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Posts Tagged ‘awareness’

 
Only when I open the gates of my attention
do I notice the small green shrine in the leaf 
as it trembles in the breeze, a sanctuary
so vibrant I can hardly believe I almost
missed it. And then, gates open, I see them
everywhere: the delicate pink shrine 
of the wild rose, the quick streak of shrine 
of the rooster as he races across the yard, 
and there, at the edge of lawn beside the road,
the heart-leafed shrine of a volunteer sunflower, 
its stalk upright, its bud still tight, and all around it
the lines where a mower clearly adjusted its course 
so the sunflower might continue to grow. How I smile 
then, knowing someone else was a pilgrim here first, 
how their actions helped me, too, find my way to the holy. 

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millions of small miracles
bring me to this morning
beside you

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I am learning to notice them. Easier
to be attentive when I’m being bitten;
easier to focus on the sharp, quick sting.
Harder to observe the spans of time
when my skin feels nothing but air.
How is it moments of ease disappear?
 
I want to practice witnessing peace,
to fully inhabit the time between slaps,
want to rest in the gaps when all is well.
There. I will build a nest there.
 
 
I wrote this poem based on a prompt from James Crews in his Weekly Pause. You can find his poem, the prompt (and subscribe) here.

PLUS, James and I will be doing a program together next week:

Stubborn Praise with James Crews
Tuesday, August 27
5:30 p.m. mountain time
Zoom
 
Please join beloved poet and anthologist James Crews and me for our next conversation and reading around the theme of Ripening Into Being. The event will be recorded. There’s a small cost. Sign up here, and we hope you’ll join us for this heart-centered and soulful conversation!

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Today it slipped into my daughter,

the seed that all is not right in the world.

 

In a matter of hours, already

the tap roots had grown beyond

 

my ability to pull them out.

I wonder if I have been wrong

 

to keep her garden so tidy.

I wonder how to best teach her

 

to tend her own rows.

It will be endless now,

 

the onslaught, as every gardener knows.

And there is some pleasure in tending.

 

I think of how I would rather

be aware of all that grows.

 

I think of how sometimes

we change our minds

 

about what is wanted

and what is a weed.

 

Some part of me longs

to swing the sun back to yesterday.

 

Some part of me rejoices

that now all the world

 

is her garden.

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One Stuck

 

 

 

unable to find

a door to escape, I close

my eyes and find

I am the door

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Step One

After dragging
those heavy things
on its back
for miles and miles
across the desert
at last the bird
looks up and says
something’s not
quite right about this
pilgrimage.

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Two Together

I want to write
my way out of this feeling.
The feeling wears its best leaden shoes.

*

Though she is a breath
made of stone, she notices
how yellow the jonquils.

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It was no wolf
in grandma’s kerchief
that tricked me,
but I thought
it was I who opened
every door, thinking
I knew what was
behind it. Now
I watch as doors
I never knew were there
open themselves,
come unhinged,
fall off.

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inside that sigh
migrate a thousand thousand
butterflies

*

what’s quiet
is still quiet behind
the barking dog

*

I fall asleep
aware of part of me watching
the one who sleeps

*

these arms
not reaching
but waving

*

poor woman
stopping long enough to smell
the juniper berries
only because
she has to pee

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four

lugging a tree, I
try to walk through a gate the
shape of a woman

*

you gave me rings of
keys, but the one that fits my
cage is in my hand

*

tears and more tears,
this house built so close
to the water

*

walking beside the
river I notice the one
beside the river

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