Glimmering World

So beautiful!

Rosemary's Blog

This World
by Mary Oliver

I would like to write a poem about the world that has in it

nothing fancy.

But it seems impossible.

Whatever the subject, the morning sun

     glimmers it.

The tulip feels the heat and flaps its petals open and becomes a star.

The ants bore into the peony bud and there is a dark

     pinprick well of sweetness.

As for the stones on the beach, forget it.

Each one could be set in gold.

So I tried with my eyes shut, but of course the birds

     were singing.

And the aspen trees were shaking the sweetest music

     out of their leaves.

And that was followed by, guess what, a momentous and

     beautiful silence

     comes to all of us, in little earfuls, if we’re not too

     hurried to hear it.

As for spiders, how the dew hangs in their…

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29 May 2022

Matched oracle cards this morning and I have a surprise year with purple irises here too

Wendy Martyna

Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink,
taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.

~ Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862),
American essayist, poet, philosopher

Iris close-up

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All Out of Still — Orphan Wisdom

A few months ago a certain degree of unspectacular life adversity leaned over to me and whispered: “What if you stop for a while? You were obliged off the road anyhow by the plague. Why not go the rest of the way there, and choose stillness?” Clever fellow. Years ago I remember coming across some stout…

All Out of Still — Orphan Wisdom

GOSH! I am SO grateful for the above post from Stephen Jenkinson. It put words to all the things, and in them, I became still. The still, for me can then leave room for creation. Of what!? My built in forgetter thinks it gets to control that outcome. Sometimes I believe my actions are proof that I can. The part feeling so proud and SEE yes I did! and Control is GOOD! Is all perked in the I Have Arrived pose. And then, the muscles start to quake and to shiver. The pose doesn’t hold up for long. It collapses in exhaustion long before my thinking, my mind even begins to notice. While I write it, I’m smiling like an indulgent parent watching a toddle learn… But IN it, oh I believe it’s Hell! I’m prone to grab, and to shove, and to rant. Thank you, Sir, for the Spring in my step. For now.

12 April 2022

Wendy Martyna

Lost

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.

~ David Wagoner (1926-2021), American poet, novelist, editor,
educator; from Traveling Light: Collected and New Poems, 1999

Redwood-Cowell,tall

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Jack Gilbert

The Vale of Soul-Making

We think the fire eats the wood.
We are wrong. The wood reaches out
to the flame. The fire licks at
what the wood harbors, and the wood
gives itself away to that intimacy,
the manner in which we and the world
meet each new day. Harm and boon
in the meetings. As heart meets what
is not heart, the way the spirit
encounters the flesh and the mouth meets
the foreignness in another mouth. We stand
looking at the ruin of our garden
in the early dark of November, hearing crows
go over while the first snow shines coldly
everywhere. Grief makes the heart
apparent as much as sudden happiness can.

—Jack Gilbert, “Harm and Boon in the Meetings,” The Great Fires: Poems, 1982-1992 (Alfred A.Knopf, 1994)

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Morning Trip (361)

“Then as you get distracted by everyday life, you begin to forget this new perspective and your focus slips from your Person Dream to the Dream of the Planet. Your harmony is shaken as you give in to the illusion. But before long, you have another moment of clarity, and you start the process again—-this time with a little more resolve and a little more experience.”
—-Don Miguel Ruiz, Jr., Living a Life of Awareness, p.196

How to Bloom

How amazing that I bumped into this when perusing your perpetual journal today! I was talking about a spiritual experience and conscious contact in the Morning Trip today! The poem How to Bloom describes it well and the flowers a wonderful BAM awake and perfect moment, evidence of noticing and being in the experience.

Rosemary's Blog

I was driving what I hoped would be a shortcut through residential streets to Fremont Avenue (it wasn’t), when I saw these flowers blooming in a parking strip.  I couldn’t recall seeing flowers like this before, so I pulled over to take some photographs.  No sooner had I stepped out of the car, when I was greeted by name!  I was parked in front of the house of one of our Greenwood Library patrons and knitting aficionados.  She told me the flowers were fritillaries.

How to Bloom
by Rainer Maria Rilke

I endlessly marvel at you, blissful ones — at your demeanor,
the way you bear your vanishing adornment with timeless purpose.
Ah, to understand how to bloom: then would the heart be carried
beyond all milder dangers, to be consoled in the great one.

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