"prise the reluctant heart wide open"

This past Friday, I journeyed to see the Sandhill Cranes who take a break from their bi-annual migration in Monte Vista, CO. There is a lovely wildlife refuge just outside of town. A dear friend and I made the hour and a half drive to catch the birds waking near dawn. Their voices were glorious. Thousands of them chatting it up. Perhaps about the chill of the morning air, or whether they would cross the road for breakfast.

We watched as they stirred, and stretched, and danced their crane-dance. Hop, hop, hop - wings expanding, long legs bouncing. Graceful birds. Awkward birds. Slowly small groups would take to the air, their majestic wings welcoming the lift of sky, their voices a chorus of lyrical trumpeting. Here is a poem that recently inspired me...





Anyone Can Sing

Anyone can sing. You just open your mouth,
and give shape to a sound. Anyone can sing.
What is harder, is to proclaim the soul,
to initiate a wild and necessary deepening:
to give the voice broad, sonorous wings
of solitude, grief, and celebration,
to fill the body with the echoes of voices
lost long ago to bravery, and silence,
to prise the reluctant heart wide open,
to witness defeat, to suffer contempt,
to shrink, lose face, go down in ignominy,
to retreat to the last dark hiding-place
where the tattered remnants of your pride
still gather themselves around your nakedness,
to know these rags as your only protection
and yet still open - to face the possibility
that your innermost core may hold nothing at all,
and to sing from that - to fill the void
with every hurt, every harm, every hard-won joy
that staves off death yet honours its coming,
to sing both full and utterly empty,
alone and conjoined, exiled and at home,
to sing what people feel most keenly
yet never acknowledge until you sing it.
Anyone can sing. Yes. Anyone can sing.

~ William Ayot ~

(Small Things that Matter)

So I Began to Sit Very Still

Dwayne VanHoose practicing stillness

So I Began to Sit Very Still

I said to God,
but how can you love me?
I said to God,
I am sorry.
I said to God,
I am sorry but I don’t want to change.
I said to God,
Please.
But I did not know if I meant please help me
or please go away,
please let me be your servant
or please let me be my own god.

I said to God,
I am scared.
I said to God,
All is well.
I said to God,
I see you, everywhere.
I said to God,
where have you gone?

I sought and stopped seeking,
I got down on my knees.
I ran. I hid in my own skin.
I hid in my name.
I hid in my own questions.

I said God,
show me.
I said God,
I’m too small.
I said God,
I don’t believe in you.

I climbed mountains.
I ran. I knelt in the pew.
I read. I listened
with half an ear.

I said, I said, I said, I said
I said too much for God to enter. 



Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
http://ryezome.wordpress.com/2011/02/06/so-i-began-to-sit-very-still/

L - O - V - E

with gratitude to Syed Masood who graciously shared this photo from Pakistan

Happy Valentine's Day everyone! And Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad (tomorrow, the 15th)!

Here is a poem I wrote last year. I dedicate this to all the new daddies of daughters (like my brother and others whom I have been seeing on Facebook!) who will teach them how to dance and be in this world by letting them stand on their toes till they get the moves down (my favorite memory of my dad). I dedicate this to all the mom's who tirelessly hold and sing to their sons who need calming (especially my sister). I dedicate this to all the wannabe mommies and daddies who are working so hard to adopt and give good homes, and to all those who have adopted and are raising children born of their hearts (like Kate, Lis, Chrissy). 

I dedicate this poem to all who love with no apparent show of love in return to remember that we are the result of the love of thousands. It is IMPOSSIBLE to be without some expression of love at some point in our lives. Today I celebrate THIS love - the love that reaches out to us beyond our boundaries of what love is "supposed" to look like. I dedicate this poem to all who have learned to open their heart to the fire of love that purifies us into ever more selfless human beings, caring for each other and for all of life with reverence. May you remember you are loved!

Below it I have a poem by my dear sister friend Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer. I love the tender gratitude expressed in this pure and simple poem about companionship. I dedicate this poem to all who are in this kind of love, putting the work in that it takes to see each other through the challenges. I dedicate this poem to all who dream of such love someday who are putting the work in to BECOME such exemplary companions. Thank you R!

Imagine that

You are the result of the love of thousands.
-Linda Hogan

The love of thousands
can a mind even embrace
such a thought? That love,

not just from obligatory blood,
not only of a few friends here
and there, but thousands.

