Long Afternoon at the Edge of Little Sister Pond

As for life,
I'm humbled,
I'm without words
sufficient to say

how it has been hard as flint,
and soft as a spring pond,
both of these
and over and over,

and long pale afternoons besides,
and so many mysteries
beautiful as eggs in a nest,
still unhatched

though warm and watched over
by something I have never seen –
a tree angel, perhaps,
or a ghost of holiness.

Every day I walk out into the world
to be dazzled, then to be reflective.
It suffices, it is all comfort –
along with human love,

dog love, water love, little-serpent love,
sunburst love, or love for that smallest of birds
flying among the scarlet flowers.
There is hardly time to think about

stopping, and lying down at last
to the long afterlife, to the tenderness
yet to come, when
time will brim over the singular pond, and become forever,

and we will pretend to melt away into the leaves.
As for death,
I can't wait to be the hummingbird,
can you?

--Mary Oliver

[Photo from Stranda, Norway]

Violent Times

The world beyond my oasis

in the woods

writhes in agony, as violence

claims one life after another:

young men and women; children

and their teachers; peaceful citizens,

minding their own business, caught

in a maelstrom of bullets.

The most recent mass murder

took place in Orlando, Flordia.

But it might have been

anywhere, and even now, somewhere

as yet unknown,

there may be another individual

stoking the fires of fear,

discontent, and hatred

until they suddenly explode into gunfire and broken bodies,

leaving blood stains on pavement

that a sea of tears cannot

wash clean.

--Sydney Eddison

Keeping Silence

Where do the words

come from that

connect me to myself and

to the outside world?

The words that matter arise

from an inaccessible place

beyond the reach of will

and conscious mind.

They cannot be summoned up.

Only in peace and quiet

do they speak their names

softly into the attentive ear,

while the wind's eye

paints their portraits in color.

These are the words

for which I wait

each day.

--Sydney Eddison

[Photo of neighbor's pond in Wallingford, VT]

Go to the Limits of Your Longing

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

--Rainer Maria Rilke

Gratitude

Thank you for this day--

a wet, green, flowing day

that has only just begun.

Let me not waste it

with busywork and worry.

Both bear unpalatable fruits.

Instead, help me to see

what there is to see;

to listen for the sound

of Your voice in stillness

and with a calm mind.

The garden, at this moment

and in this light,

should be proof enough that 

You are speaking to me,

and I reply with due 

humility and reverence,

thank you for this day.

--Sydney Eddison

[Photo of Tsali and Riley enjoying spring sunshine.]

The Unbroken

There is a brokenness

out of which comes the unbroken,

a shatteredness

out of which blooms the unshatterable.

There is a sorrow

beyond all grief which leads to joy

and a fragility

out of whose depths emerges strength.

There is a hollow space

too vast for words

through which we pass with each loss,

out of whose darkness

we are sanctioned into being.

There is a cry deeper than all sound

whose serrated edges cut the heart

as we break open to the place inside

which is unbreakable and whole,

while learning to sing.

--Rashani Rea

Visiting Catherine and Ben

He's 90, full of wit and good cheer.  She's 89, no longer

clear who she's with or what's happening.  Before we

go in, he explains, "She'll ask the same question time

and again.  It's hard, of course, but she remains her

same sweet self and we love each more than ever."

Today she wants to know, "When was the last time

we saw each other?"  "Last year at this time," we

say, "right here in your lovely home.  It's so good

to see you again!"  "Oh, yes!", she says, with her

whole heart.  Five minutes later she asks again.

"Would you like cheese and crackers?", she asks,

"Sounds good," we say, and I ask if I can help.  He

warns me off with a shake of his head, quietly saying,

"She can still do a few things like this--they help

her feel more in control of her life."

She returns with a tray--cheese, crackers, napkins

and small plates carefully arranged--stopping

in front of each of us until we take our share.

"This is communion," I think, "the bread of life,

the wine of love, and our cups floweth over.  Never

has a cathedral seen a moment more holy than this."

--Parker J. Palmer

[Photo of John and Gladys Toop with great grandchildren.]