“True solitude is found in the wild places, where one is without human obligation. One’s inner voices become audible… In consequence, one responds more clearly to other lives.”― Wendell Berry, What Are People For?
This World by Mary Oliver, Why I Wake Early
“I would like to write a poem about the world that has in it
nothing fancy.
But it seems impossible.
Whatever the subject, the morning sun
glimmers it.
The tulip feels the heat and flaps its petals open and becomes a star.
The ants bore into the peony bud and there is a dark
pinprick well of sweetness.
As for the stones on the beach, forget it.
Each one could be set in gold.
So I tried with my eyes shut, but of course the birds
were singing.
And the aspen trees were shaking the sweetest music
out of their leaves.
And that was followed by, guess what, a momentous and
beautiful silence
as comes to all of us, in little earfuls, if we’re not too
hurried to hear it.
As for spiders, how the dew hangs in their webs
even if they say nothing, or seem to say nothing.
So fancy is the world, who knows, maybe they sing.
So fancy is the world, who knows, maybe the stars sing too,
and the ants, and the peonies, and the warm stones,
so happy to be where they are, on the beach, instead of being
locked up in gold.”
To see the world as it is rather than as I am or was.
To return to self to redefine, deepen, expand.
Pushing boundaries.
Doors into walls.
Thresholds to cross.
Rooms to leave behind to enter wide open spaces.
Of beauty, light, joy, peace.
The world without and within.
May I never think I know everything.
Rooting in curiosity.
Steeping in unknowing.
Ever opening to possibilities.
Able to be moved, caught up in awe.
By the petal of a flower.
The laughter of a child.
The snuggle of a dog, or two.
The waves on a beach.
The sky painted anew each day.
Fancy and better than gold.
May amazement capture you this day.
Found in the pause, in beautiful silence.
“Look within. Within is the fountain of good, and it will ever bubble up, if thou wilt ever dig.” – Marcus Aurelius
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