Even just to be result,
outcome of sweetness
divine in magnitude

that the very life coursing
through our existence
is because of love

suddenly becoming
as us,
as me.


Heather Barron

Sock Monkey Love - my V-day gift from my nephew Gare-Bear

  
When

I say I,
I mean more
than this flesh
that walks around
calling herself by
a name. Somehow,
it’s as if
there are stars
involved, too, and
birds, of course,
and rivers. And
trees, fruit, rye,
and every infinite
shade of sky.

And when I
say love, it’s
a single syllable
trying to carry
the weight of
something weightless. That’s
no easy task.
I mean that
you are the
silence that links
every word to
every other word,
and you are
the song inside
my every hum.
That is wildly
insufficient.

And when I
say you, I
mean the vulnerable
you, the broken
you, the lost
you. I mean
the you when
you first wake
up and the
you when you
stub your toe.
And the shining
you, the funny
you, the you
who would cleanse
my eyes with
warm compresses when
I have pink
eye, the you
who is utterly
indefinable in three
word lines and
this attempt is
also wildly insufficient.
Is it any
wonder I kiss
you every chance
possible, oh you? 

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
http://ryezome.wordpress.com

FIre

Eating this one up right now, or rather allowing this fire to consume me and burn away all my impatience, distrust, fear of the future, and any other limiting beliefs that try to tempt me away from this perfectly wonderful present moment...
 

Fire

What makes a fire burn
is space between the logs,
a breathing space.
Too much of a good thing,
too many logs
packed in too tight
can douse the flames
almost as surely
as a pail of water would.
So building fires
requires attention
to the spaces in between,
as much as to the wood.

When we are able to build
open spaces
in the same way
we have learned
to pile on the logs,
then we can come to see how
it is fuel, and absence of the fuel
together, that make fire possible.

We only need to lay a log
lightly from time to time.
A fire
grows
simply because the space is there,
with openings
in which the flame
that knows just how it wants to burn
can find its way.

~ Judy Brown ~

(Leading from Within, ed. by Sam M. Intrator and Megan Scribner)

Time Enough - a poem

Time Enough

“When God made time, he made enough of it.”
            Good Earth tea bag


Perhaps on the seventh day
when God rested, he had not
yet considered that there

would be modems and email.
Could he have foreseen error 17099?
Did he know of null paths? Could

he anticipate the long, long wait while
the Microsoft phone lines connect
to India and reconnect to Novia Scotia,

where a stuttering agent named Andrew
eventually answers my call only
to tell me that the case number

I’ve been assigned does not exist?
God surely didn’t think all this would all happen
as my two-year-old daughter wakes

up from her nap, early, and needs to pee.
Immediately. Surely he did not plan
on my neighbors arriving to pick up

some things just as Andrew walks
me through Accounts and Tools
and Preferences. But he probably did

send Rumi, who pushes me from
the keyboard with an easy grin and says,
“When the moment cracks open, ecstasy

leaps out. You will come to see
that all evolves us.” And he hangs up
on Andrew and leads me to the window

to see how the snow is still falling
as it has been all day. And the field
deepens. The little girl, untended, cuts

my to do list, of course, into tiny pieces
and throws them around the room.
You can’t do much but laugh then,

and make some hot tea,
dark and full with Indian spice.
Another day. Another night.


*with Rumi quotes from Daniel Ladinsky’s translation of “That Lives in Us”
By Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, Poetess Extraordinaire (http://ryezome.wordpress.com/)

Trust That Which Looks Devastating

Olive growing from a fire-scorched tree in Samos, Greece

A man was breaking up soil

when another man came by, "Why 

are you ruining this land?"

"Don't be a fool!  Nothing can

grow until the ground 

is turned over and crumbled.

There can be no roses 

and no orchard

without first this that looks devastating."

"The Illuminated Rumi," translated by Coleman Barks

Oh

Oh

One morning I noticed
that I was looking
somewhere else

thinking, There.
There is my path,
the one I should

be on. There the path
I have dreamed of.
The path that was

promised me.
The path I once thought
I was on. I can’t say

exactly whose voice
it was that said
Here. But I began

to notice my feet
were under me
and my path was

this exactly this tangle,
this lostness, this
wherever I happen to be.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

http://ryezome.wordpress.com/

Patiently to Trust Our Heaviness

Great Blue Heron taking flight over the Mississippi River

 

Trusting my strength and the rock

II, 16

How surely gravity's law,
strong as an ocean current,
takes hold of even the strongest thing
and pulls it toward the heart of the world.

