My online journal where I share my interests in photography, nature, journaling, fountain pens, bicycling, coffee life, spirituality and the mystery of it all.
life is to be lived
mws
it’s our gift to the world
so let go, fall freely
and become who we were created to be
It was bitter cold this morning, 7 degrees when I left the condo for coffee shop. Yet, clear blue skies and sunshine dominated the day. Today was winter graduation for some at Colorado State University so it was hectic around campus and a good reason to stay home. Expecting it to drop to 7 again tonight. Thankfully no wind. Stay warm and have a great day tomorrow. Live life!
The gift of a new day (I touched on that in Thursday’s post) always offers the opportunity for something new to experience that will only happen or begin on this day. I’m so much more aware of that than in my youth. So here is a list of some opportunities that pop into my mind as I write this post, which could be totally different next week. It’s short because I’m expecting each of us to add our own.
So, new days are for writing our first poem, begin or finish our autobiography, face the blank canvas of our first painting, bake our first pie and be brave enough to eat it, write our first song or maybe just the chorus, take dance lessons or dance in the rain, find the courage to ask her out for dinner, give our granddaughter her first driving lesson, develop our fist black and white print, watching our first sunrise in the desert in a state of awe, running our first marathon or accepting the fact it ain’t gonna happen at this age, begin a new adventure as we are never too old, plant a vegetable garden, learn to ride a horse or a unicycle or snowboard, and the list goes on and on….
Now through the white orchard my little dog
The Storm by Mary Oliver
romps, breaking the new snow
with wild feet.
Running here running there, excited,
hardly able to stop, he leaps, he spins
until the white snow is written upon
in large, exuberant letters,
a long sentence, expressing
the pleasures of the body in this world.
Oh, I could not have said it better
Winter weather is the word for the day, receiving the 3-4 inches promised. It is loaded with moisture and making road conditions bad. It was 18 degrees at about 8:30 am and not expecting to be above 22 degrees. I call that cold and the perfect day to stay in and eat leftover vegetable soup, unless your Mary Oliver’s dog.
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
meandering gently through the meadow
ms
along the water’s edge
being present to all that’s around me
encountering this wasp on a milkweed leaf
sharing this world with them and
wondering, who’s watching who
Everything is His.
Mary Oliver, Musical Notation: 2
the door, the door jamb.
The wood stacked near the door.
The leaves blown upon the path
that leads to the door.
The trees that are dropping their leaves
the wind that is tripping them this way and that way,
the clouds that are high above them,
the stars that are sleeping now beyond the clouds
and, simply said, all the rest.
When I open the door I am so sure so sure
all this will be there, and it is.
I look around.
I fill my arms with the firewood.
I turn and enter His house, and close His door.
The sign says “No Fishing”
ms
but…
if you look around
there are signs that people
do not read signs.
the afternoon storm moved
ms
onto the eastern plains
leaving behind its offering of gifts
a warm golden glow over the foothills
the sweet scent from the rain soaked meadow
a rainbow pointing to the hidden pot of gold
and needed relief from the days heat
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.