Featured Poem
February 27, 2024
Awakening Sunrise
Your rising
red orange crimson yellow
ever-changing light
ever-changing shape
moment by moment
in the sky
in the sea
Your rising
red orange crimson yellow
ever-changing light
ever-changing shape
moment by moment
in the sky
in the sea
Oh, sleek, slim, tall masted sailing ship, anchored so gracefully outside my window, beckoning me to all the places I have yet to go, inside and out, you call to me. Now, I travel miles each day inside to the still place to turn a fleet of worthies toward the light, coming out of darkness, as we all have been, cocooned in separated wombs, some broken, some whole. We can now emerge, reveal our late protected hearts. We want to weep to grieve to laughe to hug to see the light to show our fears and faces, hidden for two…
Read Full Poem >Coming out from behind our masks, what do we find? People. People loving, people hurting, people having turned away from any light, people grieving, people hiding, people willing to come out of hiding, to be seen again. People longing to be held, to be touched, to be loved. The last two years of Covid have affected us, perhaps in more ways than we even know, unless we look, and listen, deeply. During this month, I enjoyed the extraordinary privilege of leading my foundational program, The Heart of Leadership, for one of my dearest clients. In that five‑day program, we entered…
Read Full Poem >First the dark, the cold, except for all the brilliance in the night sky, singing from the light of the stars. A stage behind me, where soon a song would be sung, the stage of Camp Curry: first home to the visitors of this valley I hold dear. And then a voice from the woods, down in the valley, calls high up the wall, calls up the granite to the man on the mountain, the man high above, where the fire had been tended all the long day, long preparing for this event, the event of my childhood. “Hello Glacier…
Read Full Poem >When I was a child, each year my parents took me to Yosemite Valley. There, breathing in and breathing out the pure air, experiencing the awestruck wonder of a starlit sky, the great granite domes, spires, and cliffs rising sheer, straight up from the valley, I touched Peace. Every time. Our connection with nature gives us that gift, reliably, sustainably, deeply. John Muir called it “The University of the Wilderness.” Each year in Yosemite, a natural event occurs in the month of February. A small waterfall, depending upon the snowfall that year, falls from the east side of El Capitan,…
Read Full Poem >I was afraid no poetic words would come to me this morning, surrounded by the grief and loss and sadness in the world, as I am. “Where is Peace to be found?” I ask. And then I realized my life itself is the poem.
Read Full Poem >During these days, I constantly ask myself, “What can I do?” “What can we do?” We can recognize the unity that is occurring throughout most of the world. We can spend some time each day, extending our hearts to the people whose lives have been displaced. We can learn from our fellow global friends to extend our hands. I was recently speaking with a most empowering man on the phone who was supporting my husband and me to procure tickets for an international trip we are taking later this year. We asked him where he was located. He said, “Moldova.”…
Read Full Poem >In a dangerous world, where violence and strife prevail outside, where the lines of war are being drawn as I write, how do we live? How do we live peacefully? How do we live, emanating love for our planetary companions? How do we carry the energy of peace with us as we walk through our days? How do we live free from fear while the news each day bombards us with messages of coming destruction? How do we not exhaust ourselves with our own busy‑ness and allow ourselves to be overwhelmed with the plethora of advice coming our way? These…
Read Full Poem >Slowly, ever so slowly, one by one, they opened. Heart by heart, they spoke. Story by simple story, they let us in to the truth of lives lost and gained. With each speaking, a shedding. With each speaking, a new heart opened like a rose petal in the spring sunlight, little by little coming out of winter little by little coming out of the grief little by little coming into the peace. Even those who never cry, having bowed to fear as their god, shed tears those days, shared with us their wounds, exposing their hearts for all to hear.…
Read Full Poem >Stir your tea slowly. See the ways it swirls in your cup. Stop your thinking by being with the tea. Let the flavors out. Let the stirring awaken the life in the magic powder from the east. Let the tea stir your own blood, awakening your heart’s breath. Invite and welcome your heart to speak. Take pen in hand, and let it kiss the white page with words that guide, words that nourish, words that marry you to you, words that dive words that carry you to view another place. And when you think you have finished with your poem…
Read Full Poem >In a time when the “world is too much with us,” to quote Wordsworth, it can be difficult, sometimes, to move from a conversation inside my own head, which I sometimes wake up into, in the morning, a conversation filled with frustrations, worries, and fears, into a space of serenity, equanimity, centeredness. I have a practice, each and every day, which I love to engage. I write. Before I write, however, I stop, pause, make, stir, and then drink my soothing tea. I watch the tea settle into my stomach. I observe myself inhaling, and exhaling, observing my breath, maybe…
