Evening Poetry, January 25

Clearing

by Martha Postlewaite

Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world
so worth of rescue.

I heard this poem read aloud by Tara Brach during one of her Radical Compassion Challenge meditations this past week . I’m uncertain of the publication date of this poem, or if it’s in a book anywhere, but here is Martha’s book Addiction & Recovery: A Spiritual Pilgrimage that is on my TBR list.

Evening Poetry, January 15

The Snow Man 

by Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

You can find this in The Collected Poems.

Evening Poetry, January 8

Winter Walk

by John Clare

The holly bush, a sober lump of green,

Shines through the leafless shrubs all brown and grey,

And smiles at winter, be it e’er so keen,

With all the leafy luxury of May.

And oh, it is delicious, when the day

In winter’s loaded garment keenly blows

And turns her back on sudden falling snows,

To go where gravel pathways creep between

Arches of evergreen that scarce let through

A single feather of the driving storm;

And in the bitterest day that ever blew

The walk will find some places still and warm

Where dead leaves rustle sweet and give alarm

To little birds that flirt and start away.

You can find this poem in The Four Seasons.

Evening Poetry, January 7

On the Beach

by Mary Oliver

On the beach, at dawn:

four small stones clearly

hugging each other.

How many kinds of love

might there be in the world,

and how many formations might they make

and who am I ever

to imagine I could know

such a marvelous business?

When the sun broke

it poured willingly its light

over the stones

that did not move, not at all,

just as, to its always generous term,

it shed its light on me,

my own body that loves,

equally, to hug another body.

You can find this poem in Swan: Poems and Prose Poems.

Evening Poetry, January 6

The Journey of the Magi

by T.S. Eliot

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.’
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

You can find this poem in Collected Poems.

Evening Poetry, January 5

Of Time

by Mary Oliver

Don’t even ask how rapidly the hummingbird

lives his life.

You can’t imagine. A thousand flowers a day,

a little sleep, then the same again, then

he vanishes.

I adore him.

Yet I adore also the drowse of mountains.

And in the human world, what is time?

In my mind there is Rumi, dancing.

There is Li Po drinking from the winter stream.

There is Hafiz strolling through Shariz, his feet

loving the dust.

You can find this poem in Swan: Poems and Prose Poems.

A Time and a Place for Being (Savoring Sunday)

Today is the start of a new series called Savoring Sunday where I will write about spirituality, slowing down, self-care, soul work, quiet, and rest. Poetry will be included from time to time, but prose will be the most prominent feature. My writings are intended to share thoughts on what I’m discovering and what I’m wondering as I walk through the seasonal rhythms of the year. I hope you will join in the conversation in comments and share your own insights and experiences.

Today is the twelfth day of Christmas. I fully embraced this season that has felt very much as if time were standing still. What have I been doing? Little work (other than household chores), lots of reading, pondering, reflecting on last year, and listening to my heart. I’ve played and re-played podcasts about aligning your business to who you actually are, rather than who you think you should be.

I’ve been asking myself if I’m living in congruence with who I am. Do I have the courage to follow my intuition and live from a place of peace and listening to myself, to allow adequate time for self-care and rest as well as for learning and work? I can be so unbalanced in this! I love work and learning and can fill up my days and nights, going nonstop until I’m wired and exhausted. Because I have a business to run and I want it to succeed. I’m also a student and have plenty to learn.

But I need to take care of my whole self. My body won’t be at its best if I am not caring for it daily with proper amounts of exercise, nutrition, and rest. My mind will be anxious and troubled if I don’t allow it time to meditate and calm down. My soul craves connection with the Divine, “…my soul thirsts for you…”(Psalm 63:1) but I have to slow down and “Be still” (Psalm 46:10) to get closer to God. And getting out of doors and into Nature more often seems to bring balance to every layer and part of myself.

The other area that I’ve been thinking about is friendships. I had a few insights last year including how I have the tendency to approach friendships through the lens of ministry or “how can I help/serve you?”. This is because I was raised in a minister’s household and pretty much everyone who came to our church or to our home needed something and it was up to my parents to provide it. So I tend to look at people in light of what they might need and see if there is anything I can offer to help them.

But this is actually not what I want, so I had to stop doing it! I want to be someone’s friend, not their mom or minister. Because I have needs too! That means I have to act in accordance with this. I have to be honest and tell friends what I want, as well as ask what they want. This will be a process…

So this is a little of what I’ve been thinking through while I’ve been taking a break from business and every day life. This time-between-times has been magical. I’ve nurtured my creative self with music, reading, rest and just being, realigning myself to my purpose by doing plenty of self-inquiry, and restored my soul by listening for that still, small voice.

And because you know I love sharing my favorite resources, I’d like to share a few things I’ve been enjoying. Here are the two Spotify playlists that became my go-to music this season: Christmas Choirs (U.K) (just gorgeous) and Christmas Cocktail Jazz (the perfect quiet yet upbeat jazz instrumental music for parties, dinner, or anytime).

And here are the two journals/planners I use to keep my life in order and to keep my personal and spiritual growth moving forward: This is my fifth year using the bullet journal method and “>this is the dotted journal I love. This year I purchased the Nordic Blue color, which is the first time I’ve veered away from Black or Navy Blue. I’m splashing out! What I love about the bullet journal is that it is completely customizable to each individual. You can learn this method in a few minutes (seriously!) and use any notebook you have. If you haven’t tried it, and you’re someone who craves a simple, doable way to keep your life in one place, go with the bullet journal method. You’ll wonder why you didn’t start it sooner!

The other journal/ planner I love is the Sacred Ordinary Days Planner. It follows the Liturgical calendar, has weekly spaces for Examen, Sabbath ponderings, and a page for each day with spaces for priorities and notes. There are suggested Biblical references for each day, as well as quotes from spiritual writers. So yes, it is most suited to those with a Christian inclination, but there’s none of the annoying, overbearing, cutesy, cheesy feel that most Christian planners have. It is tasteful, sensitive, and leaves room for your own creativity and individuality.

And, lastly, here is A Literary Christmas a sweet collection of old-fashioned Christmas stories and poems on audiobook. Juliet Stevenson and Simon Callow narrate and it is a holiday treat I will look forward to each year.

I’d love to know what you’ve been thinking about, listening to, and discovering these last few weeks!

 

Evening Poetry, January 4

The Tulip Tree

by William Stafford

Many a winter night

the green of the tulip tree

lives again among the other trees,

returns through miles of rain

to that level of color

all day pattered, wind-wearied,

calmly asserted in our yard.

Only pale by the evergreen,

hardly distinguished by leaf or color,

it used to slide a little pale from other trees

and – no great effect at our house –

it sustained what really belonged

but would, if severely doubted,

disappear.

Many a winter night

it arrives and says for moment:

“I am still here.”

You can find this poem in Poems About Trees.

Evening Poetry, January 3

What Can I Say

by Mary Oliver

What can I say that I have not said before?

So I’ll say it again.

The leaf has a song in it.

Stone is the face of patience.

Inside the river there is an unfinishable story

and you are somewhere in it

and it will never end until it all ends.

Take your busy heart to the art museum and the

chamber of commerce

but take it also to the forest.

The song you heard singing in the leaf when you

were a child

is singing still.

I am of years lived, so far, seventy-four,

and the leaf is singing still.

You can find this poem in Swan: Poems and Prose Poems.

Evening Poetry, December 20

We Shake With Joy

by Mary Oliver

We shake with joy, we shake with grief.

What a time they have, these two

housed as they are in the same body.

You can find this poem in Evidence.