My gaze is clear like a sunflower. It is my custom to walk the roads Looking right and left
And sometimes looking behind me, And what I see at each moment
Is what I never saw before, And I’m very good at noticing things. I’m capable of feeling the same wonder A newborn child would feel If he noticed that he’d really and truly been born. I feel at each moment that I’ve just been born
Into a completely new world . . . I believe in the world as in a daisy, Because I see it. But I don’t think about it, Because to think is to not understand. The world wasn’t made for us to think about it
(To think is to have eyes that aren’t well) But to look at it and to be in agreement. I have no philosophy, I have senses . . . If I speak of Nature it’s not because I know what it is But because I love it, and for that very reason, Because those who love never know what they love Or why they love, or what love is. To love is eternal innocence, And the only innocence is not to think . . .
~ Fernando Pessoa
Side note…after I put this together to share last night I read a post today from Steve Harper that I couldn’t help but “notice.” I think it might help define some of this poem for those who might be turned off by the words “not to think.” (it did for me!) I have posted it below.
Good Word: Beholding
Spiritual life moves in relation to beholding. And that means more than noticing. Noticing is good. It is how we enter a moment. Beholding is letting the moment enter into us. Beholding is where responsiveness is born.
The New Child who lives where I live Gives one hand to me And the other to everything that exists, And so the three of us go along whatever road we find, Leaping and singing and laughing And enjoying our shared secret Of knowing that in all the world
There is no mystery And that everything is worthwhile.
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”
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.
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!”
Surely that wil feel less like weight.
“That was so moving.”
Getting closer to what is next.
The next feeling that isn’t heavy.
To be here.
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.
Am I right?
Ah permission to be.
I may be.
“Ever hugged a tree? Come on, admit it. I have. One day in distress, I hugged a tree. To my amazement, it did not move or run away. It stayed in place, sturdy, strong, abiding, and true. I guess you could say the tree hugged me.”
Everyone you see, you say to them,
Of course you do not do this out loud;
Someone would call the cops.
Still though, think about this,
This great pull in us
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.