Tag Archives: eloquent questions

The Lame Goat

I feel better; more tired and listless than sick today. I lack of creative juices today, opened one of my poetry anthologies, and came across this Rumi poem. It depends on my perspective whether I lead or follow. Perhaps, I can do both and even at the same time?

You’ve seen a herd of goats

going down to the water.

The lame and dreamy goat

brings up the rear.

They are worried faces about that one,

but now they’re laughing,

because look, as they return,

the goat is leading!

They are many different kind of knowing.

The lame goat’s kind is a branch

that traces back to the roots of presence.

Learn from the lame goat,

and lead the herd back home.

Goat sculpture from found objects, by Picasso.

Fueled

I thought I was ready to get into the swing of things after Christmas break, but I recovering from the blight of the time of the year-the flu. I feel better today, but took it pretty easy the last couple of days. I think tomorrow will be a transition day and the break ends on Wednesday.

I spent time in reflection, as best as that happen when medicated, and considered how rarely the small things in life, that make it incredible, are uplifted. I applaud human endeavours, and some of them are worthy, but forget the triumph of the unobservable. Marcie Hans provided this wonderful poem that shines a light on this dilemma.

Fueled
by a million
man-made
wings of fire-
the rocket tore a tunnel
through the sky-
and everybody cheered.
Fueled
only by a thought from God-
the seedling
urged its way
through thicknesses of black-
and as it pierced
the heavy ceiling of the soil-
and launched itself
up into outer space –
no
one
even
clapped.
–Marcie Hans

For the Children

I began reading Meg Wheatley’s book So Far From Home. Similar to Parker Palmer, she uses poetry to bring her message to life. She quoted Gary Snyder at one point and I recognized it from a retreat I attended. Her point is we live in a world of relationships and not just science. When I look at the sadness of our world, the constant conflict in it, and the violence, I can only wonder if it is a result of loneliness and separation we experience? I will ponder that during my Sabbath.

The rising hills, the slopes,
of statistics
lie before us.
the steep climb
of everything, going up,
up, as we all
go down.

In the next century
or the one beyond that,
they say,
are valleys, pastures,
we can meet there in peace
if we make it.

To climb these coming crests
one word to you, to
you and your children:

stay together
learn the flowers
go light

I Dwell in Possibility

Emily Dickinson wrote this beautiful poem. With questions, I dwell in possibility. Poetry calls gently to me, leaves a space that I can peer into, and observe that which moves my soul. Without questions, there would be no answers and no certainty. That seems odd and paradoxical, but seems very real to me. Questions allow me real faith and a belief in those things I cannot touch. They are there and I know they are.

I dwell in Possibility–
A fairer House than Prose–
More numerous of Windows–
Superior–for Doors–

Of Chambers as the Cedars–
Impregnable of Eye–
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky–

Of Visitors–the fairest–
For Occupation–This–
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise–

Questions

Questions, real questions, are scary. They need me to face the unknown. What don’t I understand? It is easy to chase real questions away and deal with the easy ones.

Each day I ask:

What is my question?”

What wonder is there?

Can I live curiously?

Can I touch my questions?

Be honest,

Be awake,

Open my heart.

Refuse false questions–

Those I obsessively chase,

Leave me unfulfilled,

Sullied and dirty.

Real questions raise turmoil—

They cause fear–

Am I ready?

Can I navigate turbulent,

Uncharted seas?

Can I delve deeper?

Lay a foundation–

Not on sand;

On rock;

Where I am grounded.

What Can I Do?

It has been an extraordinarily sad day and that was clear in the blogs I follow. A profound sense of sorrow and loss echoed through the digital world. What was extraordinary was the sense what has happened in Connecticut needs to end. This centred on the question: “What can I do?” I think we can do much, but the change begins with us and moves out. As I take my weekly pause, I want to give some thought to what can I do?

On a sombre day–

Grief and sorrow the order,

A message heard:

Change begins in me.

I am a catalyst

I look inside:

Call forth a gentle spirit–

Give it voice.

In light, love happens–

Resonates,

Reaches out its hand

Beckons others join.

Rings on clearest pond,

Ripples of love touch,

Right cascades forth,

Good people meet.

Good touches good,

Prayer meets prayer,

Love conquers hate

Join together.

Good people summoned–

Their tears catalyze,

Grieve and heal as one,

We are change.

Be a community–

It is not a distant loss:

It is our loss–

Feel it.

Small change is ours–

We each contribute,

Love multiplies:

Heals the world.

 

Unmanaged, Fully Lived

I find I want certainty, but it is impossible to orchestrate. Life is a series of complex, chaotic, messy events and relationships that defy the logic. Life is not unplanned. I need to be awake and attentive for moments outside my plans. What do I do then?

I engineer life,

Manufacture it

Driven–

Overstimulated–

Drown in options

To what end–

I ask.

Try and manage,

Plan,

Organize,

Pursue material wealth–

Seek false power

An ego massage

But no real choices.

One choice–

Live life,

Experience it fully;

Dig deep,

Find what animates

Sow seeds,

Be patient.

Tend barren ground–

Await the richness and bounty–

Trust what emerges

These are the real gifts–

Not easily found,

But always near at hand–

Unmanageable life

But fully liveable.

Winter Nights

It is December 1 and Christmas is just around the corner. The last few days I recalled what it was like in rural northern Alberta at this time of the year. We used to sit upstairs and look out the window on cold, cold nights shimmering with white. What caught my eye and ear was the magic provided by the Northern Lights or Aurora Borealis. They don’t appear in Edmonton as I recall them from my childhood memories. What message was in those celestial colours and sounds?

Small children–

Breathlessly wait,

Peer through frosted window

Soak it in.

Heavens ripple–

Lights undulated;

A celebratory fury

An indisputable guide.

This old house speaks;

Nature answers–

Crackles from the heavens

Sweet symphonic sounds.

Earth’s floor–

Blanketed in white

Celestial colours shimmer

Captures young eyes.

A vivid winter scene,

A sensual, sensory palette,

Reminds me–

Christ’s Mass draws near.

pic_wonder_northern_lights_lg

The photo came from Seven Wonders of Canada.

Life’s Purpose

Professional development days at school leave me wanting so much more. It is a pretense of doing something, but is busyness personified. I am left tired, unsatisfied, and with a bit of headache. I just want a choice. What fuels my spirit?

Day’s end arrives,

Quiet seeks me out–

Busyness dissipates;

A frenetic pace abates–

No hurry,

No frantic pursuit of something;

Whatever that thing might be

Remains uncertain…

Unclear,

Lost in a mist

Focus a little off–

I remain unsatisfied

Until, I wonder aloud:

What is life’s purpose?

Or is life its own purpose.

How do I listen?

I commented on a re-blog, Here’s an Idea that Mimi‘s post coincided a PBS show about a branch of neuroscience called Contemplative Mindfulness. Rudolph Tanzi is central in this work which has grown from other recent research by Richard Davidson, Ellen Langer, and Jon Kabat-Zinn. Mindful practices have been with us for centuries and are found in Christ’s, the Buddha’s and Mohammed’s teachings. Mindful listening begins with me, moves outward, and is eloquently described by Hafiz, a Sufi poet. Mindful listening requires humility those teachers emulated in their lived practice as the servant as leader.

How

Do I

Listen to others?

As if everyone were my Master

Speaking to me

His

Cherished

Last

Words.

Stay human friends.