Only Love

 

"Only love is big enough to hold all the pain of this world." -- Sharon Salzberg

And so I imagine the entire earth

as one beating heart held in the space

of this universe, inside a larger body

we can't fathom, filling with enough

love to lead each of us out of the cave

of our personal pain and into the light--

enough love to lead all humans as one

out of collective fear, rage, and hate

into a place of peace that is found only

within our own hearts, beating in sync

with the pulse of this planet we were

born to inhabit, despite the daily storms

which overtake us and make us forget

we are the lifeblood pumped into these

veins, every particle of love we generate

running into rivers, lakes, and creeks,

evaporating into the air we breathe,

give back, and breathe again.

--James Crews

[Our son reading a favorite childhood story to his sons].

Merry

  

It’s a word which only comes out at Christmas.

 

As for the rest of the year,

it’s as if it has been packed away in the attic

with the decorations and the tinsel,

waiting for its own time to shine.

 

Rarely do we play well with it.

We do not let it loose for birthdays

or anniversaries; only in error does it intrude

on the happiness of a new year.

 

But at Christmas, it emerges blinking

into the light, red-cheeked and perky,

in a perfect state of mild inebriation,

writing itself into Christmas cards,

 

greeting friends on doorsteps,

embracing family before they take off their shoes,

warming strangers on icy pavements.

Merry Christmas, we say. Merry Christmas.

—Brian Bilston

[Merry Christmas Eve with friends and neighbors].

The Concert

 

The harpist believes there is music
in the skeletons of fish

The French horn player believes

in enormous golden snails

The piano believes in nothing

and grins from ear to ear

Strings are scratching their bellies

openly, enjoying it

Flutes and oboes complain

in dialects of the same tongue

Drumsticks rattle a calfskin

from the sleep of another life

because the supernatural crow

on the podium flaps his wings

and death is no excuse

--Lisel Mueller

[Photo of my favorite musicians].