We live, we love, and we let go. Again and again. These verses reflect our recent weekly class explorations of mindfulness, equanimity and compassion. [Photo: Nancy Beckerman]
Wind On A Hill (A.A. Milne) No one can tell me, Nobody knows, Where the wind comes from, Where the wind goes. It’s flying from somewhere As fast as it can, I couldn’t keep up with it, Not if I ran. But if I stopped holding The string of my kite, It would blow with the wind For a day and a night. And then when I found it, Wherever it blew, I should know that the wind Had been going there too. So then I could tell them Where the wind goes . . . But where the wind comes from Nobody knows.
At Blackwater Pond (Mary Oliver) At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled after a night of rain. I dip my cupped hands. I drink a long time. It tastes like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold into my body, waking the bones. I hear them deep inside me, whispering oh what is that beautiful thing that just happened?
Timeless (Nalini) Now It is time To give yourself up. Surrender, Abandon all struggle, Thoughts, worries and hopes. Now It is time To be Silent. Be as heavy and still As the highest mountain. Be as light and serene As the delicate flower. Now It is time To listen. Listen in pure silence As if trying to hear the voice of the sun Rising at dawn. Listen to the one who hears And rest in this Timeless equanimity.
The One-Inch Journey (Wendell Berry)
Always in big woods when you leave familiar ground and step off alone into a new place, there will be–along with the feeling of curiosity and excitement–a little nagging dread. It is the ancient fear of the unknown and it is your first bond with the wilderness you are going into.
You are undertaking the first experience, not of the place, but of yourself in that place. It is an experience of our essential loneliness, for nobody can discover the world for anybody else. It is only after we have discovered it for ourselves that it becomes a common ground and a common bond, and we cease to be alone.
And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, no matter how long, but only by a spiritual journey, a journey of one inch, very arduous and humbling and joyful, by which we arrive at the ground at our feet, and learn to be at home.
The Word (Tony Hoagland) Down near the bottom of the crossed-out list of things you have to do today, between "green thread" and "broccoli," you find that you have penciled "sunlight." Resting on the page, the word is beautiful. It touches you as if you had a friend and sunlight were a present he had sent from someplace distant as this morning—to cheer you up, and to remind you that, among your duties, pleasure is a thing that also needs accomplishing. Do you remember? that time and light are kinds of love, and love is no less practical than a coffee grinder or a safe spare tire? Tomorrow you may be utterly without a clue, but today you get a telegram from the heart in exile, proclaiming that the kingdom still exists, the king and queen alive, still speaking to their children, —to any one among them who can find the time to sit out in the sun and listen.