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.

 

Instructions For Having A Soul

This is remarkable.

"from time to time, let it kneel in a place that is holy,

like the simple cathedral of the willows."

Or your favorite spot in the woods, at the river,

in your vegetable garden, a wildflower patch,

a graveside of a loved one, 

next to a puddle mirroring the sky...

make sure to note your own reflection.

"All it wants is to live, to keep becoming."

Stretch ourselves even the tiniest bit.

Applaud vigorously. 

Keep becoming. 

 Let our inside out once in awhile.

"You cannot save the world but you can

open the window for the trapped wren

in the cellar."

We are the trapped wren in the cellar.

"Read a book to a blind man, to your father."

Is your father the blind man?

If not, find a blind man and read to him.

"Tell a child you do believe her anger."

Listen to your own.  Believe it.

Honor it. Let it teach you.

"Make your life the first life you save."

 

In The Hush

"Nature doesn't ask me to toughen up."

It can be a struggle to stay soft when

the world seems gripped by "strong", 

wrong minded humans, attempting to exert

their will upon the rest of us.

"softness is strength, and

that being deeply human is part 

of belonging here."

And we do belong.  We are a perfect fit

no matter who and where we are.

Stay stubborn.

Stay you.

 

Another Morning

Which is exactly why we must remain stubborn

enough to stay.  

PS:  If Hungary can do it, so can we.

 

Hush

"how do hear the wordless, the wise?

. . . the fresh, the new, the true."

I would also include the timeless,

the classic, the enduringly true.

Not the worn out but the worn in,

the time tested.

". . .hush the blast of noise and ask the trees,

the chickadees to point us inward."

What trees do we listen to?

I'd say all of them...the virgin forests,

the sprout, the seedling, the sapling, the mature, the stump...

as well as the fallen, the decomposing, the burning, the ashes and the absent.

The hush within us is where our truest, most alive self resides.

Visiting there is no easy venture yet worth the effort,

even when it leaves you weepy and spent...

truth can be excruciating,

truth can be exhausting.  

Making your own path through it takes

 everything you have been, 

everything you are and 

everything you are becoming

and alchemizes you into the finest, 

supremely intricate, 

endlessly resilient, 

totally irreplaceable 

truly amazing river of goodness 

you already are.