Posts Tagged ‘willingness’


Wholeness does not mean perfection. It means embracing brokenness as an integral part of life.

—Parker Palmer, A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward an Undivided Life

Brokenness, I am still learning

to embrace you. I would rather fix,

would rather mend, would rather solve.

Today, the hole in my security

is big enough to let fear blow in

like a strong winter wind.

I want a patch, want reinforcement,

want to stitch the seams closed.

And here I am, brokenness,

my needle and thread in hand.

Is it so wrong to want to repair?

My fingers are willing.

There is work to do. Here I am.

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Sign of Inner Spring

Every year the pussy willows

astonish me with their willingness

to be soft in a time when the rest

of the world is stick-ish and harsh and bare.

Sometimes softness is the key to survival.

I search for it in myself—the courage

to shed the hard shell I thought would protect me,

to shuck the hard shell that no longer fits,

and I marvel as something new emerges,

soft as pussy willows, something practical

I can bring to the world,

this vulnerable, practical hope.

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To listen is to lean in, softly, with a willingness to be changed by what we hear.

—Mark Nepo



Let me listen.

Let me not know what to say.

Let me receive the world

as it slurs and shrieks,

hums and whispers,

speaks and bleats.

Let me lean ever closer in.

There are walls I have built

in my ears. There is so much

I would rather not hear.

Let me listen.

Let me receive with wonder.

Let all be worthy of note.

Let me be witness, eavesdropper,

spy. Let me never pretend

to be deaf.

Let the world slip into me

and change me

as light changes a room.

Let me be silent, let me listen,

and in listening,

let me be new.




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darkening sky—

packing up the tent

and driving straight toward the rain



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On the Way

The evening decides to walk in the door.
And by evening, I mean me. And by walk
in the door, I mean to go home. And by home,
I don’t know what I mean. A woman
thinks she knows who she is and then
she is not that who at all. There are ravens
in her hair. There is a snake in her side.
There is something untamed in the night.
It tugs at all colors until they dissolve.
It scrubs away all shapes, all names.
And by night, I mean a different shade of love.
And by shapes, I mean these old thoughts.
And by names, I mean all these labels
we’ve learned. By untamed, I mean
I am ready to walk through any door.

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