“Be ignited or be gone.”

-Mary Oliver, “Things I Have Learned so Far”

 

Step out of your narrow doorway,

tiptoe toward the fire.

 

Disregard the voices—

your own and others’—

trying to keep you safe.

 

Approach the flame,

feel the heat start to tickle

your cheeks, your earlobes,

that cold corner of your soul.

 

Close your eyes and feel,

then step,

then step closer and feel deeper,

taking the risk

they all tell you not to take.

 

Open your eyes,

see the blue and orange ribbons

dancing, swirling, leaping.

 

Raise your lips in a smile,

flirting with fulfillment,

joining with joy.

 

Hear your voice

tell you that this is exactly

what you are meant to do.

 

Take your candle

out from behind your back,

be ignited.

crystal cups and saucers

bobbing in frigid water

waiting for river sprites

to arrive at the party

Thank you, Rosemerry, for a day with Rumi!

 

Dear Rumi,

Lately I have been spinning—

not in the ecstatic way you spin,

whirling with the fullness of life—

I’ve been swirling through obligation

unable to twirl outside the circle of duty,

unable to stop.

 

I’m dizzy, Rumi.

Not dizzy in the drunk-with-joy sense

but dizzy in a sickening way,

chasing my own thoughts,

trying to remember why I spin,

desperate to find my way out.

 

I’m going to fall, Rumi,

maybe even collapse.

I hope the ground will be gentle,

will hold me until I can stand again

and start spinning in a different direction,

raising my arms this time,

to embrace everything.

How could I ever entrust

these words,

finally excavated

after years of burying

and unearthing,

to the flimsy white vehicle

and one pitiful stamp

that will carry them

from my heart

to your eyes.

 

I would rather they travel

on a purple cushion

in a golden carriage

surrounded by guards

ready to catch fragile sentences

dislodged by bumps in the road.

 

Perhaps they should be sealed

in shatter-proof capsules

catapulted across time and space,

programmed to land precisely

where and when you are ready

to receive them.

 

Yet, no matter how I send them,

I will still have to risk

using the wrong words,

choosing the wrong time.

I will still have to risk

your eyes seeing my handwriting,

your hands discarding the letter,

before your heart can read it.

stands the revelation:

I am human.

My 10-year-old cat limps now,

his mortality bludgeoning me

each time I see him hobble.

Detach…detach…

 

I can detach

from weather and clothes,

plans and people,

but with a love this big

so entwined in my being,

how could I ever

unhook, unsnap, unbutton

 and surrender to a bigger purpose?

 

Yet, the attachment,

although palpable and visceral

in strength and depth,

is only a desperate delusion:

that I can protect him

from pain, sickness, death…

that because I love him

he will always be around…

that this will be an exception

to nature’s stern rules…

that he is not needed elsewhere…

 

Detach…detach…

Be willing and able

to let go at any moment.

Able?

Maybe.

Willing?

Never.

The twelve-year-old girl,

leggy and in-between,

stares at the businesswoman

seated at the next table.

The girl’s face swirls,

fascinated by the silk blouse and impossibly high heels,

curious about what she may become,

thrilled at having discovered a new possibility.

 

The woman’s persona will linger,

infusing the girl’s play

as she tries on the power behind the suit

in her mother’s high heels,

staring through the mirror

to see who she will become.

No poem today. I wanted to share something else that moved me, however, so follow this link to the story of a cat, healed and homed. http://news.bestfriends.org/index.cfm?page=news&mode=entry&entry=48004EB6-ECA0-6229-6919177397D242B6&utm_source=delivra&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=The%20sweetest%20revenge%20is%20happiness%20-%20general&mid=92299098&ml=22588759

When my mom and I visited Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in October 2010, we spent one of our afternoons volunteering with the Special Needs kitties.  My job was to put Smokey (the cat in the story) on a leash and take her for a walk. It was a gorgeous fall day, and she seemed to find so much joy out in the sunshine and fresh air.  She was so kind and loving, an object lesson in forgiveness.  I have thought of her often since then, and when I saw this article today, I wept, overwhelmed with gratitude that she has found a “forever home” in which she can give and receive love.  Bless the woman who opened her home to this very special cat.

coiling inside us all

then flying out to coil elsewhere,

constant giving and receiving,

echoing through everything.

 

Listen to this rhythm while you create it,

watch energy spiral through walls and windows,

weave through trees and leap over rocks

until everything dances together,

different voices

singing the same words.

 

We are all so fragile, so strong.

We must huddle our humanity

and then disperse

to gather more songs for sharing.

We must continue this coming, going,

gathering, releasing,

breathing, living.

But there are days I feel so dark

so shriveled

so brittle

that shining

would crack me wide open.

 

And isn’t that the point?