Posts Tagged ‘path’




Tonight the path

is tired of being

a path, would rather

be a leaf. Enough

of trodding. Enough

of this one foot

in front of the other.

Rather to unfurl

and serve and let go

and get lost. Really,

how hard could it be?

Something about

“path” suggests

certainty. The path

feels like a fraud.

It’s exhausted

with arrivals. It wants

to fall off. It wants

to cartwheel across the field

like last year’s leaves

in spring wind.

It wants to have

no idea at all

where it is going.



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It is not that the path
has disappeared. It is only
that, stunned with grief
and kicked by fear,
we sometimes lose our will
to put one foot
in front of the other.
But we are not lost.
Already in the dark
we have found each other.
What astonishes is
that there are so many of us,
and already
we are building bridges
made of light.
The world shakes,
we stumble
and we help each other rise,
and now it is time
for us again to put one foot in front of the other—
not to escape what frightens us
but to walk unflinchingly
toward the messy center of things.
The path we choose now
is not one we’ve walked or even seen before,
the path is one that appears
beneath our feet
with each step,
and we persist,
travelers in the frozen dark
who begin to see the light as it shapes the horizon
and know, though it’s cold,
that the change we dream of
has already begun to arrive.

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Leaping off the train

not sure where I’m going

but certain no tracks

will get me there.

In the field

every step a new step.

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Out of Obstacles



Walls will only crush you when they fall.

—Ray La Montagne, “Be Here Now”



So when

a wall forms

between us



reuse each

brick as cobblestone


we’ll build

our own path

as we go.


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No Strings

Here, we might say, here is where

a road should be. But road there is none.

Isn’t that like us, thinking we know

the world better than the world itself.

There isn’t a road. That is clear.

And we want one. That’s clear, too.

And we don’t like the fact

there is no visible road.

Whether our intention is to run away

or to move closer to,

well, that changes, doesn’t it.

And isn’t it just like us to think

we need a road. Instead,

there is this change of light,

this scent of rain. There is

nothing we might call a path,

but there is this urge

to begin to move, this desire

that causes the legs to lift,

again and again and again,

less as if we are marionettes,

more as if there is some inner drive

more real than even the real world,

and it helps us step one more step,

one more step toward what we do not know.

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Gretel Explains Herself

all those crumbs I left
on the path, it’s not
that I want to go back

it’s just that I happen to like
birdsong wherever I go

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Eighteen Small Steps

Those who would climb to a lofty height must go by steps, not leaps.
—St. Gregory the Great, from a letter to Augustine of Canterbury

teach me crosswise
streets, how to believe
all directions are possible


at my next shindig,
inviting happiness
and grief
for a
ménage a trios


she’s got everything she needs
ever since she made best friends
with nothing


sitting on the bench
I wonder if adventure forgot
or I forgot
to send the invitation


I would like
to want
to be at a shindig,
but dang, this couch
is so darn soft


forgive me
if I spray paint your thoughts—
I just knew a little bright orange
would do you
a heap of good


what’s up
with all those shenanigans?
well, she said,
you can’t just have one,
can you?


I asked the quince
about pleasure—it said baby,
time to get reckless


what is there
not to love
about grace?
the shaman says
now try loving fear


nice idea, but whoever
says all answers
come from within has never
seen your belly button


what’s a rain dance
except a snow dance
just a few adventures early?


I think the world
is addicted
to paradox—
I think I am
addicted to the world


the world gave me light,
I wanted shenanigans—
oh foolish woman,
now surrounded by shenanigans
all I want is light


every once in a while,
but hey, world,
the rest of the time
let’s dance


it’s not that I forgot
to stand in the light
it’s just
that darkness
was holding my hand


indecision settled in
like a fog—every morning I practice
turning myself into a sun


will you like me better
if I cover myself in chocolate
said my sorrow


with authenticity
as my compass, every road
is the right road

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