Read Full Poem >You have learned your lesson in the last while, a December like no other, when, like an Irish curragh on a rough sea as you left one pilgrim island and rowed to the next, the boat capsized and there you were in the ten – foot waves and the rough seas, fighting for your soul. Yes. You Saw what you needed to see: the power and necessity of Alertness, of Presence, without which you are asleep, without which you will flail in the water, and could, perhaps, even, crash on the rocks underneath you, and drown forever in a bad…
Read Full Poem >We are all human. Very human. And we are all imperfect, very imperfect. In fact, perfectly imperfect. Our very humanity, our very imperfections, our very wounds and vulnerabilities, flailings and failings, crashing on the rocks, and recovering our well – being, thriving through the storm – all are the Great Learnings of our Lifetime. Living through this pandemic consciously, and all that is being wrought, brings us to great trials, Great Sleep‑fulness, Great Wake‑fulness. If you have been reading Blog postings for a while, or worked with me, you know how serious I am, how committed I am, what a…
Read Full Poem >Have trust in the way things are and are not. Love the world, and others, and yourself. Then, you can live in peace. By Amba Gale Perhaps I would not say “Happy New Year to you” this year so much. For that phrase, always said at the beginning of the next year, becomes a cliché, and without any created intention, and thoughtful blessings behind it, means nothing. Clichés have a way of putting us to sleep. Not only that, if you are like me, thinking it, or speaking it brings up the mind at this time. And, according to the…
Read Full Poem >Through the wall of frozen water, I see the earth behind, shimmering, singing of life, as the icicle drops from my roof. I can barely see it, hear it, dim as it is. Like the icicle, behind the ice of these wintry days, hard have we become. May our own hearts, warmed by the winter sun climbing north in these early January days, as the melting ice drips slowly, peek out tenderly, gingerly, caringly, greeting each day as a gift, a new year, revealing the sights and sounds of a loving earth.
Read Full Poem >Full Moon, emerge! Come out of hiding. Teach me how to love. By Amba and Don Gale In my last posting, December 8, I invited you to reach out to someone in your past, perhaps even someone who has passed, and write to them the words inside your heart that you have never said to them. I also gave you the gift of listening to a song my husband wrote to his Mother, from his new album of original songs, Looking Back, Looking In, a deeply introspective body of songs. Here’s the song again, Momma. in the case you missed the last…
Read Full Poem >Your reluctance to make peace with yourself, to love yourself, your younger self, that is, can now be seen, and named. The demons that usually block the entrance to the temple door now beckon you to come in. You have to do one thing only: Put your arm around your younger self (the one that hurt the most) give up the reluctance, and speak. It does not matter how old you were. Put your arm around yourself. Speak your compassion. Speak your connection. Speak your understanding. And, finally, and most importantly, speak your love. And, then, keep on walking through…
Read Full Poem >As the end of this year comes upon us, for many of us it is time to stop, to pause, to reflect, to look at our lives, and to be with those we love and have loved. Covid, if we have listened in a certain way, has given us many Teaching lessons – gifts of discovering patience, living graciously with uncertainty, dancing with the unfolding of the world, experiencing the beauties of nature as a healing balm, experiencing grief, and loss, finding ways to live with our fears and worries in a way that they can be included, and perhaps,…
Read Full Poem >Tomorrow gives us an “official” day for giving thanks… …for giving thanks for all the aspects and dimensions of our lives for which we are grateful. In her book, Wake Up Grateful, based in Brother David Steindl‑Rast’s teachings, Kristi Nelson suggests we bring gratefulness or “great fullness” to our everyday, ordinary, reality. What if we bring gratefulness to being alive, to waking up each morning, to taking our first breath of each day, to our family, to those who have passed, to those of us who are still present? What if we were to BRING our created gratefulness to all the events…
Read Full Poem >Slowly, ever so slowly, one by one, they opened. Heart by heart, they spoke. Story by simple story, they let us in to the truth of lives lost and gained. With each speaking, a shedding. With each speaking, a new heart opened like a rose petal in the spring sunlight, little by little coming out of winter little by little coming out of the grief little by little coming into the peace. Even those who never cry, having bowed to fear as their god, cried, shared with us their wounds, exposing their heart for all to see. As the Silence…
Read Full Poem >Being in Yosemite National Park with my parents was one of the first memories that I have. Here, you see a photo of my father, most likely taken the first time my parents took me to Yosemite, at Happy Isles, where the Merced River flows from the High Sierra Mountains on its way to the sea. I was about one year old. All my senses awakened there, in the beauty of nature and that Great Land. I remember that my whole body felt Happy, Awake, Alive. I returned every year. My favorite, favorite place there, amid so much beauty, was…
