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Old 02-17-2020, 06:29 PM   #261 (permalink)
Learning to live again
 
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Love the poem - and perfect picture to go with it.
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You are so much more than the worst thing you've ever done. Fr. Greg Boyle

A little voice deep inside me said, "Hello, I am here." It was a small voice, & sounded as if it were buried underneath the cushions of my couch. It was my soul...I had forgotten it.

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Old 02-18-2020, 04:54 AM   #262 (permalink)
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February 18, 2020

Silk Cord

In the dream the string had broken
and I was trying to
pick out its beads among all others.

The large coral beads,
the beads of turquoise and ivory—
these were not mine.
Carved and ridged with color, burnished, weighty—
my hands passed over them without regret or pause.

The tiny ones,
of glass,
almost invisible against the white cotton bedspread—
these were mine.

The hole in the center
scarcely discernible as different from the bead itself,
the bead around it
scarcely discernible as different from the bed or floor or air—

with trembling fingers
I lifted them
into the jar my other hand cupped closely to one breast.

Not precious, merely glass, almost invisible.
How terrified I was at the thought of missing even one.

While I live, I thought, they are mine to care for.

Then wakened heavy with what I recognized at once
as an entirely warranted grief,

frantic for something plain and clear
and almost without substance,
that I myself had scattered, that I myself must find.


~ Jane Hirshfield

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Old 02-18-2020, 06:31 PM   #263 (permalink)
Learning to live again
 
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How wonderful to be able to express ourselves in that way. Beautiful.
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You are so much more than the worst thing you've ever done. Fr. Greg Boyle

A little voice deep inside me said, "Hello, I am here." It was a small voice, & sounded as if it were buried underneath the cushions of my couch. It was my soul...I had forgotten it.

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Old 02-19-2020, 08:13 AM   #264 (permalink)
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The world is full of bodies. It’s a happy thing and they should all be loved. Human bodies, raccoon bodies, blueberry and limestone bodies are the shapes we take when we want to be seen. How curious we are when we wake up and find ourselves in one of these new homes. The feel of snow, which we faintly remember, also the smell of wind, the sunshine’s sweet taste. Sometimes I forget which body I’m in, like now, as I rest on my favorite log, an old aspen near Muddy Creek. The log, warm in the spring day, seems to lose more weight each year. It is dissolving as it dries. Before long it will be light enough to lift off the ground, rise past the treetops and into the sky, leaving behind the reminder that we are meant to spend our whole lives trembling in anticipation of the next instant.

~ Tom Hennen

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Old 02-19-2020, 08:25 AM   #265 (permalink)
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Thank you, honey pig, for this beautiful thread.
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Old 02-19-2020, 02:26 PM   #266 (permalink)
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Gorgeous!
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~Mary Oliver
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Old 02-20-2020, 05:31 AM   #267 (permalink)
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Birthdays Like Chanterelles in Golden Light

Sonnet for a friend, on reaching 70

Some days, they crop up right in front of you.
Easy. Quick. Done. And once you find one, there,
and luck is with you, here, another one pops into view.
You just can’t help but move toward where they are.
Some days, the foraging bewilders you—
the uphill trudge, the path unclear, dried leaves
of seasons past like waves you’re wading through.
But then you navigate between the old-growth trees
and make your way toward undiscovered treasure,
where northern evergreens have raised their needles up
to stitch the treetops and blue sky together
to knit a shawl of open weave that lights you up,
and all at once, you see the search for what it is—
a chance to find yourself, aglow, in old familiar woods.


~ Mary Elder Jacobsen

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Old 02-21-2020, 05:47 AM   #268 (permalink)
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February 21, 2020

Climbing the Golden Mountain

. . . and silence is the golden mountain.
—Jack Kerouac


Listen. Turn
everything
off. When
the noise
of our lives
drifts away,
when the
chatter of
our minds
sinks into
that perfect
lake of nothing,
then, oh
then we can
apprehend
that golden
mountain,
always there,
waiting for
us to be
still enough
to hear it.


~ Michael Kiesow Moore


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Old 02-21-2020, 03:32 PM   #269 (permalink)
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Quote:
then, oh
then we can
apprehend
that golden
mountain,
always there,
waiting for
us to be
still enough
to hear it.
Fabulous, as is the picture. You bring such light here, HP, thank you.
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~Mary Oliver
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Old 02-21-2020, 06:13 PM   #270 (permalink)
Learning to live again
 
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Exquisite - and timely. Thank you so much.
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You are so much more than the worst thing you've ever done. Fr. Greg Boyle

A little voice deep inside me said, "Hello, I am here." It was a small voice, & sounded as if it were buried underneath the cushions of my couch. It was my soul...I had forgotten it.

