for Mabeth
I assumed at its root, it was speaking of time,
related to tempo and temporary,
assumed it was speaking also of place,
as in plateau and plat and platform.
In fact, I had quite convinced myself
the word contemplative was an invitation
to be one with place and time.
I was wrong. It’s related to temple,
which comes from a root for “to cut,”
as in a place cut off or reserved
to be occupied by the divine.
Of course, the divine’s at the center
instead of time.
Oh, this desire to make meaning—
this longing to find the story
that will help me make sense of the world.
The mind will use any trick it can
to think it has a handhold in the mystery.
Meanwhile it leads me astray.
It’s like discovering the map I’ve been using
is the wrong map for the city I’m in.
And now that I have the right map,
one with a temple at the heart of it,
I can begin again.
Posts Tagged ‘map’
Contemplative
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged being wrong, contemplative, knowing, map, thought on March 31, 2022| 15 Comments »
One Invitation
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blank, map on April 3, 2021| 2 Comments »
the new map
life gave me—
a blank page
Advice to Self: Get Lost
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged lost, love, map, move, path on October 27, 2020| Leave a Comment »
To move forward, move forward.
But first, get lost.
Really lost. If you have a map,
burn it. Not that there’s
anything wrong with a map.
But you must recalibrate
the one using it. Let her not know
where she is. And if she does know,
perhaps through rote,
perhaps through muscle memory,
then spin her around
with a blindfold on,
the way kids do when pinning
a paper tail on a donkey.
Spin her until she has no idea
which direction to walk with that tail.
Spin her until she falls.
And then let her do as St. Francis taught—
let step in whatever direction
her head is pointing.
Let her trust that any direction she steps
can be the right way forward,
every path can be a path toward love.
Tonight Is a Torn Map
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged inner journey, map, not knowing, sitting still on August 3, 2020| 2 Comments »
Tonight is a torn map
and the woman
is a would-be voyager.
Once, she believed
there was a path.
Now, she believes
there are many.
Sitting still
beside the river,
she notices
the urge to rise,
notices when
the urge has passed.
Notices it rise again.
Being still
is one of the hardest
paths of all.
All around her
the world is moving—
gurgling, waving,
weaving, crawling,
climbing, winging, falling,
eroding. And in her,
more movement
than she dares to admit—
not just mudslides,
tectonic shifts—
every day the landscapes
change. Every day
the inner map she drew
looks less like what’s
really there.
It was no mistake
when it ripped.
Find this poem published in the amazing ONE ART POETRY
That Song
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, loss, lost, map, music, song on July 7, 2020| 2 Comments »
I want to slip into the song
you sang, the one with verse
about loss. I want to hang
on its notes as if they were branches
I could swing from, want to climb
through its chorus, want to meet it
in its rests, want to offer it tea.
I want to ask the guitar
about your fingers, about
how they knew where
to find the melody. And how?
I want to speak with the loss itself,
want to ask it if it’s sure its lost,
want to offer it a map made of apples
and wings and moon.
I want to hear the silence after
the song, and then beg it, beg it,
to keep singing.
The Vendor
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged becoming, map, poem, poetry, uncertainty on January 11, 2020| Leave a Comment »
And if there were a map
for the path of my own becoming,
I wouldn’t buy it.
I tried. I marched up to the vendor
of maps, took out my coin,
and held it out for the exchange,
but was startled by an inner revolt—
not an angry crowd but a quiet, insistent no.
I put the coin back in my pocket
and walked away, wildly aware
I had no idea what step came next.
Said the Traveler
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged map, poem, poetry on May 13, 2016| 5 Comments »
throwing it away,
that old map toward happiness,
choosing instead
to let my feet wander
whichever way they wander,
each step
an invitation
to arrive
She Said
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged map, poem, poetry, presence, surrender on June 11, 2014| 1 Comment »
There it is again, the desire
to be somewhere but here,
the hope to find the self in a different room
with a different face and a different
spine, a different once upon. But we
are always ourselves. And it’s never
gotten us there before, this brittle map
to Elsewhere with its thousands of folds,
its distorted compass rose.
Nope. It’s never taken us even an inch
away from wherever we are. Always here.
Though we squint, or heck, even change
the narrator to second person, no matter:
the room you are in is the room you are in,
and it is still your face you see in the mirror
whether you want to recognize it or not.
With a Forever Stamp
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, map, poem, poetry on April 23, 2014| 2 Comments »
Here, my dear, is the map
to my heart. I have put a big
red x in the center of the paper,
but it’s faded now to soft pink.
There are creases so old, so thin
that the names of the landmarks
can no longer be read. But here
is the old barn with the ladders
stacked against the metal roof.
And here’s the river bank
where many afternoons we stood.
And here the fields of columbine,
and here the song of canyon wren.
I’ll fold it and send it again to you,
though I fear in a week it will come
back to me, again, Return to Sender,
unopened, the seal and all
its kisses still intact.
You Were Taught to Take Chances
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged doubt, edge, map, moving through doubt, poem, poetry, suicide on August 15, 2012| 4 Comments »
When you stand on the ledge
six stories above the street,
you are perhaps lost, but
there is not a lot a map can tell you.
There is back in the window,
and there is down.
What is it that keeps you
from jumping.
You wouldn’t even need to jump.
Just trip. Lean. Step. Or if you sneeze,
it could be considered an accident.
Somehow easier that way to imagine it,
but how to explain the fact that you
climbed through the pane
out onto the railingless edge.
Someone would have to clean up
the splatter. That thought
is enough to hold you here,
back against the brick.
It’s not that you want to die.
Below, the cars crisscross and merge.
But how to go on living.
Beneath you the ravens weave.