My online journal sharing interests in photography, nature, coffee life, journaling, fountain pens, bicycling, spirituality and asking deep questions.
reading in the quiet of predawn
ms
leads to reflection and contemplation
…the gift of this day
our soul needs these rituals
as we offer our limitations and gifts
…the gift of this day
in these sacred moments we discover
in the ground of our very being we are love
…the gift of this day
after last night’s dusting of snow
ms
and black ice everywhere this morning
slowly made my way to starry night
ordered mocha latte and scone
grateful for steven’s latte art
showing off, again….
wrapped in my blanket in the predawn darkness
ms
I read and meditate on words which
become seeds for my soul and mind
the new day offers a dusting of snow outside my window
so after my quiet time I bundle in warm clothing and
grab my backpack to venture to the coffee shop
am greeted by early-to-rise baristas as I enter the door,
they make my favorite, an Old Town mocha, extra hot,
perfect on this bleak and wet day
notice beads of water forming their own worlds
on the patio chairs warning me to sit inside
on this wintery sunday morning
changing season
ms
was it the red or yellow
that caught my eye
The sign says “No Fishing”
ms
but…
if you look around
there are signs that people
do not read signs.
Praying
Mary Oliver, from her book Thirst
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
The Journey
Mary Oliver, from Dream Work
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.
I usually read one or two of Mary Oliver’s poems when I go to bed. This poem called The Journey, kept me awake the other night so maybe I need to rethink that routine. Anyway, the poem rocked me because it’s asking questions that I’m still asking myself at 72 years of age. It’s about transformation of an inner journey. So, it is asking if I’m willing to take all the risks involved, if I dare listen to the voice within, to face a death of some kind, to let go to something I’ve outgrown and the birth of a new self. It’s about learning to trust myself, about leaving the bad advice and demands of other people behind and even the voice of my own insecure egoic self, and to follow my own instincts, my own path in life. What does it say to you?
Today is my 72 birthday. I will most likely spend some time with my feathered friends at one of the natural areas, have a mocha or chai, get in some reading and journaling time. Basically, I’ll continue to spoil myself, even at this age.