Each thing -
each stone, blossom, child -
is held in place.
Only we, in our arrogance,
push out beyond what we belong to
for some empty freedom.

If we surrendered
to earth's intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.

Instead we entangle ourselves
in knots of our own making
and struggle, lonely and confused.

Reaching new heights

So, like children, we begin again
to learn from the things,
because they are in God's heart;
they have never left him.

This is what the things can teach us:
to fall,
patiently to trust our heaviness.
Even a bird has to do that
before he can fly.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~

(Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God,
translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)

Preparing to leap

Trusting my heaviness and soaring

 

  

Don't Surrender Your Loneliness So Quickly - Hafiz

Don’t surrender your loneliness so quickly.
Let it cut more deep.
Let it ferment and season you
as few human or even divine ingredients can.
Something missing in my heart tonight
has made my eyes so soft
my voice so tender
my need of God
absolutely clear.
–Hafiz

For a New Beginning

 I am hearing that many people feel they are at major junctures in their lives. Many endings and beginnings. Some rough and some exciting, full of promise. I came across this poem by John O'Donohue, one of my favorite writers, that really speaks to this. I love the notion that all along we are being prepared for the changes that await us:  

This beginning has been quietly forming,

Waiting until you were ready to emerge. 

How beautiful to feel Life watching and waiting for the moment when we finally let go enough to receive all the beauty and joy and strength and grace that is here just waiting for our willingness to be transformed. May we feel this sense of being cared for and prepared each step of the journey.

For a New Beginning

In out-of-the-way places of the heart,
Where your thoughts never think to wander,
This beginning has been quietly forming,
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire,
Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,
Noticing how you willed yourself on,
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the gray promises that sameness whispered,
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,
Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream,
A path of plenitude opening before you.

Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life's desire.

Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.

~ John O'Donohue ~

(To Bless the Space Between Us)

Getting There

You take a final step and, look, suddenly
You're there. You've arrived
At the one place all your drudgery was aimed for:
This common ground
Where you stretch out, pressing your cheek to sandstone.

What did you want
To be? You'll remember soon. You feel like tinder
Under a burning glass,
A luminous point of change. The sky is pulsing
Against the cracked horizon,
Holding it firm till the arrival of stars
In time with your heartbeats.
Like wind etching rock, you've made a lasting impression
On the self you were
By having come all this way through all this welter
Under your own power,
Though your traces on a map would make an unpromising
Meandering lifeline.

What have you learned so far? You'll find out later,
Telling it haltingly
Like a dream, that lost traveler's dream
Under the last hill
Where through the night you'll take your time out of mind
To unburden yourself
Of elements along elementary paths
By the break of morning.

You've earned this worn-down, hard, incredible sight
Called Here and Now.
Now, what you make of it means everything,
Means starting over:
The life in your hands is neither here nor there
But getting there,
So you're standing again and breathing, beginning another
Journey without regret
Forever, being your own unpeaceable kingdom,
The end of endings.

~ David Wagoner ~

(In Broken Country)

The Trail - a poem

A poem that flowed from my hike today on this beautiful afternoon.

The Trail

As I wound my way up, down

around the mountain, metranome

of sole to stone and rhythm of creaking

leather, weather teasing with soft,

white flakes, in the midst of blue-grey

evening skies, a slideshow began.

Life flashing before my eyes, not

because I was anywhere nearer to death

but  so alive, vital with the pulsing

of memory after memory after memory,

everywhere all at once, and nowhere

but the mountain holding tight to my feet.

The crunch of day-old snow in shadow,

familiar feel against the rubber of

my boots, and suddenly the show began.

Now I am in the shadow by that lake

just outside of Durango, and now the trek

15,700 feet, rainbows of prayer flags

flapping, now on the descent and the crack

of ice breaking into the drama of avalanche,

tremors under foot, now on the rim peering

into Canada from Mt. Rainier, now soaring

in freefall 10,000 feet above ground waiting

for altimeter to signal my ripcord pull,

now in my beloved’s arms, but this a memory

still to come, this one different, a peace

palpable that I have yet to know in the embrace

of another, waiting for me just over the mountain

just at the end of another chapter, the beginning

of yet another segment of this beautiful journey.