Read Full Poem >Your beloved Merced embraces you in its arms, singing its happiness. Just your name brings back to hear and thought the delightful pleasure of hearing your voice laughing for the very first time Just as your river flows and dances, gurgles, and prances, around, above and under Great Boulders that give you your voice, like white horse mains leaping, flying, cavorting over the hills, Just like that‑ Like the bubbles and whirlpools, white water falls and rushing speeding non‑stop racing my heart, too, races my ears open to your sounds of singing and all my senses awaken to your Voice.…
Read Full Poem >Somewhere in the fall of this second year still in the passage still in the migration still moving into Stillness still not hearing the future, we nourish our spirit. The ghosts of what might have been are leaving now, to plague us no longer with their voices and their “coulda, woulda, shoulda” charms, and drop photos in our minds which leave us with regrets. Let their bony fingers wave goodbye to this time of grieving for what might have been. Time, instead, for new words: Accept. Embrace. Surrender. Create. Choose. Trust. We can look newly at the sea the sun…
Read Full Poem >“Pick up your pen and write,” she says, that wise and ancient Voice: the devoted Muse, speaking to me in the grey morning, white ball of sun in the sky, in the water, below. Below, where the surface conversation has long since disappeared, I ask a private question: “Of what shall I write?” “Anything you hear in the deep well of your own heart.” “Write about the loon mourning the days away. Write about the turtle who belongs in the pond among the lilies. Write about a world of wonders. Write about me, who will always encourage you to find…
Read Full Poem >Outside, it is still dark. The coming season of inner and outer darkness calls to us to drop down deep, where the flame of our own inner wisdom is lit and enough to guide our way. It is a time for Listening. To what do I listen> I listen to Mary Oliver singing her life, and my life, into joy, amazement, astonishment each pre – dawn morning as I rise to greet the day. I listen to the objects all around me from my travels, speak to me of lands that I have loved. I listen to the heron fishing…
Read Full Poem >Hello, Great Blue! You, who walk so stealthily, so faithfully, so gracefully, so quietly, on your long, lanky, legs, looking, waiting for your first, tasty morsel from the sea, yellowing sea. Good morning, Great Blue, Long Necked Warrior of the Morning birds, you, who work so attentively alertly, keen for your morning fish. looking outwards toward the rising, brightening, sun. Do you watch for the sun to rise? Are you single pointedly moving towards the exact place where the fish meet your beak? This is the way I want to awaken each day, saying hello to the wild world before…
Read Full Poem >“You can’t do good work if you are impatient,” my husband, songwriter and producer of his first CD recording of his original songs, says to me. “You have got to get the patience thing handled,” he says, referring to the pace at which the project is being completed. True, enough. This also applies to me. You could also call this moment, although it may seem somewhat incomprehensible or esoteric, “leaning into surrendering to the unfolding conversation of the universe.” Those are big words and may sound odd. At the same time, if you lean into them, you might get what…
Read Full Poem >On the porch now. I drink my morning healing tea. The aroma and warmth make my body feel good, like I am meant to be here. It is always good to know that I am meant to be where I am. The sailboat, with its white, full sail glides soundlessly, effortlessly, past the island nearby, wind at its tail. I glide effortlessly into no time. There, I find my Inner guide, speaking a blessing: May the divine wind lift my sails of trust, May I intuit and attune, allowing the breeze to carry me effortlessly home, knowing that I am…
Read Full Poem >Last summer, on a quiet day, a sailboat made its way past the island in front of our cabin. It seemed to glide effortlessly as it caught the wind, its sails billowing. The energy of the universe, and of Grace, moves through us in just that way. However, to tap into it, we need to raise our sails, as well. We also (and this is hard for most of us) must surrender, or let go of needing to control, which need stops us from accessing that flow. Sometimes, it is hard to let go of control. And it is exactly…
Read Full Poem >In David Whyte’s book, Crossing The Unknown Sea, Brother David Steindl‑Rast says to him, “The antidote to exhaustion is wholeheartedness.” What an amazing thought to ponder. This is a story about wholeheartedness. In the heart of the forest is a wounded tree. This tree is located in the magical, mystical forest of Glenstal Abbey, in County Limerick, Ireland, and we were led there by one of the Benedictine monks, Brother Anthony, who guarded the forest with his love. The tree was a total surprise. My husband and I were journeying with Turas D’Anam, which in Irish, means “Journey of the Soul,” in…
Read Full Poem >The Universe took one Great Breath and cracked you open Exposing your Heart for all to see. And you raised your Great Arms in celebration of your woundedness, Up, up to the sky.
