Song for the weary…..

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There is a place
in each moment,
a soft,  gentle space for breath
to unfold slow
and deep and safe,
where ample rest welcomes and waits
like a tall glass of lay-me-down
and it whispers welcome
to every lift and settle of my heart.

And there is a stream there,
a place for tired feet to go bare against cool,  smooth pebbles
glimmering songs of here and now and love that fills
and of rest that presses it’s weight against the weary of me
like honeysuckle kissing evening air
and it nourishes and calls
and I can answer if I will.

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Cause sometimes I wreck this heart by rushing,
wanting to flop down into the finally of having everything wrapped up done
and it’s crazy how my mind can wedge me into stories that steal away my peace
and set me to running from rest,
flying scared because I get to thinking
that it’s the push and squeeze that saves me.

Some days I forget to remember
to respond to the living rest
that lifts me from this weary way I sometimes keep,
to remember that
rest is a brave place to be.

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“Love turns work into rest.”
-Teresa of Avila

I have missed coming around to visit you!  I’ll be climbing the steps to your porch
in a little while.   Big wide spaciousness to each of you,  friends,
with a whole heap of love.

Almost in the short rows…..

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It’s May,   the reason I haven’t posted or come around to visit for awhile,
the marathon month for Rivergreen,  our small family business.
May,  the tiny window during which I dig a gazillion holes
and muster up soil from red clay and tuck in flowers and herbs and veggies and trees,
painting the earth with living art
in this small slice of time
before she turns up the oven quick and begins to bake the clay of my designs
into the gardens they’ll be for the long growing season.

It’s May,  the reason that I grin tired thanks for the wildflowers
winking from the roadways as I drive along dirty and sweat-soaked
and going in a hurry to the next somewheres that I’ve also gotta be.
It slows the too-fast of my heart to watch their effortless dance.
I love how simple.  How easy.

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I’m a little too pooped to write;
just want to share their smiles with you
because really they have their own way of saying
and it’s all too sweet and sacred to bungle with words.

I think of you while I’m down there on my knees,
you know,  humming your name to heaven
and smiling thanks for the gift that you are.

I’ll be back with more soon.
I’m almost in the short rows.

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“The art of deep seeing makes gratitude possible.”
-Ann Voscamp

 

Fraying times and faded jeans…..

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I’ve got some unmet hunger for vacation
and no windows in this wall of work to climb through and feed it
so I sent my imagination on a relief mission
and it returned with a smell plucked right from a sweet spot in my childhood
….the smell of old weathered rope
creaking friendly beneath the tall tree standing regal in my back yard,
as I swooped skyward on a tire that scooped me weightless toward the sun

and as the windy breath of tireswing brushes over me fresh
again I’m swinging high,  toes poking clouds,
swept up playful,
slicing through sunlight toward treetops,
breezing through heaviness, dancing on air,
tummy squeezing happy with lift.

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And while my car’s still stuck in traffic and my list is smudged and long,
I’m caught up again in the song of that rope hugging sturdy some branch high above,
the worn bristle of it’s friendly grip hugged joyful in my hands
and somehow I’m feeling it again,  the finished chores and school’s out
and kicking off shoes that pinched and cutting short my faded jeans
to keep wearing all summer long until they’re fringed and frayed and yummy
and who knows what these fraying days
are doing to this heart of mine
…could be the good stuff of old jeans fading soft and friendly in the hard tumble of time.

I send you songs of freedom swinging you high,
of breeze and whoosh and swoop and glide,
swooping and soaring on willowy wings
swept up and away from heavy things.

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 “So won’t you fly high,  freebird.”
-Leonard Skynard

Of facts and fountains…..

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So what if I am too tired,
too busy,  too foggy,  too muddled by details
that keep dribbling over the edge of my lists and days
like an overstuffed laundry hamper spilling onto floors that I wish
I could clear and clean and freeze that way.

And what if the nights aren’t strong enough to hold me at rest,
if the mornings smack hard of hurry and go
and if the money that I feel I must need won’t happen unless
I go faster and harder and better and more?
What if everything is just exactly as harsh and unrelenting
and jagged and disappointing as it sometimes seems.
Where do I go with that thought?

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Inside,  to the center of the place where I only ever need to be,
where dwells a  living Love who whispers truth
over all these facts pretending to be real,
over the barbed wire thinking that I sometimes painful feel
and here my heart collapses grateful into the friendly,  worn,  overstuffed chair
of arms that hold me firm inside a living rest
like a fountain pulled around me tender,
making dry bones live again.

I can rethink the messy stuff of living….it just is what it is.
And I’m free to love it all and thrive
just exactly as I am
now.

I love peace.

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“Don’t believe everything you think.”
-Byron Katie

In shadow and glare…..

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It’s planting time and I’m down in the dirt on my knees
a lot
so I thought I’d scatter some seeds and pour some water
on our maybe parched places
because the harsh glare of living dries us quick
and we sometimes need a little soak.

~You are mighty,   even where you’re weak.
Especially where you’re weak,
those gimpy places a powerful nudge
to tag someone in who is stronger that way.
Some dreams just won’t bloom
while we’re lone-wolfing it.

You are beautiful.
Devastatingly beautiful.
It’s that unique beauty that breaks the back of the slave-making system
that demands you “be like” something else.
Go ahead and shine……there’d be a dark piece of missing sky
without you.

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 There are seasons when you’re hidden,
protected beneath loving wings that can make you feel
unseen.
Don’t despise those quiet places;  there is wisdom in dormant things.
Your Spring will come.
Some seasons aren’t mild;  don’t fear the shadow
or the glare.

You’re no random bunch of molecules in motion.
You’re here by design,
artisan handcrafted.
(I’ve a gazillion questions,  too,  but I know it to be true.)
I see it in you.
A fierce beauty……..something stunning.
Just so,  so good.
And you’re delighted in by a Love that sings yes and joy and belonging
over your being.

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“I get thirsty people glasses of water,  even if that thirsty person is just me.”
-Anne Lamott

Love and lift to Leslie of Let a Joy Keep You
as my little zine zips across the miles to your hands this week.
Thanks for all the kind comments;  I love this community
and your shiny way:)