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Posts Tagged ‘unity’

Simple Tools

 

 

 

for Christie

 

I am so grateful for the rubber spatula,

the way it sits quietly in the drawer

yet is always ready for action—

is game to scrape the walls of the blender

or to fold chocolate chips into cookie dough.

It evens and swirls the frosting on cake

and welcomes the tongue

of a child. In a sharp world,

it knows the value of being blunt;

it knows that to smooth is a gift to the world.

Some people are knives, and

I thank them. Me, I want to belong

to the order of spatulas—those

who blend, who mix, who co-mingle

dissimilars to create a cohesive whole.

I want to spread sweetness, to be a workhorse

for beauty, to stir things up,

to clean things out. I want to be useful,

an instrument of unity, a means, a lever for life.

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It’s hardwired, says the instructor,

explaining that all of us tend to identify

more with people who are more like us.

It’s a survival tool from ancient times,

she says, to put people like us in an in group,

and to label the others other.

I take notes. Raise my hand. Participate.

Do exercises that show that although

I say I have no preferences, my limbic brain

has its own opinion. And so

I dedicate myself to finding

the ways we are all alike, uncovering

the ways we all mirror each other—

vulnerable, strong, curious, cautious,

I pledge myself to our common humanity,

to notice my bias and question it.

It’s a survival tool for the present time,

I tell myself. Every one of us, a sliver

of divinity.

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Dear __________,

 

 

 

You are warmly invited to join our conspiracy of joy,

a growing cabal of strangers and friends who collude

to create delight, who initiate random acts of bliss, who

scheme of ways to help all others find authentic jubilance,

who tear down walls that would separate us and them.

If you enjoy such subterfuge, there certainly is room

for you. To be clear, you may be charged with pleasure,

ecstasy, and truth. Next meeting, now. And now. And now

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So beautiful,

this tiny red and white spider

I forget to shudder

and for a moment,

the war between want

and don’t want

is silenced.

It continues its journey

along the car door.

I walk away, slightly

more spider

than I was before.

 

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Invitation

 

I’d like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.

            —The New Seekers

 

 

The earth, say the scientists,

is more bell than we thought,

imperceptibly ringing beneath

 

our feet. Just because we can’t

hear it doesn’t mean it’s not

being played ceaselessly,

 

an ultralow hum thousands

of times below what the human ear

can hear. And the hum, they say,

 

is everywhere, uniting the globe

in a common tone. Perhaps,

they say, it’s ocean waves

 

that bang on the sea floor

or waves that crash into each other.

Perhaps, they say, the sound

 

goes all the way to the core.

Just because we don’t know why it rings

doesn’t mean we can’t sing along.

 

 

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/speaking-of-science/wp/2017/12/08/scientists-are-slowly-unlocking-the-secrets-of-the-earths-mysterious-hum/?utm_term=.93f97c1ef02f&wpisrc=nl_rainbow&wpmm=1

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Follow the Lead

 

 

a

single

pencil

can

make

a

line

thirty-

five

miles

long,

and

I

wonder

how

many

miles

of

poems

per

pencil—

and

wouldn’t

it

be

amazing

to

have

poems

scrawled

all

across

America—

323.1

million

pencils

worth—

all

of

them

sharpened

not

to

point

at

each

other

but

to

write

the

words

that

must

be

said,

telling

our

stories

and

leading

us

in

looping

lines

ever

closer

to

each

other

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Genesis

 

 

Who said your real voice is not the choir?

—Steven Nightingale, “Who Said, Who Decided, Who”

 

 

and if you are not only the melody

but also the baseline, the harmony,

the descant, then who’s to say

you’re not also the quarter rest,

the fermata, the coda, the clef—

and perhaps you are also

the hand that wrote the score

and the woman who loved

to take that hand in her own

and wander the halls toward bed.

And perhaps you are also the rumpled

sheets, the ones that never made

it to the choir, the sheets that fell

to the floor while the notes

made their way uncomposed

into throats of the singers,

the air full of such improvisational grace

you’d swear the angel choirs

were singing, too.

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It hurts to be silent—

the unsaid words

sharp as frazil ice—

needle shaped and

able to slice what

inside is tender.

Still, we found ways

to be silent.

I give thanks

for the chill

that woke up

the millions of women

around the world,

got us moving

in one direction.

img_4685
I give thanks

for the diversity

of messages

that inspire us

to be not one voice

but millions

together.

 

As we march,

I think of the fish,

how they move as one,

sometimes daily,

sometimes annually.

They know

when to stay,

when to move,

when to give it

everything they’ve got.

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These, too, are your family,

any who would build a wall,

any who would throw a stone.

The other is your sister,

your brother, your mother.

Pick up the stones

and build fire circles

where everyone’s voice

can be heard.

Tear down the walls

and use the debris

to build bridges.

Tattoo these words

on your hands,

on your tongue:

we are all in this

together.

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No Matter Who You Are

you and I—
two threads joined in one
miraculous cloth

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