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Posts Tagged ‘beginnings’


 
 
The whole time I walk in Spring snow and wind
I am prompted by a lovely man’s voice
to repeat many phrases I’ll need in Spanish.
I learn, for instance, to ask how many blocks
I must walk to get to the bank, only to learn
it is closed on holidays but will open
the day after tomorrow. I learn
how to ask if you are good at playing tennis
and insist you are better at playing than I am
(which is certainly true). I learn to say Wednesday
is impossible, but perhaps we can play tennis
Thursday morning because it is a holiday
and we do not need to go to the office.
And, in the midst of learning how to talk about
what our kids are studying in the university,
the lovely man teaches me to say, Es mejor
terminar una cosa antes de comenzar otra—
and I understand I am like the recalcitrant
child in the Spanish lesson, starting out
to be a musician and then deciding to be
an engineer. So often I do not end something
before beginning another. It is not so easy
in this life to draw clear lines. At least
not for me. It seems I am always saying yes
to something new while in the midst
of something else. Like the fact I’m learning Spanish
while still finishing the introduction and end notes
for my next book. Like planning my garden
while still walking in snow. Like loving this world
while I am in the midst of deep grief.
I don’t know how to say in Spanish
there are so many ways to do it right, this life.
What doesn’t live on in matter or in memory?
Doesn’t everything tendril out to touch every other thing?
Haven’t they proven long after a butterfly wing
is done flapping in China it will affect the weather here?
Is anything ever really finished, I wonder,
as lesson twenty five ends and in the snow
has become rain that even now is finding the roots
of the spruce. And all I see as I look around now
are more and more beginnings.   

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weeping beside

the pussy willows—

all those tears

over saying goodbye,

I wouldn’t uncry

a single one

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And suddenly you know: It’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings.

            —Meister Eckhart

 

 

And suddenly you know it’s time

to shovel the drive. For though snow

still falls, at this moment it’s only

 

three inches deep and you can still push it easily

with your two wide yellow shovels.

Yes, it’s time to start something new—

 

though it doesn’t feel new, this

shoving snow from one place to another.

In fact, your shoulders still feel

 

the efforts of yesterday.

But with each push of the shovels,

the path on the drive is new again. At least

 

it’s new for a moment, new until snow

fills it in. Then it’s a different kind of new.

How many beginnings are like this?

 

They don’t feel like beginnings at all?

Or we miss their newness?

Or they feel new only for a moment

 

before they’ve lost their freshness?

There is magic in beginnings, says Meister Eckhart,

and sometimes we see beginnings all around us,

 

a new path, a new promise, a new meal.

A new prayer. New snow fall. A new song.

Is it too grand to call it magic, this new calendar year?

 

Too grand to call it magic, this momentary

clearing on the drive? Too grand to be magic,

this momentary clearing in my thoughts?

 

Or is it exactly, perhaps, what magic is—

something we allow ourselves to believe,

despite logic, despite reason, something that brings

 

us great pleasure, makes us question

what we thought we knew, our sense

of what is possible changed.

 

 

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In One Move

 

 

 

wings cramped

in that nest of last year—

 

rediscovering how to fly

I leave all those twigs

exactly where they are

 

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Before the First Step

 

And again we draw the starting line

and dig for the courage to toe it.

This, too, is a beginning.

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Three Beginnings

just like heaven
–Katie Melua

she said, girl you ain’t
got a prayer, and I thought that’s
a fine place to start

*

odd, all this snow
around, six below, and here
we are blossoming

*

in the bowl, reflection
of sky—kneeling
I drink it

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