Thursday, December 23, 2021

keeping quiet


.



Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.

This one time upon the earth,
let’s not speak any language,
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be a delicious moment,
without hurry, without locomotives,
all of us would be together
in a sudden uneasiness.

The fishermen in the cold sea
would do no harm to the whales
and the peasant gathering salt
would look at his torn hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars of gas, wars of fire,
victories without survivors,
would put on clean clothing
and would walk alongside their brothers
in the shade, without doing a thing.

What I want shouldn’t be confused
with final inactivity:
life alone is what matters,
I want nothing to do with death.

If we weren’t unanimous
about keeping our lives so much in motion,

if we could do nothing for once,
perhaps a great silence would
interrupt this sadness,
this never understanding ourselves
and threatening ourselves with death,
perhaps the earth is teaching us
when everything seems to be dead
and then everything is alive.
.
Now I will count to twelve
and you keep quiet and I’ll go.







~ Pablo Neruda 
from Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon





Tuesday, December 21, 2021

St. Vith, December 21, 1944



TANKS OF THE 7TH ARMORED DIVISION in a temporary position near St. Vith




Cut off in front of the line
that now ran through St. Vith,
the five American tanks sat
in a field covered with snow
in the dark. And now they must
retreat to safety, which they
could do only through gunfire
and flame in the burning town.
They went, firing, through the fire,
GIs and German prisoners
clinging to the hulls, and out
again into the still night beyond.
In the broad dark, someone
began to sing, and one by one
the others sang also, the German
prisoners singing in German,
the Americans in English,
the one song. "Silent night,"
they sang as the great treads
passed on across the dark
countryside muffled in white
snow, "Holy night."



~ Wendell Berry



nothing else

 
 
 

 
 
 
 There is nothing else than now. 
There is neither yesterday, certainly, nor is there any tomorrow. 
How old must you be before you know that? 
There is only now, and if now is only two days, 
then two days is your life and everything in it will be in proportion. 
This is how you live a life in two days. 
And if you stop complaining and asking for what you never will get,
 you will have a good life.
 
 
 
 
 
 
~ Ernest Hemingway 
from For Whom the Bell Tolls
photo by Robin Zygelman
with thanks to whiskey river
 
 

Monday, December 20, 2021

each time


.

.
 
The soul said, "Give me something to look at."
So I gave her a farm.  She said,
"It's too large."  So I gave her a field.
The two of us sat down.
.
Sometimes I would fall in love with a lake
Or a pine cone.  But I liked her
Most.  She knew it.
"Keep writing," she said.
.
So I did.  Each time the new snow fell,
We would be married again.
The holy dead sat down by our bed.
This went on for years.
.
"This field is getting too small," she said.
"Don't you know anyone else
To fall in love with?"
What would you have said to Her?
 
 
 
 
 
~ Robert Bly
.

.

where no one has a home

.







.
The wind blows where it likes: that is what 
Everyone is like who is born from the wind.
Oh now it's getting serious.  We want to be those
Born from the wind that blows along the plains
And over the sea where no one has a home.
And that Upsetting Rabbi, didn't he say:
"Take nothing with you, no blanket, no bread.
When evening comes, sleep wherever you are.
And if the owners say no, shake out the dust
From your sandals; leave the dust on their doorstep."
Don't hope for what will never come.  Give up hope,
Dear friends, the joists of life are laid on the winds.

.
 
 
~ Robert Bly
excerpt from A Poem for Giambattista Vico 


.

Sunday, December 19, 2021

the hope of results







Do not depend on the hope of results. 
… you may have to face the fact that your work will be apparently worthless 
and even achieve no result at all, if not perhaps results opposite to what you expect. 

As you get used to this idea, you start more and more to concentrate not on the results
 but on the value, the rightness, the truth of the work itself. 





~ Thomas Merton
in a letter to Jim Forest dated February 21, 1966, 
reproduced in The Hidden Ground of Love: Letters by Thomas Merton
art by Winslow Homer




the beginning of love







.


