Her passionate eyes held mine as she elegantly voiced her heart’s intent. When she looked away I snuck a peek into her cleavage and immediately looked up, embarrassed, apologizing to the sky and all the women in my heart. But I chanced another glance as soon as I could.
The dog catches my eye and whines his question: “Now, Boss, now?” An idea: the smell of salt opens my mind. I laugh and nod. He stands with a clatter of claws on hardwood, tail high and boisterous, as he prances around the couch. His eager head presses through the red leash harness and we’re out the door, through the dunes, onto the moor, hearts on the fly in our amble du jour.
Consciousness, the universe is– a way to understand and make small enough a vastness into parts. Your mind will never grasp the whole, no, that is a feeling for your soul to warm when cold clasps your heart and galaxies never seen seem almost familiar and close enough to nod acquaintance. Understanding is accepting you cannot.
Birds play tag: close-drill flitting, chasers suddenly chased at the flick of a feather. I laugh; my mind flips like they do, but without their agility. I am honored to watch, bathed in their game, humored with their compassion.
Your poems run the gamut; you have blessed us with music of realization and understanding. Many of those poems were born on your couch, lying on your back, looking up at your journal. Really? Their birth is as astonishing as their venerable lives.
(Here's an example of a the beginning of a daily writing session. Initially, I made no edits. But I couldn't stand it, so now it's trying to become a poem. I've changed the original, so my first effort has been subverted. Silly me. I'll probably keep editing it until the work no longer feels like creation. Once the start is in ink,the important thing is to keep going. jrs)
Blood moon coming tomorrow; eyes all on high, hoping for clear enough and no rain. A dramatic sky—clouds and patches of stars—would be fine, maybe even preferred, like daily obstacles that educe a story with grit and a voice like an old friend with a mug of steaming coffee come by to visit for no particular reason other than coffee and to breathe the same air listening to the sea. Stories can do that: come alive and show you how they need to be. A story will not lie to you unless it becomes your lie. Daily writing does not require approval. All it needs is a curious heart.
I hope everyone reading this is having (or had) a special wonderful day. Gratitude is a driving power in the Universe. We all should exercise it more often. Every. Single. Day.
This is from Michael Murphy, author of Golf in the Kingdom:
“True gravity connotes the joining of awareness, delight, and embracing-force. But our modern world and its dominant philosophies work to separate them. True gravity is an experiential reality; a force-at-large in the world, the omnipresent heart power or feeling-force that permeates all things.”
(Looking southeast from between the 12th green and the 13th tee box at Gearhart Golf Links, the oldest golf course west of the Mississippi. Taken by yours truly.)