As I typed the title for this poem, my fingers kept keying in “medication” rather than “meditation” (just did it again – three times in a row!) I think that speaks volumes in itself.
Meditation for the day
Be still and know
the Unknowable Source of all Being
Be still and know
all being
Be still and know
the source
Be still and know
the unknowable
Be still and know
Be still
Be
Known
This is harder than it looks – so hard in fact that some days it is beyond our ability, though never beyond our capacity.
Graceful
to accept is to receive, to make a place in our
lives for that which is given, even when
it does not seem like a gift
Odd as it seems, this is a long poem for me. The first draft was shorter and much more dense and terse, but I feared it would be too opaque. Now I worry I may have gone too far in the other direction – did I draw this out too much? What do you think?
Precious
When she began looking, she was in high
spirits, cheerful and confident that it had simply been
mislaid. After sifting through clutter on table
and counter, she paused to consider when she had seen
it last and where.
She retraced her steps through several
rooms, spottily, not quite certain
which day was which, their sameness
as sad as it was bewildering. And still she believed
it would turn up.
She moved every piece of furniture, discovering
all manner of things lost but not at the moment
desired. She saw her cleaning had been lacking in certain
areas but did not allow herself to be distracted
by the shame.
Breathing steadily to quell
the panic she felt bubbling along the edges, she turned
all the rugs, shook them clear of dust
and hair and other small bits from shoes
and life.
At length she dropped to her knees
without hope in the center of the smallest
room in the house. A sob tore from her throat
as she glimpsed a metallic glint
beneath a baseboard.
Two novels I grabbed at random to read this summer feature works of Shakespeare as a motif. Coincidence? I think not.
Improvisation
There is no script, but the structure remains
obvious: deep darkness sets one act
apart from the next and even though the scene
changes are not always so clearly announced, everyone knows
when the action shifts. The trick to surviving
so much uncertainty is to trust the ensemble, the wit
and timing of the other players. This is also, not
coincidentally, the most difficult part.
As one who finds joy and deep meaning in cycles, I delight in the many ways we humans keep track of and celebrate the passage of time. I follow several different calendars and cherish them as interweaving lenses through which to see my life. Some days the view takes my breath away.
Upon leaving my firstborn at college
This is what it was about all along – the hopes
and prayers, the planning and wondering
where you would go and what you might
do. Eighteen years – more than that, really,
when you count the long, slow months in
utero and the decision before that to get off
on the parenting side of the fence and see
what would happen – all those years of work
and I still feel wholly unprepared.
The Daily Compost 