When we endlessly ruminate over distant times, we miss extraordinary things in the present moment. These extraordinary things are,
in actual fact, all we have: the here and now.
Why do we start a new year, with promises to improve?
Who began this tradition of never-ending pressure?
I say, the end of a year, should be filled with congratulation, for all we survived.
And I say a new year should start with promises to be kinder to ourselves, to understand better just how much we bear, as humans on this exhausting treadmill of life.
And if we are to promise more, let’s pledge to rest,
before our bodies force us.
Let’s pledge to stop, and drink in life as it happens.
Let’s pledge to strip away a layer of perfection to reveal the flawed and wondrous humanity we truly are inside.
Why start another year, gifted to us on this earth, with demands on our already over-strained humanity.
When we could be learning to accept, that we were always supposed to be imperfect.
And that is where the beauty lives, actually.
And if we can only find that beauty, we would also find peace.
I wish you peace in 2023.
Everything else is all just a part of it.
Let it be so.
Quote: ‘Life: Poems to help navigate life’s many twists & turns’
by Donna Ashworth (Amazon)
thank you, Gail Spach
“May today there be peace within. May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others. May you use the gifts that you have received and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content with yourself just the way you are. Let this knowledge settle into your bones and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us.” —
attributed to Mother Teresa
Photo by Daniel Mirlea on Unsplash
With gratitude for his insight, I thank Brian Prior who shared this poem
Every single soul is a poem.
Quote: Michael Franti
Image: Christopher Ruel
Justice and Peace meet at the café,
hands folded around steaming cups,
heads bent over the paper.
They are not taking in
the news of the world
with sorrowing eyes
and the clucking of tongues.
They are instead planning their itinerary,
plotting their map,
looking for the places where
they might slip in.
Their fingers touch, release,
touch again as they read,
moving with the half-aware habits
that come only with long living alongside.
They have met, parted,
met again on countless mornings
like this one, torn and taken
They put the paper aside.
They brush away the crumbs.
They talk quietly.
They know there is work to do.
But they order one more cup:
there is savoring they must do before
the saving begins.
They lean in,
across the table for
a kiss that makes a way,
Image: “Meeting” © janrichardsonimages.com
(Blessing inspired by Psalm 85, NRSV—“Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other.”)