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Posts Tagged ‘falling’


 
we discover that falling in the canyon is our initiation
—Mark Nepo, “The Life After Tears”
 
 
I didn’t land. I fell and I fell and I fell.
At first as I plummeted, I feared the landing,
imagining an imminent crash. Then,
I fell through nights and middays. Fell through
kitchen floors and highways. Fell through
birthdays and Saturdays. Fell until the sense
of groundlessness was so familiar it no longer
felt like peril. I don’t know when I stopped falling.
There was no splat. No splash. No crushing of bones.
No sense of arrival. In fact, I am not certain
I am done with my falling. But I do know now
the falling is not something to be feared.
Not that we grow wings. This is not about flying.
It’s about falling. About meeting the gravity
and feeling its force and letting it carry me
in ways I have never before let myself be carried.
Now I know that the canyon of grief is
just another name for living the fullest life.
The reward for the falling is to no longer
expect a reward. The reward of falling is to
learn to not resist the falling. The reward of falling
is to feel how grace falls with us as if holding
our hand, like a teacher, like a friend.

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Lucky 


 
No, I didn’t just fall,
I flew. Stubbed my toe
while walking down
the knobby, steep path,
and I flew, did a somersault,
too, and my hat and glasses
fell off, and I landed, sprawling,
somewhat upside down
on the trail and what
is a human to do
but leap up and be grateful
all those big, heavy stones
are in the path and not
in my pockets, grateful
that bruises will heal,
grateful leaping up
was an option this time.
Not that one plans
to fall, but isn’t it strange
how a mistake can
sometimes make you
feel lucky, not lucky
to fall, but lucky to
be able to move
through the world
at all.

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Fearless

One day, perhaps, I will be as fearless
as I was last night in my dream—
when I went careening over the high cliff,
and as I entered free fall, I thought,
wow, this is it, you really did it this time—
and as the air rushed past my face
I thought If these are your last few moments,
can you choose to enjoy them?
In every other dream of falling,
I fell into fear, a deep clenching.
But this time my arms unfurled full length,
my legs spread, my eyes widened,
and I gave myself to the falling.
God, I was free.
When I landed face first on a rooftop,
I was, for a time, motionless, bruised,
breathless, and then, sweet miracle,
thrilled by the fall, I walked away,
so much life in every step.

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Sometimes I need only to stand wherever I am to be blessed.
            —Mary Oliver, “It Was Early”
 
 
There is no lovely way to put this.
It was sleeting. I am not going to tell you
how the gray sky unfolded like a somber rose,
how the misty air softened every dark
and barren thing. It was sleeting.
And slick. And when I fell, it hurt.
A lot. But I got up. I got up.  

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For two hours, I am
more lung than thought,
more legs than loss,
more heart beat
than heart ache,
and so holy alive
as I become rhythm
of push and glide,
push and glide,
pole and swing,
I transform into
a flying thing—
each shift from ski
to sliding ski
a calling on balance
that comes from
the core.
By the time
I ski back to the car,
it’s not that I have forgotten
my loss, it’s just
that every cell in me
now remembers
the dance between
falling and recovery,
falling and recovery—
how it happens
again and again—
how this is the way
we recalibrate
we fall, we recover,
we move forward.

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And there, in the center
of summer, in the center
of the city, surrounded
by high rises and highways,
the boy and the girl who have fallen
in love learn to ice skate—
they glide, haltingly, in circles,
barely managing to stay upright,
but there are some things
that sweet determination
can conquer. Look at them,
learning to move in new ways,
holding on to each other to stay up,
practicing trust even as,
all around them, the world
practices how to fall down.

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Acceleration




Sometimes when I fall long enough,
I stop hoping I will stop falling.
In those moments, when I no longer
wish for the wings of an answer,
or for the solid ground of resolution,
such beautiful surrender
in the dropping through space,
in submitting to the weight
of what it takes to hold a soul.

I wonder if Icarus felt it, too. Perhaps,
if only for a moment, he knew
the rush of air, the thrill of not trying
to inhibit the tumble, the gift of knowing
self as free fall, the skill of giving in,
every prayer coming out as sound of wind.

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This longing to get it right—
to not only find the right path
but to walk it with grace,
without stalling, without stumbling.
 
But the forest is dark and deep
and the paths are many—
and I fall, and in falling,
I stop.
 
So this is what it takes
to notice the beauty of being still,
to see how staying in place, too, is a path,
how falling, too, is a grace.
 
How much easier it is to walk now
when I trust any path I’m on is the right one,
even this one where I fall,
even this one when I don’t move at all.
 
 
 

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Fluency




Stepping off the edge
I began to learn falling
as I would learn to speak
another tongue—
confused at first,
disoriented,
but now the thrill
as I notice
how the new
airy syntax
and unbound grammar
have changed
everything
about the way I think,
everything
about the way
I love.

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I invite you to fall down. Fall down to the earth.

Zenju Earthlyn Manuel, “Darkness is Asking to Be Loved,” Lion’s Roar

 

 

Today, I am fallen tree.

I am deadwood.

Surrender. I am

don’t-try-to-rise.

 

Today is a day to know

what it is to fall,

to be felled, to stay fallen.

To say nothing.

 

Today I am grateful

for gravity that insists,

Don’t try. I don’t try.

I lose any certainty

 

of where my body ends,

where earth begins,
lose myself in dark, loamy scent

of disturbed and open dirt.

 

There will be a day

to rise, to stand, to grow

new leaves that gather shine,

to share. But today is a day

 

to lie on the ground

and lean into loss,

say yes to confusion.

to be torn apart, to listen,

 

to know the only way

to start again is from here.

 

 

 

 

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