Sun slips South,

stars slide into space, snow sparkles,

silence soothes.

Look beyond the colors,

the lines, the shapes,

the piece hanging

on the gallery wall. Look,

with your eyes closed,

into its center, hear

its heart pounding, and listen

to the brushstrokes chant

primitive songs. Smell

the oil, the canvas,

the artist’s body blazing

with the fever of inspiration.

And then, feel. Feel

the longing, the healing,

the ecstasy of creation pull

you in deeper to swirl, to spin,

to dance with this force

electrifying the molecules

inside you and around you,

transforming art into life,

and life into art.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daylight dissolves

into darkness,

dreams are discovered.

This plunge into the unknown,

the catapult from security

into freedom, will reveal

a path, a sign, a destination,

some reason why, but now

is not the time. Now is the time

to throw on a backpack

and start walking, using new eyes

to really see what this world

is about, to smell and taste and feel,

to listen, really listen, to everything

and everyone, discovering teachers

and lessons everywhere. Now

is the time to shed

bulky layers of protection

acquired during years

of doing things “the right way,”

time to feel the sun bake your skin,

the rain soak your hair, the wind

cut through and awaken your core.

Now is the time to trust

that someday, as long as you continue

down this trail of your own,

heart open to any and all

possibilities, someday life

will reveal what it wants from you

and for you, and you

will have already said “yes.”

A troupe of mountains

stood in position, disguised

in snowy costumes, while clouds

dressed like villains played

their roles in that October

afternoon drama. Thunder

punctuated the lines

hissed by wind as the stage

darkened and barren trees

stood just below the horizon,

ready to complete the plot.

If I lie down, ear against

the forest floor, eyes

closed, mind still,

and listen, really

listen, I hear your heart,

steady and certain

in its pursuit of freedom,

pounding through all

those wild places you

must never

stop exploring.

Spangle the sky as they arrange

and rearrange, pieces of black sheen

inside a kaleidoscope, shifting

the mirrors with each wing stroke,

dizzying the horizon, to create

designs completely unplanned

and inimitable, simply there

for the noticing.

This body I nourish with vegetables

and balanced meals, this body

I move and stretch to keep strong

and limber, this body I nurture

with sleep and rest,

this body that propels a bike

across miles and over hills, this body

that climbs mountains and hauls

half its weight up trails, this

body that has worked exactly

how it is supposed to work

to heal and support,

this body has decided to rip

a hole in the muscles right below

the belly button, allowing

things that should stay inside

to poke out and create a lump

where it used to be smooth,

invoking fear and disgust

and utter disbelief that

this body—this body that now

needs a surgeon and a procedure

to make things okay—this body

is not entirely within my control.

“Anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you.”

                                                          -David Whyte, from “Sweet Darkness”

 

Too small,

like the lovely and stylish sweater

you find on the thrift store rack,

glinting from its space

between faded blouses and well-loved

T-shirts, the sweater you try on,

and even though it’s tight

in the shoulders

and short in the arms,

it’s such a nice color and so soft, and

there’s the possibility

of washing it in cold water

and trying to stretch it out,

the sweater you end up buying

and wearing to work on Monday,

spending the whole day tugging

the sleeves down and feeling

like a boa constrictor is wrapped

around your torso, the sweater

you hang back in your closet anyway

and wear a few more times, hoping,

just hoping, you might shrink

or it might stretch,

the sweater

that never quite fits.

When my body stopped

striving, when my mind

ended its chatter, I noticed

the swallows glide

and swoop, heard their wings

paint the silence, felt

myself start to fly.