Read Full Poem >Underneath the preoccupations of the world and of my mind, Silence Speaks. I need but listen: “Let the fog engulf you, make a cocoon around you today as you read or write or cook or wash. Do not let the pulls of your mind with its tentacles of glue pull you into stories of past, of present, of future. Let the fog lift, as it does, revealing those silent islands in the mist of time in the midst of space. Let the sun shine through, bless you, and let you know you are on holy ground.”
Read Full Poem >I have just returned to the mainland from Isle Royale National Park, where, with Practice, you can tune into the Silence. Nature does that for me, if I approach Nature as my Teacher and my guide, with an appropriate reverence, humility, and longing. Though “letting silence speak” may sound like an oxymoron, it is not. And though you may think I can describe what Silence speaking sounds like, I cannot. Not really. Not if you want a direct experience. A direct experience, which is after all what matters, is beyond understanding, and a description is the language of understanding. It…
Read Full Poem >May I dream a deep, blue sleep while fire eats hungrily the wood, the stove top silent, content to be still, as outside purple sounds of earth settle into night. May the waves of sleep carry me to its farthest shores, stilling my beating mind of worry, healing my breathing heart of fear. Let the waves break there upon the land beyond the current horizon where lake shore rocks are ground through the gift of time into small pebbles, smooth to touch, and soft and easy sand that feet can walk on. Loons eat them to get their food down.…
Read Full Poem >As you read this posting, I will be in Isle Royale National Park, where the pristine wilderness – the sounds of the day, and the deep blue silence of the night, can seep into my soul and speak to me, bring me on an inner journey where, like a pilgrim, I find myself anew. Still at home, I am beginning to prepare: to prepare to being open, receptive to the land and the lake and the sky; to prepare myself for the gift of Observation, to being present, to bringing myself into the amazing land of Wonder, where the trees…
Read Full Poem >“Pick up your pen and write,” she says, that wise and ancient Voice: the devoted Muse, speaking to me in the grey morning, white ball of sun in the sky, in the water, below. Below, where the surface conversation has long since disappeared, I ask a private question: “Of what shall I write?” “Anything you hear in the deep well of your own heart.” “Write about the loon mourning the days away. Write about the turtle who belongs in the pond among the lilies. Write about a world of wonders. Write about me, who will…
Read Full Poem >We are in what many indigenous people call “liminal space” – a space between rooms, a space of infinite possibility. As we gradually make our way out of the last year and a half of our lives, stepping into, and creating, our new, future, may we do so consciously, intentionally, wisely, lovingly. Let us not think about “returning” or “getting back to normal.” Perhaps, just perhaps, there is no “normal,” and there is no “going back.” Let us stop, and listen, and then move forward, following our intuition to guide our way, shedding what must be shed along the way,…
Read Full Poem >If I were a tree, I would be the dancing Cottonwood, waving at me, at us all, arms delighting in the dance of the early evening breeze. I would not know or care whose property I’m on. I would not ask how long I’m going to live. Or if God exists. I would not worry that some months hence my leaves are going to fall and my branches will get bony. I just would wave my arms in pure ecstasy to be alive, at one with the wind who holds me in his arms. Some of my leaves would be…
Read Full Poem >The other day, I was sitting on the back deck, with my husband, and noticed I was not hearing what he was saying to me. Instead, I was listening to myself talking to myself! The minute I noticed, I shifted gears and started listening, intentionally. I got curious about what he was saying. I listened for discovering something new in what he was saying, and to be surprised by it, contributed to, by it. Sharing together, our conversation took us to a place that neither of us had been before we started conversing. Did you know that the root for…
Read Full Poem >Be a clearing! An empty vessel in which you can hear and taste the future filling the vessel with miraculous and astonishing surprises – the unexpected: musical food for the Heart
Read Full Poem >While we may think we know how life will unfold from here, if we tell ourselves the truth, we have absolutely no idea. I have learned many things during our experience with Covid, one of which is this: we cannot predict the future. While we human beings have an enormous resistance to uncertainty, uncertainty has been our home these last twelve months, and still will be. So, the question becomes: who do we need to be to live in this home, strong, inspired, enlivened? Boris Pasternak said, “Surprise is the great gift which life can grant us.” If we were…
Read Full Poem >Sometimes it’s time to hide, to go deep inside the well to descend into the whirlpool of wounds, of losses and griefs that ask to inhabit your mind and heart for a while. There, you have good and necessary work to do, to let your wounds bring you to compassion. Within this time, while you follow the slow and circuitous path of your heart, remember to love yourself, care for yourself while feeling your way through the pain. Know the rawness of your griefs. You and they are trustworthy. You must listen to them speak, transforming you and softening your…
