The path to the final destination
is a meandering one with many steps.
There are no short cuts and help
comes from unexpected sources.
Sturdy roots help along the way and
a strong sense of right and wrong
helps you through the impediments
that block your way and to ignore the
easy short cuts promoted by the ego
and shunned by the Self.
The further you go on the journey,
the clearer and richer your perspective
as you approach the last step.
by BHW 4 Comments
When narrative mind twists old hurts,
stories into
tangled balls of
twine that roll and
ricochet, sapping energy
that could be used
in ways that move
one to wholeness,
Take a deep breath, feel the air move
from nose to toes.
See that twisted
twine float away.
(with thanks to mindfulness meditation teachers Kay and Phil Davidson)
Have we forgotten that all creation is one
glorious outpouring from the womb of the Divine?
Early bird song and emerging light,
the rhythmic crashing of ocean waves,
a baby whale leaping with its mother,
and peony buds unfolding their delight.
The solid silence of mountains,
the gurgling of streams,
the fecund smell of wetlands,
and sunlight on bare sycamores.
Green daffodils shoots pushing up,
warm puppy body curled up in the night,
and oh that sweet smell of a baby.
All created things
breathing together.
Have we forgotten we are one?
What would happen on this planet
if all humanity remembered?
Stop, stand still!
Do you feel the hush
enveloping the woods?
Do you sense bare branches
waiting patiently for the
first flakes to caress
their outstretched arms?
Smell the cool freshness,
hear the crinkling as
flakes hit the hood of
your coat, and watch the
path slowly disappearing
as you and your dog head home.
Have you ever thought about
how a stream approaches a
rock that blocks its way? It looks
for a crack, an opening,
and then easily finds its
way while making beautiful
music for all to enjoy.
by BHW 4 Comments
Frost on the ground and a nip in the air,
controversy over Starbucks cups and 114 dead,
twinkling candles in window frames,
Senate blocks expanded gun checks,
trees on car tops and Handel’s Messiah,
14 dead in San Bernardino,
decorations down from attic and wreath on the door,
a friend’s son killed in a crash on I-64,
sun finds diamonds in frost-kissed grass,
irate candidates fume and blame,
soft belly breathing and a bank teller’s smile.
All part of the tapestry of this complex life.
Like sprinkled sugar on a cake,
frost on green grass
and gray slate roofs,
air cold and fresh.
Maple trees display bare branches,
Pumpkins on steps,
Luna prancing,
on morning walk.
Business done, we head home, and
she calmly waits
for food, water.
Such a good dog!
Like the sound of an approaching train,
first distant, then gathering in force,
the breeze travels from Whiteface Mountain
through the narrowing gap
that is Osgood Pond,
passes through, then total silence, complete silence
before it begins again.
At night there is the haunting cry of loons
and the dark, silent white pine sentinels
that line the shore as young pines
snuggle up to those who have
withstood the ravages of time.
Sun drops behind the trees and
its reflection disappears from pond’s surface.
And then darkness only experienced far away from city lights.
On an afternoon walk, we see fresh-faced students
from a nearby college, armed with pad and pencil
to record what they know and do not know.
A wrong turn grows an hour to two
but adds a bridge across a bog
and the wonder of running ground-pine
pushing its shoots through fecund earth.
Moss-covered paths and the pond itself invite us to explore
secluded spots to read, to float, or just be.
A rustic tea house accessed by an arched wooden bridge,
a boathouse with kayaks, a rowboat, and canoes,
a ping pong table and ancient bowling alley,
and living treasures — lady hat pins, water lily blooms,
spotted frogs, hidden creeks, celery grass,
and a chance meeting with a woman
dwelling on an island in the middle of the pond.
For a time worries recede and I am at peace,
grateful for these moments
when Mother Earth embraces me
and rocks me in her
sights, her scents, her sounds.
by BHW 2 Comments
Slowly we greet our bodies from toe to crown,
feel the strength of our roots
stretching deep into the earth,
grounded, stable, secure,
as we sway side to side.
Moving to the sacral chakra
we are both the beloved and the lover,
open ourselves to giving and receiving,
freely, naturally, gently.
We find our warrior selves and
roar with power, try out new stances,
announce who we are to the world
loud and clear.
As tall grass touched by an ocean breeze,
we softly sway to and fro
moved by the waves behind us
and open our hearts to all beings.
From twigs and branches we
build a fire, circle it, and
dance delightedly as it sizzles and cracks,
following then leading in our own unique ways.
At last we rest, melting into the floor,
and give thanks to our bodies,
grateful for what they have enabled us to do,
aware that they are always with us,
that we are one with the world.
With gratitude to our leader, Martha T.
by BHW 4 Comments
Walk in silence and with each step,
breathe in, breathe out.
Feel the weight shift.
Listen, smell, touch.
Soft moss, hidden pond, gentle breeze,
orange mushroom and
ruffled lichen,
a hidden bench.
Trust that your flame will find the way.
Cease grasping and
absorb silence,
compassion, peace.
untangling the web