snow covered blossoms
mws
lifegiving blanket of white
morning’s delight
morning’s delight…
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To be nobody-but-yourself…
Self-portrait at Pineridge Natural Area A poet is somebody who feels, and who expresses his feelings through words.
E. E. Cummings
This may sound easy. It isn’t.
A lot of people think or believe or know they feel — but that’s thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling. And poetry is feeling — not knowing or believing or thinking.
Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel. Why? Because whenever you think or you believe or you know, you’re a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself.
To be nobody-but-yourself — in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else — means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. -
Storm Clouds
Storm clouds May 2021 Breathe in, breathe out,
Julia Fehrenbacher
breathe until you feel your bigness,
until the sun rises in your veins.
Breathe until you stop needing
anything to be different.I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
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Embrace living…
Life isn’t something you leave home to do. It’s what you accomplish within the walls of your haven. That’s what allows you to greet the world with an open heart and reach out and embrace living in all its richness, variety, and staggering wonder.
Richard Wagamese, EmbersOne way for me to greet the world with an open heart, then reach out and embrace living in all its richness, is setting aside time to put pen to paper in my journals. I find it a great way to begin the new day, as well as end the day, while staying in this present moment. Hope you had a good day and I hope you stagger in wonder tomorrow!!
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Only the meadow remains…
This morning’s sunrise at Pineridge Natural Area In the early morning hours
mws
I sit in silence with the meadow and
allow her to embrace me.
I share the dawn of this new day
while listening to the owl’s cry
echo through the meadow.
This shared intimacy with the meadow
has a way of giving birth to new life
in the ground of my being.
… I am, therefore, never the same!
And, I hear in this sacred place
an unspoken invitation to return again
each time bringing an awareness that
each short visit is but a passing moment.
So, whenever and while I still can
I will sit with the meadow
until only the meadow remains.1This was inspired from a poem written by Li Po (Zazen on Ching-t’ing Mountain) in the book Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems. -
Gratitude Lists
A few years ago I began the practice of writing out a gratitude list. Usually the final paragraph in my journaling for the day. This morning my journaling began with a list of “what if” questions. What if people were to start making a gratitude list each day, making it a routine just like brushing our teeth? What if it consisted of just one gratitude for the day? How would our view of life change? Would we spend less on unnecessary stuff if we made such a list? What if we wrote it down, putting pen to paper, and not just let it rumble around in our head? I know from my own experience that I was prone to make a list of what I wanted rather than a list of what I already have. And, because of that I was seldom in a place of gratitude. I write gratitude lists.
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Live in Open Space
a grove of barren trees
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in a snow covered pasture
thrive in open spaceAfter peaking Bingham Hill you drop into this lovely lowland meadow that always gives me some good vibes. Maybe it’s because it’s an open space. There is no invasion of a housing development, warehouse or mall to take the view away. So, yesterday morning I needed to stop and capture the open wintery scene. Enjoy your weekend!!
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How Well We Love
When all is said and done,
Steven Charleston, Spirit Wheel
The only true measure of our lives
Is how well we loved.
How well we gave love, received love, shared love,
Protected love, created love.
Nothing else will matter when our turn comes
To make the final journey—
Only the love we were will linger.
Only love will still speak our name
In the hearts of those we embraced.
We were made to love, you and I,
Made so by the author of love
Made in the image of love to be the love we are.We had a light dusting of silent snowfall during the night. However, along with the snow comes the cold temperatures, 23 degrees. I made my way to the coffee shop for an Old Town Mocha made by Winter. It was rather quiet in there this morning. People must have slept in. I drove around the CSU Oval on the way home and snapped this photo for the blog. Hope you have a wonderful Superbowl Sunday.