Read Full Poem >We are so filled with prescriptions for positivity, that sometimes we forget to include, to allow for, to put our arms around, all those parts of ourselves that are hurting, that are lamenting, that are grieving, to be with what has ended, and embrace those parts of our lives, or ourselves, that it is now time to let go. As I say in one of my poems, “Heartbreak,” in my book, Crossing Thresholds, Island Reflections, pain not honored or fully experienced hides in the years, hides in our body/mind, goes underground, and so we live with a brittle heart, not…
Read Full Poem >Now come the rhodies, ripe with red and readiness singing Spring, while my greening magnolia tree greets the sea. Magnificent each morning in her pink green dress changing each day. No morn is like the last. My own garden lets me know: Not only is change inevitable Not only do our little deaths give way to new births Not only if we give our focused attention, we will have the gift of amazement. Not only do the ever flowering blossoms drop to the ground making rich the soil with their pink and…
Read Full Poem >Each morning, before I go to my office, in my morning practice of drinking tea, and reading poetry, and writing, with an intention to “get out of my head” and “get out of my plans” and move into the natural world “out here,” something new clicks for me. The morning, noticing the bright red rhododendron blossoming near the greening of the leaves, and the waning petals of my magnolia tree, the poem, “Magnificent Magnolia Morning” came my way, opening the territory for me to reflect upon the impermanence of all things. Even though we often avoid it, or deny it,…
Read Full Poem >Deep within the garden of love the peonies turn their bright faces to the sun and celebrate, fully accepting themselves and each other’s beauty.
Read Full Poem >Several weeks ago, I was staying in a lodge in Southern Washington where my husband and I would be attending a Creativity Painting session the next day. Never considering myself much of a painter, I thought I would enjoy stretching some new creativity muscles, leaning into the “unknown,” letting go of my own painting critic, who has been with me since grade school, and inviting the Painting Muse in. The night before that painting session, a poem came to me, quite suddenly, and I wrote it down. Peonies were at the center of that poem. I could not recall what…
Read Full Poem >May the Spring’s abundant flowers, white and pink and yellow swell my heart with gladness, fill me with their surprises of sweetness and of glory, as I turn my face toward the natural world, once again. May the tight budding of the magnolia tree inside my heart slowly ripen to a full flowering, accompanying me, during these days with its delicate sweetness, springing toward life. May this tree of friendship in our yard as it blossoms into its own fullness in the next many days mirror, and beckon to me, the blossoming the ripening …
Read Full Poem >A blessing is a special speaking, and a special listening, or, as John O’Donohue says, in To Bless the Space between Us, “a gracious invocation where the human heart pleads with the divine heart, cries out to its divine ground.” Today’s poem, Blessing for the Blossoming, comes right out of my own, current journey. We have a magnolia tree in our yard, which is springing into spring!!! Like the magnolia tree, I sense a gradual awakening in my own heart, my own spirit, and I ask for that, as well. Like a pilgrim, each morning, I walk the uneven path…
Read Full Poem >Most recently, one of the Great Lessons I am being taught, during this Covid Crisis, is to stay true to the Creative Voice that is my own. To do that, I need to set aside my critic, and listen, deeply, to my own wisdom, my own intuition, my own deep heart knowledge, that speaks to me when I go deep into my own, inner Silence, the Silence that awaits me when I let go of identifying with my thinking mind. The mind is so loud, with its positions, opinions, judgments, beliefs, need to be right, need to make others wrong,…
Read Full Poem >Lest you forget who you are, let a mighty flame surround you with its sweet incense smell, carry you back through your heart’s eye and all that you hold dear, to that place in the ashram of your body you pray and remember who you are. Let yourself be found by the pure soil of your soul, the ground where all seeds flourish. Be bound by the marriage of your breath with spirit. Don’t so get caught up in the world in ways you don’t want to be remembered. Let the earth the air water and fire spirit you to…
Read Full Poem >The wick in my candle has grown so long during these months and years of cocooning, hibernation, lock down, break down, re‑imagining. What is the ing word that you choose? Sheltering, healing, grieving, fearing, worrying, discovering, learning, re‑setting, pausing, stopping, serving, practicing, re‑imagining, kindness‑ing, giving gratitude, living in wonder, improvising, inventing, stand taking breaking through, contributing, celebrating, creating perspective, learning, giving Joy. Choose your words, carefully. Each word gives, gives you your life. Speaks, speaks you in this threshold coursing time; speaks your meaning, speaks your purpose, speaks your life, brings you and your world into Being.
