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Posts Tagged ‘transformation’

 

 

 

sitting with flowers in the garden

until I am

flower in the garden

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dancing in the downpour—

the same woman who an hour ago

didn’t want to get wet

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And again the world tumbles me

and again I emerge smoother, softer,

less sharp, less whole. Someday I will be

less solid, less myself, more a part of everything,

more a grain of sand that knows itself as one of many, easily

moved by the current, until finally, I

am less sand, more sea.

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for Heartbeat

 

 

singing

the same song,

again,

but this time

the melody

finds in me

a closed,

forgotten place

and sings light

into its tightness

until where

there were walls,

now wings

 

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Forgive me. I do not mean

to be sharp, stark, sterile.

I’ve read of the salt mines

 

at Salzburg, how if you throw

a stick, leafless and dead,

into one of the abandoned workings,

 

then return months later and pull it out,

it will be covered in crystals,

“a galaxy of scintillating diamonds,”

 

writes Stendahl, “the original

branch no longer recognizable.”

I want to be like that stick.

 

Take my winter soul

and throw it into the mystery,

though it’s dark and cold

 

and easy to get lost.

What knows how to attract

the light will grow, will change me

 

until I barely recognize myself.

I do not mean to be short,

but I hear it in my words.

 

Stranger things have happened.

What is dead is sometimes

a chance to find new life,

 

to become a thing shining,

something the same, only fresh,

a thousand times more brilliant.

 

 

 

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Slow roasted,

the beets

become tender,

sweet,

how I long

to do the same

to these hard,

red thoughts.

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Meditation

 

 

 

 

And when sorrow arrives for tea

and stains the table cloth

with its great mass of gray,

and when sorrow arrives

and drives everyone else away,

do not leave, alarmed though you are

by its slumping weight.

Offer your attentiveness.

See how it almost radiates?

There are myths in which monsters

transform into princes.

It always takes courage. And kisses.

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The words that will change us

remember, perhaps,

when they were first found

by the person willing

to serve them—

 

they carry in their serifs

a willingness to wait,

late nights of wrestling silence,

the wing of receiving, the joy

in sharing the gift.

 

When we read them, they enter us

like tiny notes in a score we never knew

we were part of until one day

there is music everywhere

and we are the ones being sung.

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Just as the sun enters the room

and changes the feel, the warmth,

and the power to perceive,

 

the right word, too,

can be a beam, can shine

into an evening, bring

 

glimmer, tidings of light,

make even the darkest corners

shine. Yes even one word

 

can become a prayer,

a gate we pass through

to find ourselves luminous.

 

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It’s not like the toaster

keeps secrets. Everyone

knows that all it does

is add heat for a short

duration. But that’s

all it takes to turn

something stale

into something

somehow sweeter

and warmer and

oddly much

more itself.

Heat. For a bit. That’s all.

And even knowing

this, I let the stale

parts of me stay

stale. I know from experience

that that the heat

will come whether

I choose it or not.

Though sometimes it

will burn down the house

just to toast one slice.

Better to take things

into my own hands.

Sometimes, I take

my own advice.

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