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Posts Tagged ‘paying attention’

After Carmell Tells Me about Her Trip to India

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on March 8, 2026| 6 Comments »


 
 
And when the gates swung wide and my friend arrived at the palace, the vast grounds were emerald and lush, lined with tropical trees, and a full staff greeted her at the great door where a man led her through a courtyard filled with night-blooming jasmine spilling their sweet scent into the dark, and just outside the door to her room was a large blue pool, and when she asked if it were too late to swim that night, the man said, Madame, the palace is yours. And he gave her a large brass key. Her enthusiasm entered me as she gushed of her rooms, antechamber after antechamber before reaching the glorious bed, the low slung divans piled with pillows. Today, the palace is the red slickrock towers as I drive through the canyons of Utah. The palace is the delirious deep blue trance of clear Colorado sky. The palace is the sharp scent of sage by the side of the road that wraps me in silvery pungent perfume when I stop to stretch my cramping legs. It’s in soft spring grass now growing from desert dust, growing like green praise after recent rain. I have been given the key to the palace, and it’s made of nothing more than the willingness to offer the world my attention. Black call of crow. Subtle shine of low sun on dark varnished cliffs. Low hum of tires on the highway. It’s yours, they all say. The palace is yours. Here’s the key. Receive it. Receive it.

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Wandering in Upstate New York

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on June 15, 2025| 6 Comments »

It’s like being made love to
by beauty—as if the slate
gray lake and the deep green leaves
and the scent of wild roses
and the sound of unseen birds
all lean in to kiss the eyelids,
the tip of the nose, the sensitive
curl of the ear. And the way
to kiss the beauty back—
be here.  

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Naming What Makes a Good Day

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on July 13, 2023| 8 Comments »


 
 
There’s a moment when I’m touched
by the sky inside the sky, the song
inside the song, the apple inside the apple.
 
It’s as if each bit of the world is itself,
only more so, and it reaches in
to trace the scaffolding of my life,
 
charging me with its utter purity,
its incontestable presence, as if to say
This, this is what it is to be alive,
 
and I hum with it, pulse with it,
glow with the wonder of it—
Rain. Rhubarb. Sand. Blood.
 
This. This. This. This.
This. This. This.

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Ode to the Sigh

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on November 20, 2022| 13 Comments »


 
Smallest of songs,
you give voice
to the breath,
a wordless expression
of sorrow or happiness.
You seem to say,
Yes, that’s how it is,
a quiet doorway
that leads to acceptance.
You soften. You smooth.
You signal a feeling
that’s moving through.
You change silence
the way moonlight
changes a room—
so slightly, and yet
from the edge of perception,
you say to me,
Sweetheart,
pay attention.

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On the Third Day of Christmas, a Gift

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on December 28, 2020| 1 Comment »


 
No French hens, but
the Stellar’s jays arrived
at the feeder as always
in a squawk of bright blue,
inquisitive, cocking
their crested heads
and letting their dark eyes
take in everything.
Everything, no matter
how dingy, how small, is worthy
of their attention,
even the black seed, even
the wind, even the bark,
even this woman standing
in the snow, listening.
 

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Making Applesauce

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 6, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

Wash the apple. Quarter the apple.

Seed and thinly slice the apple.

A whole morning can pass this way—

holding the apples, slicing them through,

making small v’s in the quarters

to remove the seeds.

And how many times in four hours

do I notice how perfectly the apple

fits in the palm of one hand—

as if it were made to be held.

How seldom did I dance

beyond efficiency to notice

how the skin resists the knife,

but the flesh is so sweet, so willing.

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On a Tuesday

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 15, 2018| 2 Comments »

 

 

 

 

Today I woke in the dark and was busy

making lunches during the sunrise,

though surely it happened. And I drove

 

in the low morning light along

the San Miguel River for half an hour,

not once noticing the color of the water,

 

the scent on the banks, though past

experience leads me to believe

that there were thousands, millions,

 

of tiny beautiful miracles happening

there in that half hour alone. How much

beauty is lost on me every day, every moment?

 

Though as I stepped out of the car

to walk into work, I saw, stuck to my boot, one

brilliant orange aspen leaf outlined in gold,

 

and for a whole minute, I stared at it,

marveled at its symmetrical veins,

its delicate stem, the astonishing intricacy

 

of its edges. How easily gloriousness finds us, sticks

to us even. How wholly available, this art

of meeting the glittering, luminous world.

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Eventually

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on June 26, 2018| 6 Comments »

 

 

 

Not until the darkness came

did I hear the river, the insistent

 

clear of it. All the bright day

I had listened to the ding

 

of the timer, the ring of the phone,

the whine of the boy and the sob

 

of the girl, the scrabble of kittens,

the turn of engines, the click

 

of my shoes, the printer’s gray hum.

And then, once the dishes were done

 

and the boy was asleep and

the girl was asleep and the phone

 

was off and the lights

were out and I lay in the patient

 

dark, I heard it, the changing flush

of the river’s rush, which surely

 

had been there all day, the river

doing what a river does—moving

 

over whatever stands in its path

and turning each obstacle into song.

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One Just Before the Eclipse

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on January 31, 2018| 2 Comments »

 

 

staring at the moon

until it becomes a door

I walk through

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After Three Days at the Silent Meditation Retreat

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on March 12, 2017| 3 Comments »

 

 

 

Everything’s a gong now—

the clang of the spoon in the mixing bowl,

the growl of the water rushing in the pipes,

the ding of the microwave’s timer,

the crow—

what isn’t an invitation to show up,

to offer the moment all our attention—

scent of pizza, barking dog, lawn mower,

sweet rose tea, that voice in my head,

the chime of the changing light.

 

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