©Heather Barron

Let Yourself Be Danced

My purpose in life is to yield to the rhythm of Spirit, allowing Soul to dance me and Love to flow through me freely feeding the famished affections. The poem below lights me up from the inside. Such ebullience! It also reminds me of a Hafiz poem which I have included as an appetizer. Enjoy and may you allow yourself to BE DANCED.

A fun sidenote about dancing, if you are the follower and you are trying to lead - THAT'S when dancing gets sloppy and messy. So let the leader lead and be a good follower. We are not the dancer, we are the danced!

Every child has known God,
Not the God of names,
Not the God of don'ts,
Not the God who ever does
Anything weird,
But the God who knows only 4 words
And keeps repeating them, saying:
"Come Dance with Me."
Come Dance.
-- Hafiz (1320-1389)

We have Come

By Jewel Mathieson

We have come to be danced

Not the pretty dance

Not the pretty pretty, pick me, pick me dance

But the claw our way back into the belly

Of the sacred, sensual animal dance

The unhinged, unplugged, cat is out of its box dance

The holding the precious moment in the palms

Of our hands and feet dance.

 

We have come to be danced

Not the jiffy booby, shake your booty for him dance

But the wring the sadness from our skin dance

The blow the chip off our shoulder dance.

The slap the apology from our posture dance.

We have come to be danced

Not the monkey see, monkey do dance

One two dance like you

One two three, dance like me dance

but the grave robber, tomb stalker

Tearing scabs and scars open dance

The rub the rhythm raw against our soul dance.

 

We have come to be danced

Not the nice, invisible, self-conscious shuffle

But the matted hair flying, voodoo mama

Shaman shakin’ ancient bones dance

The strip us from our casings, return our wings

Sharpen our claws and tongues dance

The shed dead cells and slip into

The luminous skin of love dance.

We have come to be danced

Not the hold our breath and wallow in the shallow end of the floor dance

But the meeting of the trinity, the body breath and beat dance

The shout hallelujah from the top of our thighs dance

The mother may I?

Yes you may take 10 giant leaps dance

The olly olly oxen free free free dance

The everyone can come to our heaven dance.

 

We have come to be danced

Where the kingdom’s collide

In the cathedral of flesh

To burn back into the light

To unravel, to play, to fly, to pray

To root in skin sanctuary

We have come to be danced

We have come.

Not With Wings - by my beloved Hafiz

 My two favorite lines from the poem below:

O here, pilgrim,
Love
On this holy battleground of life

and

Giving nourishment
To all our tender wondrous spheres.

O here love, O love right here.
Find your happiness, dear wayfarer

Not With Wings

Here soar
Not with wings,

But with your moving hands and feet
And sweating brows -

Standing by your Beloved's side
Reaching out to comfort this world

With your cup of solace
Drawn from your vast reservoir of Truth.

Here soar
Not with your eyes and senses

That turn their backs
On the earth's sweet stumbling dance
Which needs you.

Here love, O here love,
With your mouth tender and open upon your lover,

And with your heart on duty
To the souls of rivers, children, forest animals,
All the shy feathered ones and laughing, jumping,
Shining fish.

O here, pilgrim,
Love
On this holy battleground of life

Where there are bleeding men
Who are calling for a sacred drink,
A gentle word or touch from man
or God.

Hafiz, why just serve and play with angels?
They are already content.

Brew your knowledge well for men
With aching minds and guts,

And for those wayfarers who have gained
The rare courageous thirsts
That can never be relinquished
Until Union!

Hafiz,
Leave your recipes in golden drums.

Tie those barrels to the backs of camels
Who will keep circumambulating the worlds,

Giving nourishment
To all our tender wondrous spheres.

O here love, O love right here.
Find your happiness, dear wayfarer,

With your beautiful lips and body
So sweetly opened,

Yielding their vital gifts upon
This magnificent
Earth.

~ Hafiz ~

(The Subject Tonight is Love - versions of Hafiz by Daniel Ladinsky)

Point of View

In all this discussion about the need for gentling our rhetoric, I like the point I heard on The Diane Rheem Show this morning. A couple of times I heard one of the guests mention that, despite the need for greater respect for each other (which she was clear IS something we need to return to these days), we still need to recognize the  importance of room for dissent in our discourse. 