Read Full Poem >Normally, we think of language as a place to describe, report on, analyze, instruct, prescribe, conceptualize. Our words refer to something that “IS” – out there. And we are just reporting on it. Theologian Abraham Heschel has said, “Words create worlds. However, we can generate another relationship with language. Language can also CREATE. Martin Heidegger, a 19th century philosopher, said, “Language is the house of being. In its home, man dwells. Those who think, and those who create, are the guardians of this home.” With creating our words, we create our world, give rise to who we are in whatever…
Read Full Poem >There are journeys we must take. As thinking beings, they are part of our “required curriculum.” Connecting with our authenticity, our purpose in life, our gifts, and what gives us meaning is one of them. During this unprecedented time on earth, when the very ground we are used to standing on so solidly is shifting each day, where our time for traveling outward is restricted, we come to find that the old shorelines that used to mark our way are no longer available to guide us. Now, it is time to take another kind of journey, one that takes us…
Read Full Poem >Look beyond yourself. Look first to the farthest horizon where lake meets sky, and then, even further. Take one easy paddle towards that horizon and notice how the wake appears, then disappears, behind you. Pilgrim, You must not go back. Only the open lake in front of you with no shoreline to mark your way. Listen with your heart. Your heart knows the way. “The happy heart is true,” St Brigid speaks. Follow your joy. I know you can live wholeheartedly, that you can be who you choose to be. I know That you can paint your life with the…
Read Full Poem >“Every human being comes to earth with sealed orders.” Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard said that. A good question is, “What are your sealed orders?” I feel that one of my “sealed orders” is to go into the wilderness, and, through being fully Present, noticing, and not buying into, the chatter in my mind, I can hear the speaking of the world. And that speaking informs me, delights me, enlivens me, brings me to a new level of wisdom and care for all things. Poet Wendell Barry shares with us in one of his poems that when “despair for the world…
Read Full Poem >Across the still lake
Cloud Eagle swoops ‘neath snow trees.
Forest and falls call.
Dark green vines wet
and deep with color lie
with ease on gnarled maple bark
while below, the river gaily dances its way
to the lake, singing all the while: Fall’s Creek.
This is my birthday hike.
Read Full Poem >February 9, was my 76th birthday. My husband and I took a journey to the Olympic Rainforest, to Lake Quinault, staying at the lodge for a couple of nights. One morning, Don and I hiked up to the Falls’ Creek waterfall. Not having hiked like that in over a year, I was having a struggle, walking up hill, breathing hard. We almost stopped, before making it to the Falls. As the cascades we were seeing were so beautiful, we thought we had reached the top. Just as we were perhaps 10 steps away from the top of the hiking path,…
Read Full Poem >When we, creatively, intentionally, consciously, “breathe in the light,” the darkness begins to dissipate. Can you hear and see and feel and touch the lightness now coming our way? If not, perhaps it’s time for you to turn your face away from the computer screen, as I was called to do, by the Red‑tailed Hawk, and the breaker waves from North to South, and the sound of the winds in trees, and listen! Listen to a new song! Listen to a new Voice. Listen to the Music of the Wind. Listen to the possibility of Breathing. Light dispels darkness. Where…
Read Full Poem >A sudden gust—
I hear the movement of the trees
calling me to give them my attention
telling me to turn my head from the computer screen
Read Full Poem >Today is a time for completion. We are ending one era of our lives, here in America, and beginning another. We are ending one year of our lives, here on the planet, a year of great disruption, grief, chaos, change, and unpredictability, and opening ourselves to learning commensurate lessons that come from us wanting to be ALIVE and vibrant, even as we move through this pandemic – lessons in resiliency, fluidity, in being centered, in gratefulness, and in faith. Often when something is ending, we find, in that ending, the inkling of a new beginning. And yet, while the future…
Read Full Poem >Three‑layered bank of fog.
Hills, mountains, Cascades
hover on the Sound,
a soft, stealthy cat guarding its treasure,
halfway between our shore and the sand spit.
The trees long to see the land, to come out from underneath the fog. And when the fog parts, even for a brief moment, a world of possibility opens. Grateful, alert to the day, surprised and astonished by what they see, a new threshold beckons and a new life begins. As we enter, you and I, the year 2021, a new world awakens. Not yet clear what world will greet us on the other side of this migration we are in, this year‑long (and more) winter of hibernation, of cocooning, we can, still begin to ask our questions: What conversation…
Read Full Poem >Let
the opportunity of these times
fill your heart with gratefulness.
