A Little Bit of Soft

Why do we spend all of our precious soft?
trying to be hard
talking like we’re hard
dressing like we’re hard
pretending to be hard
moving like we’re hard
acting like we’re hard
writing like we’re hard
living like we’re hard

until we wake up one morning
stone
cold
hard
and we’d give anything
everything
to feel a little bit of
soft

~Max Mundan

~~~

#getYin

Natural Love

This morning as I walked along the lakeshore,
I fell in love with a wren
and later in the day with a mouse
the cat had dropped under the dining room table.

In the shadows of an autumn evening,
I fell for a seamstress
still at her machine in the tailor’s window,
and later for a bowl of broth,
steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.

This is the best kind of love, I thought,
without recompense, without gifts,
or unkind words, without suspicion,
or silence on the telephone.

The love of the chestnut,
the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.

No lust, no slam of the door –
the love of the miniature orange tree,
the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,
the highway that cuts across Florida.

No waiting, no huffiness, or rancor –
just a twinge every now and then

for the wren who had built her nest
on a low branch overhanging the water
and for the dead mouse,
still dressed in its light brown suit.

But my heart is always propped up
in a field on its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.

After I carried the mouse by the tail
to a pile of leaves in the woods,
I found myself standing at the bathroom sink
gazing down affectionately at the soap,

so patient and soluble,
so at home in its pale green soap dish.
I could feel myself falling again
as I felt its turning in my wet hands
and caught the scent of lavender and stone.

~Billy Collins, Aimless Love
❤️

Image by Nancy Lankston

Grief Work

If you come as softly
As wind within the trees
You may hear what I hear
See what sorrow sees.
If you come as lightly
As threading dew
I will take you gladly
Nor ask more of you.
You may sit beside me
Silent as a breath
Only those who stay dead
Shall remember death.
And if you come I will be silent
Nor speak harsh words to you.
I will not ask you why, now.
Or how, or what you do.
We shall sit here, softly
Beneath two different years
And the rich earth between us
Shall drink our tears.

~Audre Lorde

Moon Woman

a woman can’t survive
by her own breath
alone
she must know
the voices of mountains
she must recognize
the foreverness of blue sky
she must flow
with the elusive
bodies
of night winds
who will take her
into herself

look at me
i am not a separate woman
i am a continuance
of blue sky
i am the throat
of the mountains
a night wind
who burns
with every breath
she takes

~Joy Harjo
What Moon Drove Me to This? 
🌙

Image: Moon Meets Morning Star
Kwon, O Chul

Prayer to the Mother

Sacred Mother
give me roots within your heart.
Let my mind and imagination soar in the vastness of you.
Let my words and actions express your peace, your joy, your wisdom.

Mama, wrap your energy around me
and pull me all the way
into you.

☾☽

Photo: Altar to the Earth Mother,2016
by Nancy Lankston

Let Your Tears Flow

Myths are ancient wisdom stories that can teach us how to navigate life. In one Egyptian myth, the Goddess Isis weeps and weeps in grief for what she has lost. And her tears bring balance to the land; her tears nourish the earth and the barren soil heals and becomes fertile.

Could it be that the grief we are feeling right now is a healing balm? Might our tears be the medicine that our country and our Earth need to heal?

Let your tears flow. They may heal more than your heart. 💗

~~~

Image: Sasha Wolf/Wikimedia Commons