“The soil of any one place makes its own peculiar and inevitable sense. It is impossible to contemplate the life of the soil for very long without seeing it as analogous to the life of the spirit.”
—-Wendell Berry
sense
Morning Trip (58)
Moving Forward
The deep parts of my life pour onward,
as if the river shores were opening out.
It seems that things are more like me now,
that I can see farther into paintings.
I feel closer to what language can’t reach.
With my sense, as with birds, I climb
into the windy heaven, out of the oak,
and in the ponds broken off from the sky
my feeling sinks, as if standing on fishes.
– Rainer Maria Rilke
[translated by Robert Bly]
Choose Me–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley
My scent upon your fingers
Choose Me
Eyelash curled upon a freckle spattered cheek
Choose Me
Giggle racing across the sky, aurora borealis, shifting colors of spirit
Choose Me
Fingers woven in your hairy chest.
Choose Me
Touching butterflies like your eyelids in the night.
Choose Me
Honest and Strong, a Mountain
Choose Me
Whispers in your ear, the Mind’s eye sees
Choose Me
–by elisabeth connelley
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
Morning Trip (22)
Does a person have the ability to achieve happy? Or, is happy more like a state, such as being hot or being cold? Can one decide to be hot or to be cold?
Morning Trip (11)
“For all my skepticism, some trace of irrational superstition did survive in me, the strange conviction, for example, that everything in life that happens to me also has a sense, that it means something, that life speaks to us about itself through its story, that it gradually reveals a secret, that it takes the form of a rebus whose message must be deciphered, that the stories we live compromise the mythology of our lives and in that mythology lies the key to truth and mystery. Is it an illusion? Possibly, even probably, but I can’t rid myself of the need continually to decipher my own life.”
– Milan Kundera
This one is most excellenty! I am so pleased at the vast resources for information available online that provide pokes and prods, kisses and caresses for mind, body, and spirit!
Morning Trip (8)
“I want to lie down in dappled leaf-shade,
In quivering shadows of quivering leaves —
be they oak, be they maple,
be they elm or birch,
I want to rest in the play of shadows
over my reclining form,
The massage of shadows
which consoles me in its way,
Restores for me
with whatever restoration
Flickering shadows of leaves afford–
be they willow or aspen,
be they poplar or beech,
I want to be caressed by shadows
of wavering leaves,
Soothed off to sleep
feeling the gentle breeze,
Looking up at the rustling
sun-drenched crown–
Be it basswood, be it chestnut,
Be it walnut or hickory,
after all is said,
after all is done,
This is the way
I would die.”
–ANTLER
Elisa's Spot 