Can you not see
that everything around you
is calling for a new perspective
and that you
are hungry for
Read Full Poem >I have been asking myself, “What conversation or conversations allow me to create completion around the year, 2020.” What an incredible, unprecedented year this has been! Most of us experienced a certain momentum going into this year. I know I did, and when March entered into our lives, my life, our lives, we were turned upside down. Asking myself, early on, “What is being asked of me? What lessons does this new ‘required curriculum’ we must move through in our lives, individually and collectively, give us an opportunity to now learn?” was a nourishing question with which to move through…
Read Full Poem >Teachings from another time are given: All is well and “shall be well.” Live in faith, know deep in heart, that endings soon (in their own time) give rise to new beginnings, and only with completion can a new beginning start. And I must rise to the tide of my life’s calling for giving endings where those endings are now due. “What must I complete?” “What endings must I cause?” I’m called to ask. Here, the heart can grow and gladden with Completion’s teaching: All is Well, “All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be…
Read Full Poem >Thin pine boughs tremble,
chilled and thrilled as they beckon
cold winter to come.
Read Full Poem >Each season’s passing marks a new season’s beginning. Each era of our lives has its own challenges, which challenges become teachings; its own griefs, which griefs open our hearts to compassion; its own sorrows, which sorrows, when embraced intentionally as gifts themselves, when fully experienced, allow for the burgeoning of joy, and open us into gratitude, gratefulness, and Grace. This is a time of threshold crossings for us all, a time for healing, for harmoniousness, for making whole, with abundant heart, abundant awareness, and abundant courage, as we lean into and explore, like great adventurers, the conversations that can guide…
Read Full Poem >“The antidote to exhaustion is not rest,” Brother David tells David Whyte, in the book, Crossing the Unknown Sea. “The antidote to exhaustion is not rest,” David repeats woodenly. “What is it then?” And then, Brother David says one of the wisest things I have ever heard him say: “The antidote to exhaustion is wholeheartedness.” I WHOLEHEARTEDLY INVITE YOU to wholeheartedly devote yourself to gifting yourself with making a surprising, enriching, Life Giving, Enlightening, Awakening, personal threshold crossing, one that lights up your life, in the first part of 2021 through a choice of two virtual, fully community‑based conversations. While…
Read Full Poem >The first big blow and the rest of the fall leaves fall to the ground, dancing wildly with the wind, making no sound. Except if you listen underneath this wild presentation to the real conversation, you will hear: Meet me here, just here, and now, in the passing of this season into next. Meet me here in nature with your full attention and I will lead you to wonder. Meet me here with your full attention your full presence your full concentration and you will know Gratitude.
Read Full Poem >While this is a time for Giving Gratitude, what does this mean? Certainly not just saying the words alone, but imbuing the words with the meaning behind those words. In what ways can we arrive into the Spirit of Gratitude, we might ask? Is it even all right, now, in these times, to arrive into Gratitude, when all around us, there are so many challenges, anger, hurt, disappointment, tension? And yet, in these dark times, growing even darker through the passing of each day, into the season of winter, the Light of Gratitude can be a beacon for us all,…
Read Full Poem >My poetry corner is a sacred space for me, into which I enter every morning, before anything. There, I allow the poetic imagination to speak to me and to speak for me, and I listen, deeply, to whatever comes, and then take pen to paper. The touchstones and keepsakes, mementos, from my travels all over the world, remind me that wherever I go, I belong. Whether it is the colorful cup that looks like a Gaudi wall in a house in Barcelona, or coasters with fine precious stones cut by the men whose ancestors built the Taj Mahal, they bring…
Read Full Poem >This is my Poetry Corner.
This is where each morning
I light the candles
and watch the incense smoke
gently rise, and circle, to the ceiling of my room.
Even here,
somewhere in the middle
of these dark days,
somewhere in the middle of this Crossing,
where lives upended stumble
blindly through their days…
Read Full Poem >When we stop, when we still ourselves, when we attend, with full Presence, to the ordinariness of the world, the world becomes extraordinary. Move into letting yourself rest in, become one with, nature, and see where that takes you. You will, most likely, find that that path takes you into an inner journey where you meet your muse, your own fire of creativity, your own silence. When we quiet long enough, we deepen our own capacity to hear, and the world can teach us, can reach us. We can live in life being “a bride to amazement,” as Mary Oliver…
Read Full Poem >In these days of little traveling outward, and, perhaps, deep traveling inward, we come to find that the old shorelines that used to make our way are no longer available to guide us. Now, we need to find a new compass, a new rudder, so that we may paddle towards that horizon which is uniquely our own. Attending to our heart, we find, that our heart knows the way. When we stop, get quiet enough, and still enough, and listen deeply, we can connect with our heart, we can discern our Voice, we can discover our one true name. It…
Read Full Poem >This fog filled morning
the bright lights of our family room
illuminate the whale.
