Women at Rest

Poetry Thursday

We are the driving ones.
Ah, but the step of time:
think of it as a dream
in what forever remains.

All that is hurrying
soon will be over with;
only what lasts can bring
us to the truth.

Young men, don't put your trust
into the trials of flight,
into the hot and quick.

All things already rest:
darkness and morning light,
flower and book.

~Rainier Maria Rilke

(Photo by hkvam.)

Poetry Thursday

5am I wake up, rouse the dogs and we head to the woods. I want to blow out their energy. Within minutes of exploding out the car doors, both disappear. Lucy for 10 minutes, Silas for 15. It's not even 6am and already I'm yelling. I hate this. Hate their disappearing, hate my yelling, hate feeling powerless.

"I can't do this," I cry.

I've already said my morning prayers, turning my day over to God. "Is this what I get?" I ask God. "Lost dogs and more anxiety? Fuck that!"

Eventually they emerge from the woods, separately. Silas takes off again. I march Lucy back to the car, lock her in, and with leash in hand set off to find Silas. The good news and the bad news is that he knows this area well. My shouting echoes through the pines, letting him know where I am while he remains oblivious to my need to know where he is.

Another 20 minutes pass and finally I hear the jingling tags of his collar. Finally I see him walking slowly towards me, exhausted. He lays down in a big deep mud puddle and drink-chomps water. On goes the leash. I'm so mad and so relieved I can't talk to either of them. Home at last, I lock us in the bedroom and within minutes we're under covers in our spots -- Lucy in the upper corner between two pillows, Silas spooned against me -- asleep.

I'm tired of my voice. Tired of their barking. So, I've said as little as possible today. Lucy and Silas are tired after their morning expedition, so they've been quiet too. I keep reaching for silence. Keep reaching for solace.

Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End?
by Mary Oliver

There are things you can’t reach. But
you can reach out to them, and all day long.

The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of God.

And it can keep you as busy as anything else, and happier.

The snake slides away; the fish jumps, like a little lily,
out of the water and back in; the goldfinches sing
from the unreachable top of the tree.

I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.

Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around
as though with your arms open.

And thinking: maybe something will come, some
shining coil of wind,
or a few leaves from any old tree –
they are all in this too.

And now I will tell you the truth.
Everything in the world
comes.

At least, closer.

And, cordially.

Like the nibbling, tinsel-eyed fish; the unlooping snake.
Like goldfinches, little dolls of gold
fluttering around the corner of the sky

of God, the blue air.

(Photo by ~K~.)

Poetry Thursday: Daily by Naomi Shihab Nye

These shriveled seeds we plant,
corn kernel, dried bean,
poke into loosened soil,
cover over with measured fingertips

These T-shirts we fold into
perfect white squares

These tortillas we slice and fry to crisp strips
This rich egg scrambled in a gray clay bowl

This bed whose covers I straighten
smoothing edges till blue quilt fits brown blanket
and nothing hangs out

This envelope I address
so the name balances like a cloud
in the center of sky

This page I type and retype
This table I dust till the scarred wood shines
This bundle of clothes I wash and hang and wash again
like flags we share, a country so close
no one needs to name it

The days are nouns: touch them
The hands are churches that worship the world

~Naomi Shihab Nye

For more poets and poetry, visit Poetry Thursday.

(Photo pulse, originally uploaded by amma_maw.)

Poetry Thursday

When I read this poem this morning, I knew it was the one I wanted to share with you today. Reading it reminds me of my Women at Rest & Play Retreat co-facilitator Lisa -- a brave, playful, luminous spirit and friend.

Poetry reveals that there is no empty space.

When your truth forsakes its shyness,
When your fears surrender to your strengths,
You will begin to experience

That all existence
Is a teeming sea of infinite life.

In a handful of ocean water
You could not count all the finely tuned musicians
Who are acting stoned
For very intelligent and sane reasons

And of course are becoming extremely sweet
And wild.

In a handful of the sky and earth,
In a handful of God
We cannot count
All the ecstatic lovers who are dancing there
Behind the mysterious veil.

True art reveals there is no void
Or darkness.

There is no loneliness to the clear-eyed mystic
In this luminous, brimming
Playful world.

~Hafiz

For more poets and poetry, visit the bright new home of Poetry Thursday.

Can You Imagine?

Can you imagine?
For example, what the trees do
not only in lightening storms
or the watery dark of a summer's night
or under the white nets of winter
but now, and now, and now -- whenever
we're not looking.  Surely you can't imagine
they don't dance, from the root up, wishing
to travel a little, not cramped so much as wanting
a better view, or more sun, or just as avidly
more shade -- surely you can't imagine they just
stand there loving every
minute of it, the birds or the emptiness, the dark rings
of the years slowly and without a sound
thickening, and nothing different unless the wind,
and then only in its own mood, comes
to visit, surely you can't imagine
patience, and happiness, like that.

~Mary Oliver

To unwind with more poetry, visit Poetry Thursday and explore the Participants.

(Photo The Yew Tunnel by annicariad.)