The beginning of love 
is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, 
and not to twist them to fit our own image. 


Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them.








~ Thomas Merton
sketch by the author





the secret beauty





.

 
 
 
Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, 
the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire
 nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality,
 the person that each one is in God's eyes.
 
 If only they could see themselves as they really are. 
If only we could see each other that way all the time,
 there would be no more war, no more hatred, 
no more cruelty, no more greed... 
 
I suppose the big problem would be 
that we would fall down and worship each other.
 
 
 
 
 
~ Thomas Merton 
photo by konrad gos

.

Wednesday, December 1, 2021

gratitude to old teachers











When we stride or stroll across the frozen lake,
We place our feet where they have never been.
We walk upon the unwalked. But we are uneasy.
Who is down there but our old teachers? 

Water that once could take no human weight-
We were students then-holds up our feet,
And goes on ahead of us for a mile.
Beneath us the teachers, and around us the stillness.





~ Robert Bly 
from Eating the Honey of Words




what caused us each to live hidden?




What caused us each to live hidden?
A wound, the wind, a word, a parent.
Sometimes we wait in a helpless way,
awkwardly, not whole and not healed.

When we hid the wound, we fell back
from a human to a shelled life.



~ Robert Bly
from Stealing Sugar from the Castle




.

Friday, November 26, 2021

inviting you to be generous







Wonder, as the child of mystery, is a natural source of prayer.  
One of the most beautiful forms of prayer is the prayer of appreciation.
  This prayer arises out of the recognition of the gracious kindness of creation.
  We have been given so much.  We could never have merited or earned it.
  When you appreciate all you are and all you have, 
you can celebrate and enjoy it. 

 You realize how fortunate you are. 
 Providence is blessing you and inviting you to be generous with your gifts.
  You are able to bless life and give thanks to God. 
 The prayer of appreciation has no agenda but gracious thanks.
  Nothing is given to you for yourself alone.  
When you receive some blessing or gift, 
you do it in the name of others;
 through you, they, too, will come to share
 in the kindness of Providence.




~ John O'Donohue
from Eternal Echoes



the only time you are alive






You think you will never forget any of this, 
you will remember it always just the way it was. 

But you can't remember it the way it was.
 To know it, you have to be living in the presence of it 
right as it is happening. It can return only by surprise. 

Speaking of these things tells you that there are no words for them
 that are equal to them or that can restore them to your mind. 
And so you have a life that you are living only now, now
 and now and now, gone before you can speak of it,
 and you must be thankful for living day by day,
 moment by moment, in this presence.

But you have a life too that you remember. It stays with you.
 You have lived a life in the breath and pulse and living light of the present,
 and your memories of it, remember now, are of a different life 
in a different world and time. When you remember the past,
 you are not remembering it as it was. You are remembering it as it is.
 It is a vision or a dream, present with you in the present,
 alive with you in the only time you are alive.




~ Wendell Berry
from Hannah Coulter




Sunday, November 14, 2021

amazing grace

 
 
 
 

 
 
~ Kraig Kenning
 
 
 
 
 

every precious moment

 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
~ Kraig Kenning
 
 
 

lucky mud





God made mud. 
God got lonesome. 
So God said to some of the mud, "Sit up!" 
"See all I've made," said God, "the hills, the sea, the sky, the stars."


And I was some of the mud that got to sit up and look around. 
Lucky me, lucky mud.


I, mud, sat up and saw what a nice job God had done. 
Nice going, God. 
Nobody but you could have done it, God! I certainly couldn't have. 
I feel very unimportant compared to You. 
The only way I can feel the least bit important is to think of all the mud
that didn't even get to sit up and look around. 
I got so much, and most mud got so little. 
Thank you for the honor!


Now mud lies down again and goes to sleep. 
What memories for mud to have! 
What interesting other kinds of sitting-up mud I met! 
I loved everything I saw! 
Good night. 



~ Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
(Cat's Cradle)