Morning Trip (94)

“…I lounge on the grass, that’s all. So
simple. Then I lie back until I am
inside the cloud that is just above me
but very high, and shaped like a fish.
Or, perhaps not. Then I enter the place
of not-thinking, not-remembering, not-
wanting. When the blue jay cries out his
riddle, in his carping voice, I return.
But I go back, the threshold is always
near. Over and back, over and back. Then
I rise. Maybe I rub my face as though I
have been asleep. But I have not been
asleep. I have been, as I say, inside
the cloud, or, perhaps, the lily floating
on the water. Then I go back to town,
to my own house, my own life, which has
now become brighter and simpler, some-
where I have never been before….”
– Mary Oliver
Six Recognitions of the Lord
Thirst: Poems

Morning Trip (71)

When the Sky Clears
“The drop grows happy by losing itself in the river.
A pain when beyond human range becomes something else.

One man’s heart died when he insisted on treating his own problems.
Sometimes people solve jute knots by rubbing them on rocks.

Since I am weak, I sigh instead of weeping.
My experience tells me that water can change and become air.

The sky abruptly clears following thick clouds and heavy rain.
The clouds, recognizing separation, cried and vanished into non-existence.

We make the back of the mirror green in order to see our faces.
Sometimes nature makes the front of the mirror green as well.

We love seeing the beauty of poppies and lilies.
When the eyes lose themselves in the colors, they are seeing at last.”
– Ghalib
translated by Robert Bly

Fullness and An Evening Dance with My Lover, The Moon

“From birth to death time surrounds us
with its intangible walls.
We fall with the centuries, the years, the minutes.
Is time only a falling, only a wall?
For a moment, sometimes, we see
not with our eyes but with our thoughts
time resting in a pause.
The world half-opens and we glimpse
the immaculate kingdom,
the pure forms, presences
unmoving, floating
on the hour, a river stopped:
truth, beauty, numbers, ideas
and goodness, a word buried
in our century.
A moment without weight or duration,
a moment outside the moment:
thought sees, our eyes think.”
– Octavio Paz

The Vessel is continuously in movement, fluid. A cup can only hold a limited and coveted amount. A vessel, like our human blood reminds us of the gift of constant fullness combined with constant motion, renewal and grace. Be Full!

–elisa

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