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Old 02-23-2020, 04:53 AM   #271 (permalink)
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February 23, 2020

Practicing mindfulness,
I turn into an egret, lifting one leg,
then the other, a slow dancer, concentrating
on what might lie beneath the thin skin
of the pond, pulling all my thought
into the slim needle of my lethal beak.
No guilt. That silver fish is mine. I
am pure, the absence of color, the moon
fallen to earth. Peony petals, plumes
of thick wet snow. Luminous
origami. The clouds echo my name.
When I take wing, there’s my double,
reflected in the water’s gray silk.
Someone ought to draw me, perhaps
an elderly Chinese painter using
a brush made of goat hair or pig bristle.
Embellished on a screen, I will patiently
wade there forever or burst into bloom,
a water lily floating up to the sky.

~ Barbara Crooker

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Old 02-23-2020, 02:01 PM   #272 (permalink)
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Super awesome, Hp. Magnificent words and drop dead gorgeous picture!!
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~Mary Oliver
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Old 02-24-2020, 07:42 AM   #273 (permalink)
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Breathtaking, honeypig. Thanks for the beauty.
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Old 02-25-2020, 08:50 AM   #274 (permalink)
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I'm going to follow Ann's lead w/another Mary Oliver poem. I feel pretty safe in saying that most of us here have felt the cold wind biting clear down to our bones, the sharp stones underfoot, but have pressed on into the dark, walking by such moonlight and starshine as there was...we've been on this journey, too.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voice behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life that you could save.


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Old 02-25-2020, 01:49 PM   #275 (permalink)
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Quote:
But little by little,
as you left their voice behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
I love this part. Good choice, HP, and very inspiring.
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~Mary Oliver
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Old 02-25-2020, 02:29 PM   #276 (permalink)
Learning to live again
 
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Determined to save the only life that you could save. Yes.
So very moving, HP.
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You are so much more than the worst thing you've ever done. Fr. Greg Boyle

A little voice deep inside me said, "Hello, I am here." It was a small voice, & sounded as if it were buried underneath the cushions of my couch. It was my soul...I had forgotten it.

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Old 02-26-2020, 07:52 AM   #277 (permalink)
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I'm going to use Ann's post as a springboard for my own again today--thanks, Ann! This is from Aldo Leopold's "A Sand County Almanac." If you haven't read it, I highly recommend it. If you have read it, then maybe now is a good time to pick it up again. I think I will, now that it's been brought to mind...

Draba

Within a few weeks now Draba, the smallest flower that blows, will sprinkle every sandy place with small blooms. He who hopes for spring with upturned eye never sees so small a thing as Draba. He who despairs of spring with downcast eyes steps on it, unknowing. He who searches for spring with his knees in the mud finds it, in abundance.

Draba asks, and gets, but scant allowance of warmth and comfort; it subsists on the leavings of unwanted time and space. Botany books give it two or three lines, but never a plate or a portrait. Sand too poor and sun too to weak for bigger, better blooms are good enough for Draba. After all it is no spring flower, but only a postscript to a hope.

Draba plucks no heartstrings. Its perfume, if there is any, is lost in the gusty winds. Its colour is plain white. Its leaves wear a sensible woolly coat. Nothing eats it; it is too small. No poets sing of it. Some botanist once gave it a Latin name, and then forgot it. Altogether it is of no importance – just a small creature that does a small job quickly and well.


~ Aldo Leopold

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Old 02-26-2020, 09:14 AM   #278 (permalink)
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Quote:
He who searches for spring with his knees in the mud finds it, in abundance.
I have often said, of nature, that one needs to be perfectly quiet and still to truly "see" the beauty. Even on knees in the mud, the beauty comes through.

I really love what you posted today, HP, spring is in the air...right after the snow storm that is headed our way.
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Old 02-26-2020, 09:26 AM   #279 (permalink)
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We just dodged a big storm, Ann. On Sunday, they were calling for screaming winds and 9 inches of snow on Tuesday/Wednesday. The snow amount kept going down, and now I'm breathing a sigh of relief that it seems to have bypassed us except for a bare little dusting. We did get the fierce winds, though, and I'm really glad there was no snow associated. It would have been a nightmare driving in it, for sure.
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Old 02-26-2020, 06:43 PM   #280 (permalink)
Learning to live again
 
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Draba - we appreciate you.
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You are so much more than the worst thing you've ever done. Fr. Greg Boyle

A little voice deep inside me said, "Hello, I am here." It was a small voice, & sounded as if it were buried underneath the cushions of my couch. It was my soul...I had forgotten it.

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