Sunday, December 23, 2012

Millennium blessing


There is a grace approaching
that we shun as much as death,
it is the completion of our birth.

It does not come in time,
          but in timelessness
when the mind sinks into the heart
and we remember.

It is an insistent grace that draws us
to the edge and beckons us to surrender
safe territory and enter our enormity.

We know we must pass
          beyond knowing
and fear the shedding.

But we are pulled upward
through forgotten ghosts
          and unexpected angels,

And there is nothing left to say
but we are That.

And that is what we sing about.


–Steven Levine


 image via vivre !




Friday, December 21, 2012

a song with no end


when Whitman wrote, "I sing the body electric"
I know what he
I know what he

to be completely alive every moment
in spite of the inevitable.

we can't cheat death but we can make it
work so hard
that when it does take

it will have known a victory just as
perfect as

–Charles Bukowski



Sunday, December 16, 2012

Cold Poem


Cold now.
Close to the edge. Almost
unbearable. Clouds
bunch up and boil down
from the north of the white bear.
This tree-splitting morning
I dream of his fat tracks,
the lifesaving suet.

I think of summer with its luminous fruit,
blossoms rounding to berries, leaves,
handfuls of grain.

Maybe what cold is, is the time
we measure the love we have always had, secretly,
for our own bones, the hard knife-edged love
for the warm river of the I, beyond all else; maybe

that is what it means the beauty
of the blue shark cruising toward the tumbling seals.

In the season of snow,
in the immeasurable cold,
we grow cruel but honest; we keep
ourselves alive,
if we can, taking one after another
the necessary bodies of others, the many
crushed red flowers.

—Mary Oliver 
from American Primitive


 via growing orbits 
image via deja vu




Monday, December 10, 2012


We all want to do something to mitigate the pain of loss or to turn grief into something
positive, to find a silver lining in the clouds. 

But I believe there is real value in just standing there, being still, being sad.

–John Green


via vivre !
image via larger loves





Thursday, December 6, 2012


Do not mourn the dead: they know what they are doing.

—Clarice Lispector
The Hour of The Star 
trans. Benjamin Moser