putting it in words

when my own words

- read a day
or days
later -

give me chills
i have to take note,
receive this response
and keep writing.

there is a particular listening quality in those whom i write to.
they are most often women
sometimes they are men who have listened to the mystery
and recognize the cadence,
the fragrance,
the hum.

i don't write for them,
that would be presumptuous.
i write for myself
to hear what is down there deep in the silence of this human heart.

oh,
what the heart holds....

we are all listening for it.
this i am sure of today.

we are listening for the heart to have its say.

mary oliver

to pay attention 

is our endless

and proper work.

mary oliver

faith

In the midst of moving and packing and deep yellow

there is, 

in being 
alone,

a silence, 

a meeting.

this is always waiting for me 
to stop.

more is not needed
rather less
and less.

breath moves deeper into the body,
cultivating my faith in stillness;
tending to winter's dark blossoming;
room is made to feel its arrival.

giving thanks

Sometimes I feel I have lost contact with that voice that was rising, 

active in words

Or with that feeling that was rising,

active in color.

I hear other’s voices saying what I am saying

I read passages of wisdom and remember the views I held to be so true.

The expressive nature of the creative has a rhythm.

Rather than doubting its presence,

Now I move with it.

I wake early these days.

I saw the light appear in the dark sky this morning

soon the sun shining on the far mountains, through the trees,

and I was so surprised,

delighted,

to be awake to this day’s beginning.

There are practical things that need to be done

Each move toward them ensures a completion of the task.

I can be practical, too.

I remember walking into a day 

months ago

Feeling the unknown

as formidable. 

Feeling the ever so slight fear of life

And stepping into that day,

Like a doorway it was,

And knowing I had felt courage, too.

There were moments before that, 

Feelings of a shattering of a sort,

The weight of not knowing,

Before it was known as freedom,

of dying while being reborn.

I planted a garden 

And tended it

Slowly at first

Realizing how deeply nourishing that was

To putter in the dirt, to weed,

Just to be there,

Seeing what could be done.

I returned day after day.

the garden grew 

and I tasted freshness again.

I asked myself 

in 2006

…...like yesterday 

it always feels just like yesterday…..

I asked myself

When did being here now begin?

So many fine and awkward movements have spilled me deeper into this life current.

A slight movement 

In any direction

And it’s as if I was always here.

the crone

recognize the crone 

she has been holding this treasure

of herself 

as life

waiting to share it 

with you

in her quiet moving

day by day

night through night.

full moon

the full moon was invisible

cloud covered

i stayed awake and warm

revelation wave

ok, let's ride this wave further
where it takes us is always here
but the way changes.

someone else makes my morning coffee now
he's gotten it right, his way
mine was unpredictable
his way is made for me.

there is no deserving love.
deserving is an impossibility,
a misconception,
a lie.

who could have caused this by doing?
the mirror has simply been cleaned,
and well polished.

just look,
you
revealed
reveling
you are a revelation of love in every form.