Dear Peace

"You are one of the few things left that cannot be purchased,

but must instead be cultivated and shaped over time."

This hurts my heart with the decades spent cultivating

peace in the world destroyed in a rash act of aggression.

We all find ourselves like the Spring Beauty, with 

"mouths searching for the right words to speak or sing."

We are still cultivating and shaping precious peace

whether we're doing so quietly through simple acts

of gentle kindness, or loudly with posters,

phone calls, and solidarity with decency.

Even when it seems futile, we know it is not.

It matters.  We matter.  ALL of us matter.

 

To Be Wild

"Love of nature,

delight in silence,

a voice free to say spontaneous things,

exuberant curiosity in the face of the unknown"?

Sounds like heaven,

sounds like nirvana,

sounds like paradise.

Sounds like Earth as it should be.

 

Inner Acreage

"Sometimes I forget this inner world is there.

I start believing only in the outer world. 

How exhausting life is then."

Don't we all know how mind numbing it is out there.

The more often you set your GPS for your inner terrain,

the easier it is to navigate the journey, right?

I keep setting the GPS against outside interference.

Sometimes, it's agreeable, others, decidedly not.

The practice continues.

". . .when I still. . .I'm out of the way. 

Then everything is the way."

Key phrase being, when I still.

"There are no words there, but look at me,

trying anyway to explain this nothing to do

and nowhere and nothing to experience

which is everything."

This is a life long tendency...it started with

trying to explain eternity to myself in second grade.

". . .like a traveler trying to take a dozen photos

to represent a whole country, only to discover

they're all blank."

Because, no matter how many layers you apply,

you simply cannot capture the majesty and the mystery

of that liminal space where truth and goodness reside.

It's there...it simply refuses to be "proven".

 

Sweet Light

What makes you burn?

Pay attention.

Let it guide your actions.

Some burnings glow beneath those surface

of outrages designed to distract

and temporary tantrums over 

momentary annoyances.

Notice the difference. 

Listen for the deep burnings...

the ones that stay smoldering,

the ones that spark back time after time,

sometimes for decades.

Ask yourself: "if no one you respect

is watching, what would you do?"

Follow that thought.

It matters.

 

Everything

"What is time to the spider knitting her intricate

angles and outlines against the trusting morning sun?"

I love this line...thinking of the spider's legs as 

wee knitting needles spinning the yarn from her saliva

as she weaves her delicate, bullet-proof web.

"Any day is made up of what's spent--

the brief surge and the wane of curiosity,

the stretch to accept the temporary.

Temporary is coming to my attention often

these days.  How fleeting everyone is,

how precious the time they are here.

Luxuriating in who and what crosses my path.

"To kneel and look closely at everything

is everything."

The marvels brought to us by microscopes

and telescopes testify to the human desire

and ability to "look closely".

Yet, the only instruments necessary are our eyes

and/or our imagination.  The wonder of "seeing"

what is not tangible or physical in the moment

is another way of seeing.

Live is everything.  

 

Dear Mother Earth

"dear mother earth,"

because of you...

I notice bluets growing 

amidst thick grass and feel delight.

A cooling breeze 

on a hot day brings a sigh of pleasure.

Bodies of water, of many sizes, always presenting

 a different image are an endless  marvel.

I whoop at my first sighting  of a hummer 

of the season on the honeysuckle.

The return of the bloodroot, the trillium, the trout lilies,

remind me how reliable you are.

You provide more wonders than I can name.

Add on all I cannot name, and all that hasn't been discovered.

Mother Earth, you are not only an astonishing artist;

you are also a supreme provider 

of all things beautiful, intricate, complex, 

nourishing and necessary.

It's a feast of plenty and everyone's invited.

May we celebrate your generosity

by taking great care of you.

 

Enough

". . .enough of the pointing to the world, weary and desperate,

encough of the brutal and the border, 

enough of can you see me, can you hear me,

enough I am human. . .

enough of the animal saving me, enough of the

high [low] water,

enough sorrow..."

She manages to squeeze so many incidents a person

can identify with, it leaves me breathless and wrung out

even to read it.

And then the gut punch of an ending.

"I am asking you to touch me."

What human, animal, plant, rock isn't hungry for touch?

These words shook me deep in my solar plexus.

Deeper yet,  into that cavern of spirit some call a soul.

A place even a surgeon can't find.

Words can do that, I realize.  Bravo to Ada for proving it to me.