Reflections

Category: Poetry

Filter

“The Still Heart That Refuses Nothing”

Lake and Maple  I want to give myself utterly as this maple that burned and burned for three days without stinting and then in two more dropped off every leaf; as this lake that, no matter what comes to its green-blue depths, both takes and returns it. In the still heart that refuses nothing, the world is twice-born – two earths wheeling, two heavens, two egrets reaching down into subtraction; even the fish for an instant doubled, before it is gone. I want the fish. I want the losing it all when it rains and I want the returning transparence.

Read More

How Does God Keep from Fainting?

The wonder of water moving over that rock in the stream justifies existence. The swish of a horse’s tail – again I am stunned by the grandeur of the unseen One that governs all movement. I resist looking at the palms of my hands sometimes. Have you ever gotten breathless before a beautiful face for I see you there, my dear. There is a wonderful problem waiting for you that God and I share: how to keep from fainting when we see each other. In truth: how does God keep from fainting looking at Himself all day? Light is moving

Read More

Letting Your Old Life Die

Quietness Inside this new love, die. Your way begins on the other side. Become the sky. Take an axe to the prison wall. Escape. Walk out like somebody suddenly born into color. Do it now. You’re covered with thick cloud. Slide out the side. Die, and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign that you’ve died. Your old life was a frantic running from silence. The speechless full moon comes out now. -Rumi

Read More

Saint Bernard in the fields at Clairvaux. For Hilary.

Saint Bernard in the fields at Clairvaux. For Hilary. That day as the sun set, its afterglow flooded the world with light like the meeting of heaven and earth; then the great bell of the abbey tolled the vesper; the workers in the fields lowered their scythes and bowed their heads or knelt on the sharp stubble; a grasshopper rested on the rough hem of my robe; nature held its breath and knew eternity I listened as the echo of the bell took all my listening, and then was heard no more; but listening remained; the silence became full of

Read More

Remembering Your Name

Either you will go through this door or you will not go through. If you go through there is always the risk of remembering your name. Things look at you doubly and you must look back and let them happen. If you do not go through it is possible to live worthily to maintain your attitudes to hold your position to die bravely but much will blind you, much will evade you, at what cost who knows? The door itself makes no promises. It is only a door. -Adrienne Rich Stop by Creative Liberty to read an interview with me

Read More

On Angels

On Angels All was taken away from you: white dresses, wings, even existence. Yet I believe in you, messengers. There, where the world is turned inside out, a heavy fabric embroidered with stars and beasts, you stroll, inspecting the trustworthy seams. Short is your stay here: now and then at a matinal hour, if the sky is clear, in a melody repeated by a bird, or in the smell of apples at close of day when the light makes the orchards magic. They say somebody has invented you but to me this does not sound convincing for the humans invented

Read More

Here and Now

Getting There You take a final step and, look, suddenly You’re there. You’ve arrived At the one place all your drudgery was aimed for: This common ground Where you stretch out, pressing your cheek to sandstone. What did you want To be? You’ll remember soon. You feel like tinder Under a burning glass, A luminous point of change. The sky is pulsing Against the cracked horizon, Holding it firm till the arrival of stars In time with your heartbeats. Like wind etching rock, you’ve made a lasting impression On the self you were By having come all this way through

Read More