There is a road always beckoning.
When you see the two sides of it
closing together at that far horizon
and deep in the foundations of your own heart
at exactly the same time,
that’s how you know it’s the road
you have to follow.
that’s how you know
it’s where you have to go.
That’s how you know.
It’s just beyond yourself,
it’s where you need to be.
Quote: David Whyte, Just Beyond Yourself
Photo by Lili Popper on Unsplash
thank you, Karl Duffy @ Mindfulbalance
I want to know
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you. If you can look back
with firm eyes
saying this is where I stand….
I have heard, in that fierce embrace, even
the gods speak of God.
Quote: David Whyte, Fire in the Earth
The Well of Grief
Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief,
turning down through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe,
will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,
nor find in the darkness glimmering,
the small round coins,
thrown by those who wished for something else.
a friend who carries my story died this morning. Sudden, unexpected he is gone. I carry him into this quiet night, grateful for all we shared and sad for what is no more.
Poem: The Well of Grief in David Whyte: Essentials
Image: Evening on the Isis @David Whyte, Oxford May 2015
To be alone for any length of time is to shed an outer skin.
The body is inhabited in a different way when we are alone than when we are with others.
Alone, we live in our bodies as a question rather than a statement.
Quote: David Whyte, Consolations
Photo: David Whyte’s description — “Looking towards Bee Holme from Ransoms, Low Wray campsite (West shore of Windermere in autumn mist)”
IT HAPPENS TO THOSE WHO LIVE ALONE
It happens to those
who live alone
that they feel sure
when no one else
until the one day
and the one
working in the
when they realize
that all along
they have been
and every kind
and that life
to those who
like the bees
the tall mallow
on their legs of gold,
or the wasps
door to door
in the tall forest
of the daisies.
I have my freedom
and nobody came
to see me,
only the slow
growing of the garden
in the summer heat
and the silence
known at my desk,
with the crumbling
as I write
the first lines
of a new poem
of scarlet fire
coming to fullness
in a clear light.
Quote: IT HAPPENS TO THOSE WHO LIVE ALONE
In The House of Belonging
Many Rivers Press. © David Whyte
Sunday Summer Morning
Photo © David Whyte
May 30th 2016