Morning Trip (65)

All the Hemispheres

Leave the familiar for a while.
Let your senses and bodies stretch out

Like a welcomed season
Onto the meadows and shores and hills.

Open up to the Roof.
Make a new water-mark on your excitement
And love.

Like a blooming night flower,
Bestow your vital fragrance of happiness
And giving
Upon our intimate assembly.

Change rooms in your mind for a day.

All the hemispheres in existence
Lie beside an equator
In your heart.

Greet Yourself
In your thousand other forms
As you mount the hidden tide and travel
Back home.

All the hemispheres in heaven
Are sitting around a fire
Chatting

While stitching themselves together
Into the Great Circle inside of
You.”
– Hafiz
The Subject Tonight is Love
translated by Daniel Ladinsky

The Gate May Open

the gate may open

“Human beings can’t live without the illusion of meaning, the apprehension of confluence, the endless debate concerning the fault in the stars or in ourselves. The writer is just the messenger, the moving target. Inside culture, the writer is the talking self. Through history, the writing that lasts is the whisper of conscience. The guild of writers is essentially a medieval guild existing in a continual Dark Age, shaman, monks, witches, nuns, working in isolation, playing with fire.

When the first illuminated manuscripts were created, few people could read. Now that people are bombarded with image and information and the World Wide Web is an open vein, few people can read. Reading with sustained attention, reading for understanding, reading to cut through random meaninglessness – such reading becomes a subversive act. The writer’s first affinity is not to a loyalty, a tradition, a morality, a religion, but to life itself, and to its representation in language. Ego enters in, but writing is far too hard and solitary to be sustained by ego. The writer is compelled to write. The writer writes for love. The writer lives in spiritual debt to language, the gold key in the palm of meaning. Awake, asleep, in every moment of being, the writer stands at the gate.
The gate may open.
The gate may not.
Regardless, the writer can see straight through it.”

Jayne Phillips

Noticing–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley

Smooth sheets caressing naked calves and feet

The soft grunted intake of air

Upon bumping a familiar round belly

A sigh and change of position

To spoon one back into sleep

Hands on breast and thigh

Soft sleep warmed lips brushing fur

Smiling

Relaxing into

Familiarity

Significant non-quickening

Careful languishing sighs

Sheer curtains move

As always they move

In winter

From blowing heat.

A door creaks open

Something wanders in

Stares intently,

Observer of a chrysalis

Eyes rub

Feet flex

Toes wriggle

Sheets move

Feet hit the floor

Born again

Noticing

 

–by elisabeth connelley

When I am here–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley

When I am here
what part of me do you love
do you fantasize about
without knowing
me
understanding you
smiling at
who
you can paint
yourself
when you feel
near
me
myself
who are you
do you ask
do you dream
illusions and puffy things
you wake up
you think me gone
eye
was never here
missing the view
of the image
in the mirror
smoke
wisps of air
curling away

–by elisabeth connelley

Morning Trip (36)

“It’s similar to the process one undergoes when learning to play a musical instrument. We sit down, take a few lessons, and are given certain exercises. We begin to practice, and at first the fingers don’t move very easily; they hit a lot of wrong notes and it sounds terrible. But every day we practice, and gradually the fingers start to move more easily, the music starts to sound more beautiful. After a certain period of time, a proficiency develops so that the playing becomes effortless. At that time there is no difference between playing and practice; the playing itself is the practice.
In just the same way, as we practice awareness, we start out very slowly, aware of the movement of each step, “lifting,” “moving,” “placing,” aware of the breath, “rising, falling,” or “in, out.” In the beginning great effort is required. There are many gaps in the mindfulness. There are a lot of struggles and hindrances. But as the mind becomes trained in being aware, in being mindful, it becomes increasingly natural. There is a certain point in the practice when the momentum of mindfulness is so strong that it starts working by itself, and we begin to do things with an ease and simplicity and naturalness which is born out of this effortless awareness.”
– Joseph Goldstein
The Experience of Insight

Morning Trip (5)

Sometimes I try to justify the falling rain
Then I try to rectify; change what can never be changed.
That’s not to say that change won’t surely rearrange
it all
and I know that there’s no way to say just how
it’s all about to change
but somehow I feel the pain when things don’t go
my way
That’s when I try to justify, justify the
falling rain

–Geoffrey Haun