Days Inn

back in the day

Days

What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?
Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.

Philip Larkin

“Days” from Collected Poems.

Used by permission of The Society of Authors as the Literary Representative of the Estate of Philip Larkin.

Source: Collected Poems (Farrar Straus and Giroux, 2001)

treelife

knowing trees

Above the mountains
the geese turn into
the light again

Painting their
black silhouettes
on an open sky.

Sometimes everything
has to be
inscribed across
the heavens

so you can find
the one line
already written
inside you.

Sometimes it takes
a great sky
to find that

first, bright
and indescribable
wedge of freedom
in your own heart.

Sometimes with
the bones of the black
sticks left when the fire
has gone out

someone has written
something new
in the ashes of your life.

You are not leaving.
Even as the light fades quickly now,
you are arriving.

from “House of Belonging” by David Whyte

the lives of trees

life of trees

Blue paint

on

black white feathers

and

green leaves.


Touchingly separate

but still

connected.


Rollingly wrapped

 in wood grain

and bark.


Noticing

words

 Inside the Tree Exhibit…


and

downward diamond’s

gazing eyes.

“We think by feeling. What is there to know?”

collage illustration

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.

I learn by going where I have to go.


We think by feeling.  What is there to know?

I hear my being dance from ear to ear.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow


Of those so close beside me, which are you?

God bless the Ground!  I shall walk softly there,

And learn by going where I have to go.


Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?

The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.


Great Nature has another thing to do

To you and me; so take the lively air,

And, lovely, learn by going where to go.


This shaking keeps me steady.  I should know.

What falls away is always.  And is near.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

I learn by going where I have to go.


exerpt from Theodore Roethke’s, “The Waking” from Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke (Doubleday, 1951).

first step

first step

This is love:

to fly toward a secret sky,

to cause a hundred veils to fall

each moment.

First

let go

of life.

Finally,

to take a step

without feet.

Rumi

blue and red

twoBetween…

spirit and matter…

a blue painted feather.

Flying red…

paper worlds

and words

not read

2

birds.

“…think of the bird as a teacher.  Approach it with curiosity and patience, as if it were the most important thing right now.  you do not have to worry about getting it to do something.  The bird invents itself and is not dependent on our conscious egos.  We must give it our time and space, though, if we wish to learn from it.  Allow it to move and change as it desires.  You may have the wish to ask it questions, as that is our usual method of finding out about things.  Sometimes images do talk, but not always.  The important thing is to realize though that it already is what it can convey.  The image is a complete statement in and of itself”.

Mary Watkins, Waking Dreams, pg. 109

shapeshifter

shapeshifterApril

changes

shape

like  a drop

of water

down

a

window pane.

something seen

something seen

Nobody sees a flower really;

it is so small.

We haven’t time,

and to see

takes time –

like to have a friend

takes time.

Georgia O’Keeffe

blue jays and things

Things

 

 

 

There is something I don’t know
That I am supposed to know.
I don’t know what it is I don’t know,
And yet am supposed to know,
And I feel I look stupid
If I seem both not to know
And not to know what it is I don’t know.

Therefore, I pretend I know it.
This is nerve-wracking
Since I don’t know what I must pretend
To know.

Therefore, I pretend to know everything.

I feel you know what I am supposed to know
But you can’t tell me what it is
Because you don’t know what I don’t know
What it is.

You may know what I don’t know, but not
That I don’t know it.
And I can’t tell you. So you will have
To tell me everything.

– R. D. Lang in Knots

Wondering about Wonder

naturalwonders

What is the greatest gift?

What is the greatest gift?
Could it be the world itself — the oceans, the meadowlark,
the patience of the trees in the wind?
Could it be love, with its sweet clamor of passion?

Something else — something else entirely
holds me in thrall.
That you have a life that I wonder about
more than I wonder about my own.
That you have a life — courteous, intelligent —
that I wonder about more than I wonder about my own.
That you have a soul — your own, no one else’s —
that I wonder about more than I wonder about my own.
So that I find my soul clapping its hands for yours
more than my own.

An Excerpt from Red Bird by Mary Oliver

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