Our differences are also what make us "great" - homogeneity is not a condition in which life can thrive. In Buddhism, the concept of the "noble friend" is the notion that those who appear extremely different to us, and annoying or even repulsive, in their contrasting preferences, opinions, beliefs or sensibilities, can actually be some of our greatest teachers. And yet there is a way to hold these differences in a less violent, respectful, LISTENING sort of way. The poem below reminded me of the beauty of contrast.

Point of View

And what if it is all about contrast,

that life without distinction

wouldn’t be life at all? Who’s

to say that line black and curved

stone and tapered light – all which look

to be in bold disagreement with the point

they are trying to make – aren’t noble

friends bringing out the best in each

other by being true to themselves?

This evening storm has altered the skyscape

of eternal summer, our illusion of it anyway,

clouds one-upping other clouds layer upon

layer upon ivory upon graphite upon cerulean.

We were just talking about how much

nicer the light for the photo shoot

is this evening than yesterday’s blue-sky

perfection, vacant of contrast, glaring

so full of itself, triumphantly uninterrupted.

©Heather Barron

Let Us Remember - Thank You Dr. King

I must confess, my friends, the road ahead will not always be smooth. There will still be rocky places of frustration and meandering points of bewilderment. There will be inevitable setbacks here and there. There will be those moments when the buoyancy of hope will be transformed into the fatigue of despair. Difficult and painful as it is, we must walk on in the days ahead with an audacious faith in the future.

When our days become dreary with low hovering clouds of despair, and when our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, let us remember that there is a creative force in this universe, working to pull down the gigantic mountains of evil, a power that is able to make a way out of no way and transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows. Let us realize the arc of the moral universe is long but that it bends toward justice.

- Martin Luther King, Jr.

I am Here

I am here
in this desert place
between the seas
because You
have sent me here.

I can be no other place.
I can occupy no other niche,
find myself in no other moment,
than the one You have appointed
me to.

You have prepared that space
to fit me.
And me,
to fit that space...

A synchronicity of design
so intricately carved,
so precisely timed,
that like
key-in-lock
a door opens
and
I am
that
I am...
divinity in humanity...
hand in glove.

Gloves
not of lavender kid,
but
saddle ready.

A workman's
gloves
for Love-calloused hands
willing to be made
useful
in service
to You.   

by Kate Robertson

Where the Mind is Free Without Fear

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection:
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is lead forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action -
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

~ Rabindranath Tagore ~

(Gitanjali)

Nothing But the Whole World to Gain

Nothing But the Whole Wide World to Gain

Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.
—Theodore Roethke


I have wanted to tear down the walls
that fear built, even to shatter the window glass,
so that there would be nothing between us,

no artifice to keep us from meeting,
defenseless me to defenseless you. And I’ve wanted
to take the bare skin away, too, as if even

this human husk is too much in the way
of communion. I have wanted to take you inside
me and to be wholly inside you. Your blood

my blood and your breath my breath.
Is it crazy to say I would erase
myself? Not even a line left

to separate me from you. That’s
how connected I want to be. That’s
how vast I believe we might love—

our atoms comingling, our quarks combined—
that’s what I mean when I say
I am willing to be vulnerable

with you, to collapse all the space
between us and then as one proceed,
to walk and walk with you and never stop.

~Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Rosemerry is a wondrous weaver of words. Please check out her wealth of poetry. She is also for hire and does wonderful "playshops" freeing the poet in every man, woman and child! (http://wordwoman.com, http://ryezome.wordpress.com)

The Place You Are Seeking Is Seeking You

This is the inspirational thought that has shown up on my radar twice within the last 72 hours. Often when we are searching for something - whether it be a job, a home, a partner, experiencing motherhood or fatherhood, freedom, wholeness - when we are looking for these things, we most often approach them in a unilateral direction. We set out as the thing we need is out there and static and somehow we need to "find" it.

What if we understood that when we set out to find anything, with our motive is pure and our intent is for progress, the very thing that we are seeking is also seeking us? Think about it. We set out to find a job that is a good fit for us and the skills and gifts we have to offer. Wouldn't it make sense that the job which could use those same qualities and aptitudes, the workplace that would be a good fit for us would also be served by having someone who is a good fit?

I have been praying with this idea and it has been a brilliant teacher. Thought I'd share some of the love!

