October 12, 2021
By Amba Gale
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 and loons calling to one another as the wavelets break upon our sandy shore. I listen to the Silence, and to the Universality underneath all things.
In that pre – dawn darkness, where the only sounds comes from the movement of my pen on smooth, white page, I access the Silence and ask for the Muse. She comes to me when I am quiet, when the voices of my mind grow still. She comes to me and says, “Pen my words.”
By Amba Gale
“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.
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 me,
to find your self
through these beautiful
white pages in your lap,
through the warmth and smell of the tea
you drink every morning
attending to it smoothing through your body
through the grey soothing sea below
your window carrying the splashing sparks of the sun
dancing dancing dancing
May you meet yourself.
There, may you be delightfully surprised by who you find.