"Words ought to be a little wild for they are the assaults of thought of the unthinking." ~~ John Maynard Keynes

Saturday, July 30, 2011

"Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer......"

Great Poem of the Day on Poets.org

Summer
by Amy Lowell

Some men there are who find in nature all
Their inspiration, hers the sympathy
Which spurs them on to any great endeavor,
To them the fields and woods are closest friends,
And they hold dear communion with the hills;
The voice of waters soothes them with its fall,
And the great winds bring healing in their sound.
To them a city is a prison house
Where pent up human forces labour and strive,
Where beauty dwells not, driven forth by man;
But where in winter they must live until
Summer gives back the spaces of the hills.
To me it is not so. I love the earth
And all the gifts of her so lavish hand:
Sunshine and flowers, rivers and rushing winds,
Thick branches swaying in a winter storm,
And moonlight playing in a boat's wide wake;
But more than these, and much, ah, how much more,
I love the very human heart of man.
Above me spreads the hot, blue mid-day sky,
Far down the hillside lies the sleeping lake
Lazily reflecting back the sun,
And scarcely ruffled by the little breeze
Which wanders idly through the nodding ferns.
The blue crest of the distant mountain, tops
The green crest of the hill on which I sit;
And it is summer, glorious, deep-toned summer,
The very crown of nature's changing year
When all her surging life is at its full.
To me alone it is a time of pause,
A void and silent space between two worlds,
When inspiration lags, and feeling sleeps,
Gathering strength for efforts yet to come.
For life alone is creator of life,
And closest contact with the human world
Is like a lantern shining in the night
To light me to a knowledge of myself.
I love the vivid life of winter months
In constant intercourse with human minds,
When every new experience is gain
And on all sides we feel the great world's heart;
The pulse and throb of life which makes us men!

Friday, July 29, 2011

Changing Perspectives

This summer has afforded me the gift of time. What a luxury it has been to slow down and reflect, both inwardly and outwardly, exploring both the inner reaches of myself as well as feeling awakened to the beauty around me. I feel as if I am spiraling inward yet at the same time more present and mindful to all forms of life around me.  I actually don't think this is a "yet" but more a "due to" my introspection, I do find it surprising and a bit of a juxtaposition.  There is so much thinking and reflection happening within myself I would not imagine there is room for appreciation and recognition for what is occurring around me, but maybe this is true mindfulness: seeing things in a new light and from a new perspective.

Included today are a poem by Mary Oliver and some of my recent photographs which are my attempts to find some tangible physical experiences to mirror the reflection going on inside myself. I've also included a piece I am working on regarding mindfulness.

Mindful
by Mary Oliver

Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for -
to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world -
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant -
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these -
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

And a link to the Writer's Almanac which highlighted the poem.



















On Being Present and Mindful
~~jkr

What is it to be mindful or present? I try to live in this way, but it is hard.
There are so many distractions, yet I know the moments when I achieve mindfulness and presence. As when I see the crow soar across the open field and am at once in awe, trying to imagine what view this bird sees. I feel mindful when I watch the way the water travels over the rocks in the river, creating eddies in which leaves perform their dance, or appreciating the way the water accentuates the rocks’ color, shape, line. Or at the town dump when a car drives past, I turn my head out of curiosity but not expecting to see anything in particular. It’s just a glance. It takes but an instant, but the glimpse I garner of the driver travels into my memory bank, though I have not asked it to do so, and matches this millisecond view of her profile to a person I have not seen in 17 years. Had I not been mindful and present, I should think I would have glanced at the car then turned my head back to take in the rest of the action at the town dump (and for those of you who don’t live in a small town, the dump is the place to be, the social microcosm of the town). But I was mindful and present and just as important, open --  ready, willing and able to accept to accept stimuli and information from my environment, the sights and sounds around me. I was open to letting my brain recognize this face 17 years past and place it for me. Who it was is not pertinent to this experience, except it was someone whom I cherish: a friend’s mother, a friend whose house I spent a great deal of time at through my teen years. I watched her for a moment just to be sure I had made the correct connection, then set out across the dump and as I drew close enough, called out her name. Once. Twice. She didn’t hear. I heard the tinkle of her laughter as she walked away from another person. “Betty!” Her body turned and I witnessed recognition wash over her face replaced by joy. She threw her arms open and walked toward me. A huge smile on her face. We hug and step back. “Oh I need another hug!” She tells me. The exchange of stories and journeys occurs along with the promise of a visit. But this unexpected meeting alone could satisfy me. I was mindful and present and open. Seeing and knowing the reason why I was meant to be here, at this moment. Mindful. Present. Open. Clarity.

What Mary has taught me.....or seeing bumblebees on hollyhocks

What I Have Learned So Far
~~ by Mary Oliver
Meditation is old and honorable, so why should I not sit, every morning of my life, on the hillside, looking into the shining world? Because, properly attended to, delight, as well as havoc, is suggestion.  Can one be passionate about the just, the ideal, the sublime, and the holy, and yet commit to no labor in its cause? I don't think so.

All summations have a beginning, all effect has a story, all kindness begins with the sewn seed.  Thought buds toward radiance.  The gospel of light is the crossroads of - indolence, or action.

Be ignited, or be gone.

This seems to be the summer of Mary Oliver.  She is guiding my way, showing me the cracks where the light gets in (thank you Leonard Cohen for that amazing lyric). I was out for a walk with my father enjoying the views of the mountains,the smell of freshly mown hay and the colorful gardens along the road. We happened upon a patch of raspberries so sweet and ripe they were practically falling off in our fingers. While picking I noticed a small collection of Hollyhocks, flowers which we used to have in our own garden but have long since disappeared. The are gangly plants but produce a most delicate flower. I was happy to find these bees busy collecting nectar when I went over to further inspect them.















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The Bell Jar at 40

Incredible essay about Plath. I am heading out to the library this afternoon to pick it up to reread it.

The Bell Jar at 40 by Emily Gould

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Up Close and Personal




















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When clouds are in the skies.....

The Sky
William Stafford

I like it with nothing. Is it
what I was? What I will be?
I look out there by the hour,
so clear, so sure. I could
smile, or frown—still nothing.

Be my father, be my mother,
great sleep of blue; reach
far within me; open doors,
find whatever is hiding; invite it
for many clear days in the sun.

When I turn away I know
you are there. We won't forget
each other: every look is a promise.
Others can't tell what you say
when it's the blue voice, when
you come to the window and look for me.

Your word arches over
the roof all day. I know it
within my bowed head where
the other sky listens.
You will bring me
everything when the time comes.




















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