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Posts Tagged ‘nourishment’

With Amazement

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 14, 2026| 2 Comments »


for the people who gathered at Kripalu 
 
 
When someone finds the courage
speak about their hardest moment,
the moment when they learned
they were not in control, 
or when someone shares 
about the months when all 
they could do was lie on the floor 
and breathe, then their tears 
fall into my heart, infusing me 
with the truth I most need to grow. 
It is not easy to find such nourishment, 
yet there are circles where such trust 
is freely given. And who is so brave?
To come, to break open, to honestly 
share the most difficult truths? 
You are. You are. Today it is you. 
Your honesty is the soft rain
that soaks into and softens 
the driest, hardest parts of me
helping me fall in love with this life. 
It is you, it is you, so open, 
so generous, so present, so true. 

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This, Too

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 9, 2026| 4 Comments »


 
I once thought love was always open, open the way a sunflower is open, bright and lavish and soft. Today the sunflowers are spent, brown, lifeless stalks, and the Stellar’s jays wrestle seeds from desiccated heads, seeds that nourish them in these shortening days. Sometimes I find in me old memories of you. When I rattle them, I discover inside are dried seeds of compassion, seeds of loss, seeds of devotion, seeds of trust. I take them in like the communion they are. Feel how what is hard and dried grows me. Feel how this, too, is love.

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Two Loaves

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 21, 2019| 3 Comments »

IMG_4898

 

 

Oh, this alchemy of wheat,

salt, water, yeast and heat.

Something so holy about the art

 

of transforming grain into loaves,

how the scent of the baking infuses

the whole house with earthy incense.

 

I whisper poems into the bread,

sing to it as it rises, as it rests.

I think of every other woman,

 

every other man who, for over 14,500 years,

has kneaded and shaped the living dough.

I imagine all of us, flour on our cheeks,

 

pressing our hands into service,

all of us certain of one thing:

we are called to feed each other.

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In Late Spring

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on May 30, 2016| 2 Comments »

 

 

 

The garden rows are visible now,

the slender shoots of carrots,

 

the succulent leaves of calendula,

the curly beginnings of kale—

 

after many years these first green shapes

feel like old friends.

 

I greet them as I walk the rows,

tell them they are doing fine.

 

And then there are the gaps

between the sprouts, the places

 

where I can only guess about

why the seeds don’t grow.

 

A lack of water? Planted too deep?

A shadow? A dud of a seed? A slug?

 

Of course I take it personally

and wonder what else I should have done.

 

And then I pull out the extra seeds

and fill in the spots where there is no green.

 

There is no use in blaming. Just plant the seed

where nothing is growing. It’s so simple,

 

the task, so lacking in blame.

There are gardens in me begging

 

for me to do the same—to notice

where there is failure to thrive,

 

and to seed again, then bring water,

bring nourishment, wait.

 

 

 

 

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When It Comes Down to It

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on March 6, 2016| 1 Comment »

 

 

 

you, the traveler

thirsting in the desert

and me, the whisky

wishing I could be

your water

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