, we cut the boat motor and heard them thundering from about 1 km away.
We chatted and wondered about the waterfalls’ source. We arrived at a consensus is small lake at the base of a distant mountain fed Niagara Creek. I imagined what that looked like as we climbed to where the falls cascaded over the edge. There was a mountain in the distance which seemed to confirm our guess, but our view – our horizon – was obscured.
That evening, as we sat around the fire, we pulled maps out and found the river did not seem to be lake-fed, but just began at the base of a mountain. Today, I see different possibilities in my mind’s eye. It might be glacial fed, spring fed, or emerge from an unmarked, small lake.
When we close our eyes, we imagine what is beyond the boundaries and their limits. We move past horizons as our imaginations lead the way. There are no lines there.
Who needs boundaries?
If your eyes fail to imagine
where the earth ends and the sky
begins, think of a place bereft
of lines: the blue depths of a stream
flowing like hair that will never
be combed. Deep indigo of nothing
but fluid memory ebbing around
blossoms of white asters. “I remember
how flowers feel when you barely
touch them,” says the water. Like leaving
one world and embracing another:
seeds bursting into wildflowers,
clouds changing into rain,
the image of our borders
a mere outline the soul ignores.
Teacher as Transformer 