As Luna and I ambled around
the pond on this clear, new
morning with grass kissed by
frost, I began reciting out loud
as I often do Wendell Berry’s
The Peace of Wild Things.
At the very moment I
reached “and the great heron
feeds,” a great blue heron
flew the length of the pond.
Was this a coincidence,
synchronicity, or divine plan?
The feel of my own sheets.
Soft pillows without
a rubbery covering.
Luna curled beside me.
Blessed quiet with no
beeping machines, no
wakeups at 3 a.m. for
chest x-rays, or a roommate
with the TV blaring.
No tangle of tubes and
no more poking and prodding.
A daughter who took over
communication with family
and friends. A son who experienced
the trauma of post-surgery complications
without alarming me. The Betty Brigade
bringing delicious food each day.
A husband who changed
the sheets. Sleep, blessed sleep!
Daughters and granddaughter
changing my bandages with
calmness and professionalism.
Quiet visits from my circle of women.
And the list continues to grow.
Oh, do we ever take for
granted the small blessings
of this life. I thought I was
aware of them but this
“unwelcome visitor” has
seared their importance
into my very being and
I am thankful for that.
(But not for the “unwelcome visitor!”)
Enveloping darkness,
and then slowly behind
a bank of clouds a
half circle of light
peeks out and grows
into a full sphere,
signaling another
blue-sky day.
Barely a soul in sight,
walking toward the
rising sun, we make
the first prints in the
sand. On our left
seagrass swaying, on
our right crashing
waves and seagulls.
This is creation.
On a dusty trail framed
by woods, there is a split.
One can choose to go
to the right or the left.
In the triangle formed by
the split are the ruins
of an old log cabin. The
stone chimney still stands
tall and a stone foundation
outlines the room. All
else is gone with no trace
of its former inhabitants.
I wonder who lived there
and when? Was it a
family or perhaps a
bearded hermit who
loved his solitude and
discouraged strangers
from approaching? Or
perhaps there was a
girl who ran wild and
barefoot in the spring
and summer marveling
at the wild flowers and
learning which plants
soothed a stomach ache
or a sore throat or brought
a fever down. I’d like to
think her parents whiled
the dark nights of winter
away telling her tales
about times past. Perhaps
there was a traveling librarian
who came by on her mule
and loaned her books to read.
I picture her curled up
by that old stone fireplace
at night totally lost in the
words on the page. What
happened to her? Did she
grow up to be a medicine
woman or maybe a traveling
librarian herself spreading
her love for books to other
young girls. I will never know
who the inhabitants of that
old cabin were or when they
were there, but my imagination
enables me to make up a
story that lights up my soul.
You dash from the fir tree
to the sideview mirror
of the big red truck by
the lake. You hover, steal
a look, then flit away,
in your excitement,
leaving a memento of
yourself on the door.
On and on you peek
and peck, then dash
away to a branch.
Are you really that
vain or do you see
a potential partner,
shying away when
she gets too close?
I wonder how long it
will take before you
see your error, or will
it end when the fishermen
take out and load their
boats and drive away.
In that moment will
you lament the loss
of a possible love or will
you recognize that you
were seeing yourself?
When the world makes no sense
and I am weary of its horrors,
I close my eyes and imagine myself
in the Blue Ridge Mountains, see
the purple and pinks of its sunrise,
the shadows in its ridges.
I imagine myself where Native
Americans once lived, respected
the earth and its animals, and
I see the wildflowers and plants
used by wise women as medicines.
I look up and see a hawk slowly
swooping in circles and floating
lazily among the clouds. My
body relaxes and my soul is fed.
There is this:
Another shooting by
an angry young man,
bombs falling in Ukraine,
more books banned,
a decision reversed by
men who have never
been pregnant,
acts of hate increasing,
and a budget that
cannot be settled by
pontificating politicians.
And then there is this:
On a cool morning
gentle rain is falling,
soft moss surrounds
an old tree in the woods,
a magnolia blossom
graces a tree on the
side of the road, and
the wood thrush’s throaty
voice calls among
other birds twittering.
Rolling in, rolling out,
breath of the earth,
heart of the earth.
From your depths
life first emerged,
and in your waters
is life still unseen.
You were there
before we existed,
and you will be there
after we are gone.
Rolling in, rolling out,
breath of the earth,
heart of the earth.
Calm and peaceful,
violent and rough,
serene and flat,
white-tipped and choppy,
murky and sandy,
clear and blue.
Breath of the earth
heart of the earth.
I love this poem by my fellow blogger LuAnne Holder and hope you do too.
It is reprinted with her permission.
Posted on by LuAnne Holder
I ask
When do I begin?
When is it time to stop?
When will we slow climate change?
When will there be peace?
Yet, When implies a future
I should live here Now
In the Now I can’t predict
if a third world war may come or
if climate change will annihilate the planet or
if AI will take over human life
Now allows me, however, to
take steps to protect the environment,
spread lovingkindness,
be my own kind of activist,
help others Now
A doom and gloom attitude
is not being here Now;
such an attitude
is being here When
When hasn’t come yet, though,
there’s still time right Now
What would it be like
to start each day with
beginner’s mind? To marvel
at a body that functions
without our control,
that feels and sees
and smells and thinks,
that communicates in a
language developed
centuries before our
births. What would it be
like to see each sunrise
and sunset as a miracle,
each wildflower with
new delight, each
redbud as a wonder, each
bird as a new marvel?
What would it be like
to wipe the mind clean
of all thoughts and opinions,
to see the spark of the
divine in everyone and
everything we meet,
and act from a place
of love? Just imagine
what it would be like
to start each day
with beginner’s mind.
Inspired by the daily meditations of Richard Rohr
untangling the web 