We might as well be divine.
—Kate Horowitz, “i tell the ghost of carrie fisher the world is ending”
We might as well be divine.
As masked agents arrive
with guns, curses
and brutal disrespect,
we might as well be divine.
We might as well sing at the edge
of collapse, bring forth the kind
of harmony that calls goosebumps
to arms and hot tears to eyes.
As we march, as we gather,
as we fight for each other,
we might as well be divine.
As rivers shrink and sinkholes
appear and we face water
bankruptcy worldwide,
we might as well share
what is not ours to own.
And be kind to each other.
And praise what good we find.
This is it. It’s like this. Nothing
but now. What we bring,
who we are, this is all.
As tears fall fast and voices rise,
as fear grows thick and viscous,
we might as well be channels for grace,
we might as well be divine.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged divinity, fear, kindness, rising, uncertainty | 5 Comments »
The Art of Truly Seeing: Rilke & Rodin
January 28, Feb. 4, Feb 11. 11 a.m.-1 p.m. mountain time
with cultural historian Kayleen Asbo
recorded
A Meditation and Poetry Retreat for Challenging Times
February 7 & 8, 10 a.m. – 4:30 p.m mountain time both days
With eco-dharma teacher Susie Harrington
not recorded
Thresholds and Doorways: Writing into Life’s Inevitable Transitions
Feb. 26 & 27, 9 a.m.- 3 p.m. and 9 a.m.-noon mountain time
With Circles of Trust facilitator Marcia Eames-Sheavly,
hosted by Center for Courage and Renewal
not recorded
Writing for Refuge: An Online Poetry Retreat with James Crews
March 10, 17, 24, 31, 10-noon mountain time
recorded
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with language from the March on Washington Speech and the Letter from Birmingham Jail
Again we must learn how the destiny
of one citizen is the destiny of all.
We must learn we cannot walk alone.
The American dream of liberty
and justice for all is tarnished and torn
in the name of making our country great.
Where is our beacon? How many
deaths will it take? How much horror?
How much ache? Where is our dignity?
Where is our discipline? Where does
the dream still live? Is it in the icy streets
of Minnesota? In detention cells?
In the bare feet of the monks walking
our highways? In the hand-painted
protest signs all across America
proclaiming “We the People?”
Is the dream still alive in the gaps left
in government documents where words
have been banned, words such as “diversity,
woman, Native American, disparity,
inclusiveness, Black, equality, Hispanic,
oppression, community and immigrants?”
Is the dream in red blood in the snow?
In dried blood on the street? In voting booths?
In hope? Dr. King, you taught us we need not
be saints to make a difference. That like you,
we must show up frustrated and flawed as we are.
That freedom “must be demanded
by the oppressed.” Where is the dream?
Where does it live? How might it rise up
in our streets, recalibrate our minds,
and resonate like an anthem
ringing true in our chests?
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged America, citizen, dream, Martin Luther King | 6 Comments »
They will not write
about how, every
night in sleep,
somehow my hand
found your hand,
or how, before dinner
each night we light
candles and then
say something kind
before we eat.
They will not mention
how you would do
dishes for me and I
would do dishes for you,
nor how I never once
needed to ask you
to wax my skis
because it was
already done.
But more than any
title or degree,
these daily moments
are what shape a life—
these moments that
make us, these moments
that no one else sees.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged daily life, long marriage, moments, obituary | 8 Comments »
Please join me for a very special, open-hearted conversation with Ned Buskirk on You’re Going to Die podcast.
- how loss creates community
- how a writing practice helps us show up
- shifting our creative practice from wanting to be good to be true
- recovering from perfectionism
- the difference between pain we must meet and pain we take on
- the power of reframing our stories with new metaphors
- how trust in a creative practice helps us bring trust to the rest of our lives
And then there’s a very special 15 minute conversation at the end of the episode with the folks behind the scenes on the podcast talking about what is happening now in Minnesota–connection, love, inspiration, fear, and showing up.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged mortality, podcast | 2 Comments »
So much radiance
above the horizon—
glowing pink, deeper pink—
I wanted to gather
it all and keep it,
hold it forever,
but where to
store something
that large? I
gathered all that beauty
in my heart,
my heart, a mockery
of a pocket. Of course
it spilled out. I put
the pink glow back
in the sky. It lit
the whole world.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged beauty, selfishness, sharing, sunset | 4 Comments »
I go walking up a backcountry road
and for ten minutes, a crow flies above
and before me, resting in trees along the way,
as if showing me the way to go.
Someone has made smiley faces out of pebbles
and left them on many large flat stones.
And the orange jeep that passes me
pulls a U turn and Trevor jumps out
and says, “I just wanted to hug you.”
If I knew only this hour, it would be easy
to believe the world is only good.
But I carry in me the certainty
that rupture is part of the whole.
I know cruelty lives in us all.
I know, too, the white truck slowed down
when it passed me, as if the driver said,
walker, I will make sure you feel safe.
I know when I turned not just out but in,
I felt such genuine love for the world.
That love was the strongest proof of all.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged good, inner beauty, walking | 8 Comments »
The more complex the problem,
the more trapped, the more closed in I feel,
the more I learn to trust what is simple,
the way the potato in the cupboard
does the one thing it can do—
it calls on whatever thrives inside itself,
then grows doggedly, awkwardly toward the light.
I want to turn toward the life that lives through me.
Give it all my energy. Offer it back to the world.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged despair, growth, inner resources, potato | 2 Comments »
after reading “The Reassembly” by Isabella Nesheiwat
In the museum of the chest, I find
on a dusty back shelf my old favorite lunch box
with Hollie Hobbie’s picture raised
on one metal side, her big blue
bonnet covering all of her face.
The box is dented from where Donny,
a grade older, kicked it that day
when I walked the shortcut home from school.
He told me Holly Hobbie was for babies.
I arrived home feeling dented, broken, too,
embarrassed to be myself.
I run my fingers over the cool silver latch
and open the lunch box again.
Empty now except for the old story
I told myself about my unworthiness.
Instead of listening to the story,
I listen to the emptiness. Hear my heart
beating true in my blood warm chest.
The heart says, What is infinite in you
survives all brokenness.
I write these words in the dust
on the shelf beside the box.
The museum curator doesn’t chastise me.
She smiles at what I wrote. She nods.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged brokenness, bully, childhood memory, infinite, memory | 12 Comments »