Leaping with joy, he flies…
Read Full Poem >“What is your place in the world?” is, perhaps, one of the most fundamental questions we can address, always. A question asked by poets, thinkers, philosophers, thinkers, theologians, during all times, this question begs to be addressed particularly during this time, as the ground is shaking every day, where there is no shoreline to mark our way, where the external circumstances, ever changing, do not provide us with any information about who WE were born to be. When we connect with our Selves, at our core, when we discern our own unique thread, we are able to make choices in…
Read Full Poem >Oh, Great Blue,
with your great grey span of wings gliding
graceful over silent grey sea:
What are you speaking to me, this morning?…
Read Full Poem >Most recently, one of the Great Lessons I am being taught, during this Covid Crisis, is to stay true to the Creative Voice that is my own. To do that, I need to set aside my critic, and listen, deeply, to my own wisdom that speaks to me when I go deep into my own, inner Silence, the Silence that awaits me when I let go of identifying with my thinking mind. The mind is so loud, with its positions, opinions, judgments, beliefs, need to be right, need to make others wrong, expectations, disappointments, regrets, worries, fears, and so forth.…
Read Full Poem >Drop
Down
Deep.
Drop down,
beneath the Silence
where the Voice
of your Soul
— the Creative Imagination — can find you
and guide you…
In our lives, and in these unprecedented times, in particular, it is important for each of us, if not critical, to “drop down deep,” to “stop what you are doing right now, and to stop what you are becoming while you do it,” as poet David Whyte suggests. To, simply, stop. It is in the stopping that we can notice, observe, include, and be with, all of the emotional and reactions, the opinions, and the judgments, the resisting and persuading, the complaining and the fighting, we are doing in our minds. Once we have stopped, we can, simply, focus in…
Read Full Poem >Each of us has the capacity to Wonder, to be with the joy and delight of all of our senses, and observe the details of all we see, hear the life breathing joyfully underneath the surface of nature, be attentive to people and to the world all around us, to “listen with the ear of our heart,” as St. Benedict wisely counseled us. What is it to “listen with the ear of our heart?” we might ask. It starts with noticing, then dropping, our judgements, our expectations, our righteous opinions, our identification with our internal conversation that says, “It should…
Read Full Poem >Allow
the soft tree tops of your body
to welcome the sun in the morning,
to dispel the worries,
to greet you with their glorious
embrace of this new day.
New, as if the sun arising from the horizon…
Read Full Poem >Today, I picked up my very own, recently published book, Crossing Thresholds, Island Reflections, as a start to my beginning of the day, and as a start to a morning meditation. I opened it up to any page that seemed to be “calling me,” a page that “felt right.” On that page was a single lined question, or reflection: “To what do you belong?” The question was preceded by a poem which, of course, I know well (since I wrote it), and I didn’t re‑read the poem. The question, however, intrigued me. What a fascinating question! The word, “Belong,” for…
Read Full Poem >The prefix, “co,” can mean so much. It is, as something I read on the internet said, “endlessly productive.” The same internet article said, “The prefix, co, is an old Indo‑European prefix meaning ‘together, collectively.’” Another definition said that the prefix means “with” or “thoroughly.” YES! Let us be “together, collectively, with and thoroughly.” Before you read on, stop, and think of the meaning of each of the words in front of you. Connection: often so missing, in normal times, and, especially, in these times, where our inter‑relatedness, our authentic connection with one another, if you will, is not only…
Read Full Poem >I am aware, as we move through the passages of Covid, I am being taught the art of improvisation, the art of being able to say to the universe, “yes, and….” as an antidote to resisting what is. I learned from a friend how precious that key can be, the key to starting with acceptance of what is presented to us, versus resistance, avoidance, denial. That’s what this tiny, wild, purple flower is doing, as it makes its appearance into the sunshine out of the hard, lichen‑filled lava molten rock on the shores of Lake Superior. It is improvising. It…
Read Full Poem >Hello, and welcome, once again, from my deepest heart to yours. In the prologue of Anam Cara, (which translates from Gaelic to “soul friend”) the poet/philosopher John O Donohue says, “Friendship is a creative and subversive force. It claims that intimacy is the secret law of life and universe. The human journey is a continuous act of transfiguration. If approached in friendship, the unknown, the anonymous, the negative, and the threatening gradually yield their secret affinity with us.” We are certainly living in the presence of the unknown, the anonymous, the negative, and the threatening. In what ways could those…
Read Full Poem >We have been shaken out of our slumber and woken up into a land of unfamiliarity. The “wake up wind” has been a tsunami in our house.
Read Full Poem >All of us…all of us… are moving across a planetary – wide threshold. Perhaps for the first time ever, all of humanity is sharing the same crossing. Clearly, this is a time for re‑set, for each of us, for the collective us, for the planet.
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