poem

Now and Always

alexander-possingham-282185

I go inside and shut the window.
The lamp is brought and I’m told
good night.
And my voice contentedly says
good night.
May this be my life, now and always:
The day bright with sunshine, or
gentle with rain,
Or stormy as if the world were
ending,
The evening gentle and my eyes
attentive
To the people passing by my window,
With my last friendly gaze going to the peaceful trees,
And then, window shut and the lamp lit,
Without reading or sleeping and thinking of nothing,
To feel life flowing through me like a river between its banks,
And outside a great silence like a god who is sleeping.

~ Fernando Pessoa writing as Alberto Caeiro in “The Keeper of Sheep”

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Masters of Busyness

nicolai-berntsen-8741

To be still is to wait.
Which has a weight.
Which can feel uncomfortable.
Seems like we all complain about waiting.
When we’re waiting on what’s next.
Which is why we Master in Business.
Which is specializing in staying busy.
So we can do what’s next.
Even though there is no next.
Only now.
So we never stop trying to reach
A place that does not exist.
Which looks a lot like exit.
A way out.
Of being here.
Which is waiting.
Which is sitting still.
“Are you still sitting? Get up and go do something!”
Some thing.
Surely that wil feel less like weight.
Staying busy.
Moving.
“That was so moving.”
Getting closer to what is next.
The next feeling that isn’t heavy.
Like waiting.
Like being.
To be here.
To be.
If only we could just be
A little more brave
In the face of fear
Face your fear.
We’d finally see.
The place to be.
Is right here.
Do you hear?
Listen up or listen down.
Right now.
Am I right?
Now?
Maybe here.
Ah permission to be.
I may be.
I am.
Still.

With That Moon Language

20120812john-atkinson-grimshaw

Admit something:
Everyone you see, you say to them,
Love me.
Of course you do not do this out loud;
Otherwise,
Someone would call the cops.
Still though, think about this,
This great pull in us
To connect.
Why not become the one
Who lives with a full moon in each eye
That is always saying,
With that sweet moon language,
What every other eye in this world
Is dying to Hear.

~ Hafez

Painting by John Atkinson Grimshaw (1836)

What We Need Is Here

Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes.
Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here.
And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear.
What we need is here

Poem by Wendell Berry

Painting by Ernst Ferdinand, Silent Christmas (Meissen in Winter), 1854

In This World

In This World
by Wendell Berry

The hill pasture, an open place among the trees,
tilts into the valley. The clovers and tall grasses
are in bloom. Along the foot of the hill
dark floodwater moves down the river.
The sun sets. Ahead of nightfall the birds sing.
I have climbed up to water the horses
and now sit and rest, high on the hillside,
letting the day gather and pass. Below me
cattle graze out across the wide fields of the bottomlands,
slow and preoccupied as stars. In this world
men are making plans, wearing themselves out,
spending their lives, in order to kill each other.