a path in the woods

I don’t trust the truth of memories
because what leaves us
departs forever
There’s only one current of this sacred river
but I still want to remain faithful
to my first astonishments
to recognize as wisdom the child’s wonder
and to carry in myself until the end a path
in the woods of my childhood
dappled with patches of sunlight
to search for it everywhere
in museums in the shade of churches
this path on which I ran unaware
a six-year old
toward my primary mysterious aloneness


Quote:  Anna Kamieńska, from “A Path in the Woods,“

in-between state…

Anxiety, heartbreak, and tenderness mark the in-between state.
It’s the kind of place we usually want to avoid.

The challenge is to stay in the middle rather than buy into struggle and complaint.
The challenge is to let it soften us rather than make us more rigid and afraid.

 


Quote: Pema Chödrön

Anxiety’s cost

 

May anxiety never linger about you.

May your outer dignity mirror an inner dignity of soul.

Take time to celebrate the quiet miracles that seek no attention.

Be consoled in the secret symmetry of your soul.

May you experience each day as a sacred gift, 

woven around the heart of wonder.

 

Anxiety has lingered much longer than I ever thought it could. These words are a balm, encouraging a smile and welcoming me to this present moment. On reflection, it must have been those quiet miracles that moved me through days, weeks and years when I was unable to focus. 

I’m grateful for a heart of wonder. May I use this wonder to reach out and explore possibilities before me. May I experience wonder’s gift as holy and healing.


Quote: John O’Donohue, from For Presence

Our real journey

 

kylesipple

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.


Quote: Wendell Berry
Photo: kylesipple @Flicker

 

thank you, Karl Duffy

on the eve

“One way or another, we’re all white-knuckling our way toward Tuesday. I’ve probably made too many impulse donations to candidates I believe in, but I regret none of them. My husband, son, and I have written letters and held signs. In our small town, we’ll don our masks and vote in person. Beyond that, my approach during these last days has been to stay outdoors as much as possible. I can’t control the outcome of anything that matters, but I can keep the birdfeeders full. I can sweep out the shed, rake up the leaves, and pull out the petunias. I can stay grounded in the simple, necessary tasks of my own life. And I can look at the sky, at the now bare maple tree, at the snow that covers the ground this morning in a frosting of white, and trust in the forces at work in the world that are far beyond my own limited seeing and my own narrow understanding. One day last week, I rounded the corner of the house pushing the wheelbarrow and was stopped in my tracks by the sight of fifty or sixty robins hopping about in the front yard, a gathering as uplifting to me as the determined crowd of citizens who have showed up downtown every Saturday all through the fall to stand in silent solidarity with Black Lives Matter, voting rights, and democracy. When we looked up from breakfast a few days ago to see a herd of deer just outside the window, they seemed almost like silent messengers sent to remind us that we share this time, this place, with others and that we’re all connected, for better and for worse.”


Quote: Katrina Kenison, from “Our Time” (October 31, 2020)
Photo: Menny Fox, from Mennyfox55

thank you, David Kanigan