It’s funny when love calls or sometimes doesn’t.
I’ve lived long enough, now, to not take that personally, even in the hurt.
In grasping, there is a feeling of loss, we reach out and pull back with hope, to find emptiness.
This, this is my current lesson.
So my choices- continue reaching and grasping or… to be still, to sit with open hands, resting in reception.
Can my mind and heart be content with this? I do not know.
Maybe an experiment is in order, experience this, to sit with potential and possibilities…
possibilities…I can be content with that… possibly, maybe…
This thread reminds me so much of this poem by Mary Oliver…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~To Begin With, The Sweet Grass
Will the hungry ox stand in the field and not eat of the sweet grass?
Will the owl bite off it’s own wings?
Will the lark forget to lift it’s body to the air or forget to sing?
Will the river’s run upstream?
Behold, I say—- behold
The reliability and the finery and the teachings
Of this gritty earth gift.
Eat bread and understand comfort.
Drink water, and understand delight.
Visit the garden where the scarlet trumpets
Are opening their bodies for the hummingbird
Who are drinking the sweetness, who are thrillingly gluttonous.
For one thing leads to another.
Soon you will notice how stones shine underfoot.
Eventually tides will be the only calendar you believe in.
And someone’s face whom you love, will be as a star both intimate and ultimate
And you will be both heart-shaken and respectful.
And you will hear the air itself, like a beloved, whisper:
Oh, let me, for a while longer, enter the two beautiful bodies of your lungs.
The Witchery of living Is my whole conversation
With you my darlings.
All I can tell you is what I know.
Look and look again.
This world is not just a little thrill for the eyes.
It’s more than bones.
It’s more than the delicate wrist with its personal pulse.
It’s more than the beating of a single heart.
It’s giving until the giving feels like receiving.
You have a life! – just imagine that!
You have this day, and maybe another, and maybe still another.
Some day, I am going to ask my friend, Paulus,
The dancer, the potter,
To make me a begging bowl
Which I believe
My soul needs.
And if I come to you,
To the door of your comfortable house
With unwashed clothes and unclean fingernails,
Will you put something into it?
I would like to take a chance. I would like to give you this chance.
We do one thing or another;
we stay the same or we change.
Congratulations, if you have changed.
Let me ask you this.
Do you also think that beauty exists for some fabulous reason?
And if you have not been enchanted on this adventure–Your life.
What would do for you?
What I loved in the beginning, I think,
was mostly myself.
Never mind that I had to because somebody had to.
That was many years ago.
Since then, I have gone out from my confinement’s,
though with difficulty.
I mean the ones that thought to rule my heart.
I cast them out; I put them on the mush pile.
They will be nourishment somehow, (everything is nourishment somehow or another)
And I have become the child of the clouds, and of hope.
I have become the friend of the enemy, whoever that is.
I have become older, and cherishing what I have learned , I have become younger.
And what do I risk to tell you this, which is all I know?
Love yourself first. Then forget it. Then, love the world. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
and here is a beautiful Paulus Berensohn, whom Mary mentions above-