A wounded tree on the bank’s edge
leans precariously,
seems ready to fall.
Slowly it stretches its roots
across the creek
and hugs another tree.
The bridge between the two
seemed impossible at first,
but those two trees
could teach us a thing or two.
The question now is not how do
we want to die,
it is how do
we want to live.
Do we hold on to life’s regrets,
cling to grudges,
or welcome all
and cultivate
“don’t know” minds, bring our whole selves, find
places of rest,
see what’s sacred,
die into life.
Inspired by Five Invitations by Frank Ostaseki and my 70+ Group of Wise Women
I
Periwinkle on the side of the road
elicits childhood memories.
Family hikes on Lewis Mountain,
walking like Native Americans,
heel toe, heel toe.
Fairies hidden under rocks
and in the roots of ancient trees.
Mounds of leaves to jump in
and tall bonfires with smoke
winding through the neighborhood,
marshmallows toasting on sticks.
Bicycle rides from the top
of the street to the bottom,
all with no hands, such
a feeling of freedom!
Listening, listening is his
key to learning,
said my grandson.
He is just 12.
How do you balance the sins of
the past with the
evolving now?
Forgiveness, he
said. He is only 23.
Young people with
a passion for
social justice
do the hard work in public schools,
synagogues, and
non-profits; mindful
meditation and
compassion classes are expanding.
In this world of
ugly tweets, blame,
do we dare hope?
Inspired by a conversation my son had with his son and by the program at the 25thanniversary of the Chrysalis Institute, now The Center for InnerWork.
Seeming like a blanket of white
flowers, it is
a field of pale
purple splendor,
seen only when I bend down and
look closely. Each
beauty has six
petals around
a yellow center, threadlike
lines splitting each.
So delicate,
so exquisite.
Perhaps if we took the time to
really see those
we pass, we would
glimpse their beauty.
For this I know, there is a light,
an essence, a
center in each
of us, just as
there is a center in each of
those lavender
beauties waiting
to be noticed.
She sat hunched over in her chair,
seeing nothing,
in her own world.
Was she still there?
Softly touching her shoulder, I
told her Luna
was here. Out of
blankness, boredom,
she straightened up, smiled, and love streamed
from hands and mouth.
A blind woman,
a tender dog.
The archetypal pattern lies
deep in your bulb,
waiting beneath
the earth’s surface.
The primordial force pushes
you up through the
layers of soil
as you spiral
skyward, drawn by the sun, fed by
the gentle rain,
unfolding leaves
and soft petals.
Have you ever eaten
a blackberry mindfully?
Or a blueberry or strawberry?
Close your eyes, take one bite
and your taste buds will
explode with delight.
Savor the sweet, sour taste,
roll the berry with your tongue,
feel its texture, its shape.
Grind the seeds with your teeth.
Let it stay in your mouth
as long as you can,
cherishing each sensation.
You are the tree that draws me
Each time I visit this place of retreat.
I see in your broken limbs
The challenges you have faced.
I see the wounds that have healed
So you can grow.
I see twisted branches formed as
You traveled on your crooked journey
To wholeness.
I see your branches spread out wide
As far as they can go,
Open with wisdom and compassion to
Enfold those who lean against your trunk.
I thank you for being my anchor each time.
While I work,
she softly sleeps
on the tan couch,
head on its arm,
paws touching,
a parcel of
brown and white,
curled in a ball of warmth.
I wonder what she is dreaming.
Is she sniffing her way around the pond,
testing the thin ice on its edge,
pausing to smell a cedar tree,
jumping when a heron takes flight?
Or is she in the dog park
cautiously greeting other dogs,
racing around the perimeter,
stopping occasionally to
make sure I am still there?
What a comfort to know that
when I move,
she will open her hazel eyes
and track my every step,
waiting to see
if it is time to follow.
What more could the world offer
at this moment, this very moment?
untangling the web 