Namaste

Motherly Advice

My dear sister-friend Lisa Redfern (talented singer-songwriter of the album pictured above: www.lisaredfern.com) shared this on Facebook today. She found it in a card that her mom had written to her in 1992. In the card her mom, Sandy, a beautiful teacher, artist and mother of 3 phenomenal kids, had listed "Life Advice" for my friend. I was so deeply touched by it, I requested permission to share her advice with you all. Its simplicity caught my breath, and especially since all these years later, it stills sings in such a universal language. Thank you Sandy for the legacy you left for all of us. You are cherished. And so are you, my dear Lisa.

Here is Sandy's sound advice in the nice round number of 10:

1) Begin each day with your favorite music
2) Don't postpone joy
3) Be kinder than necessary
4) Always be on time
5) Take good care of your loved ones
6) Whistle
7) Don't drive on bad tires
8) Learn to make something beautiful with your hands
9) Surprise a neighbor with a hot dish
10) Remember I love you.

***PLEASE NOTE: The wonderful CD design is by the brilliant Holly Strelow: http://www.n8creative.com/ Check both of these luscious, inspiring ladies (Holly and Lisa) out!

Forever Oneness

Forever Oneness,
who sings to us in silence,
who teaches us through each other.
Guide my steps with strength and wisdom.
May I see the lessons as I walk,
honor the Purpose of all things.
Help me touch with respect,
always speak from behind my eyes.
Let me observe, not judge.
May I cause no harm,
and leave music and beauty after my visit.
When I return to forever
may the circle be closed
and the spiral be broader.

~ Bee Lake ~

(an Aboriginal poet)

God Speaks to Each of Us As He Makes Us (for Carol Ann)

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke
From Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy

Endurance - A poem

Endurance

We are here to endure the beams of love.

~William Blake

Rays of kindness so intense

one glimpse could melt the thousand-

year ice of a cruel glare instantly,

beams so strong they hold up the whole

of celestial sky without strain or complaint

as though this is what they were made for,

and they were. And we are

here as mere witnesses to these flames,

here to withstand the sheer delight of it all.

And we will fail. For this sort of love leaves

no survivors.

© Heather Barron

Hope - poem

Hope

Old spirit, in and beyond me,
keep and extend me. Amid strangers,
friends, great trees and big seas breaking,
let love move me. Let me hear the whole music,
see clear, reach deep. Open me to find due words,
that I may shape them to ploughshares of my own making.
After such luck, however late, give me to give to
the oldest dance.... Then to good sleep,
and - if it happens - glad waking.

~ Philip Booth ~

(Lifelines: Selected Poems 1950-1999)

1.1.11

I just wanted to write this date somewhere. What a beautiful start to "the year of awesomeness" as King Fu Panda 2 has invited me to call it! My dear friends Jesse and Gabe Hascall birthed Sadie Delphine Hascall into this world this afternoon. She arrived blessedly early and perfectly on time - in HER time! She will get to write this date for the rest of her life. And it is a date I shall not soon forget for many reasons.

And it was a most wonderful end to the year with the arrival of a precious little boy. Avery joined Lisa-Jean Renton and Scott Redfern in Maine, making them proud parents. He arrived safely on December 27th (I believe).

And so it is. Life escorts us out of the old and gently dances us into the new. How beautiful.

Feeling full to overflowing with how much beauty is held within this world, and also desiring to celebrate Jesse and Gabe, and Lisa-Jean and Scott in their new role as parents, I am moved to share the following poem with them and with all parents (biological or not!). May you celebrate how far you have already traveled together. And may you remember to keep celebrating, always.

Rock Tea

At a hot springs in Sawtooth Mountains
8,000 feet above the level sea,
my two-year-old daughter enters the steamy shallows, and sings
I'm naked! I'm naked! And clings to herself
as if the pink body under her slender arms might slip away.
I do not want her to slip away, not ever,
but I know one day she will. I know
one day she will put on her snow boots
and take up the trail in earnest-and I will call out
I am happy for her, very happy, but sad too,
and hope I will see her again. From the pool's moony wash
she brings me her cupped hands. Rock tea, Papa, you like some?
I cup her hands in my own, and drink. It is delicious, I say,
more delicious than air itself, than life, may I have another?
And perhaps you will have one too? Perhaps, thank you,
In this way, gently over rock tea,
we celebrate how far we have traveled together.

~ Gary Gildner ~

(Cleaning a Rainbow)