Up a stone-strewn path,
Under the eaves of asparagus,
Past the last old rotting log,
There is a way to walk.
I go meandering, and
soon realize that I am going up
a mountain.
The trees hold me lovingly as I go by.
The sweetness of the air sustains me.
I stop for a drink of cold, pure water.
I have never had water before now.
Endlessly, I wander. Until I stop.
There is a clearing, and I am dreaming that
I can see forever
from this mountaintop.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
You Say You Want an Evolution
Even as a child, I had a ‘knowing’ that I was here on Earth at this time for a specific reason. In my teens, I connected to the idea as my being here to help in an “evolution of consciousness.” Slowly, over the years, I have to come to appreciate that patience is a key virtue in the unfolding of this evolution. Patience with myself, and patience with others. Change happens one person, one moment at a time.
Monday, September 7, 2009
A Psalm of Life
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time; -
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Sundays and Me
I love Sundays. It is my favorite day of the week. Although I do work around the house on Sundays, I feel especially virtuous doing it, because Sunday is supposedly a day of rest. Therefore, if I am not resting but instead working, it is sort of "bonus" work, which is extra-good, if you will.
When I was 10 years old, my family still attended church on Sundays. I think it was waning, however. We stopped attending church regularly some time in the following years; I am not sure exactly when. At 10, I think I was still attending Grace Baptist Church. My most vivid memories of those Sundays were of being excruciatingly bored through the sermons, and having to be very quiet nonetheless. Your typical childhood church experience. I also recall the great joy of church being over! The rest of Sunday would have been spent at home, playing in or outside, perhaps a family dinner. Maybe not idyllic, but certainly pleasant enough.
When I was 20 years old, I was in college in Philadelphia. Sunday was the last day of weekend, usually spent studying and partying. So I would be wrapping up both, no doubt. Or continuing both, depending on how you look at it. I suppose I liked Sundays. No classes, no job...at that point I worked on-campus during the weekdays. So Sunday truly could be a day off, yet there was no strong urge to dread the coming week.
When I was 30 years old, I was a working gal. I was also getting divorced, so Sundays probably were spent largely alone. It wasn't a happy time in my life at all. Sunday may have been one of the worst days, but only because it was part of the weekend. For that matter, Sunday might have been good in the sense that I knew the work week was coming; when I could go to work and forget my troubles for a while!
When I was 40 years old, I was a working mother, and I was pregnant with child # 2. Then I had child # 2! So, first Sundays were a whirl of house care and child care and preparation for the work week, and squeeze in a little rest there too, if possible. Sundays were the DAY OF DREAD. I did not like Sundays when I was 40. Rather I HATED Sundays when I was 40, at least while I was working. I knew what was coming. The M word. Leaving my son was heart wrenching, especially on Mondays. So by Sunday evening, the awful feeling would be welling up inside of me. Later, after the baby came, Sundays were just a blur, of course, marked only by a greater presence of hubby.
And now I am 50. And now, Sunday is my favorite day of the week. Mainly because I don't have to get up and go to a job on Monday morning. Also because everyone else I live with generally does leave the house on Monday. Then I get to have some time for whatever! I love them, I really do! But sometimes they are so loud and intense that I can not even hear myself think!
That is why I love Sundays. Because it is like a clean slate, a new start to the week, a day of rest or not, a time to start anew.
I wonder what Sundays will be like when I am 60?
When I was 10 years old, my family still attended church on Sundays. I think it was waning, however. We stopped attending church regularly some time in the following years; I am not sure exactly when. At 10, I think I was still attending Grace Baptist Church. My most vivid memories of those Sundays were of being excruciatingly bored through the sermons, and having to be very quiet nonetheless. Your typical childhood church experience. I also recall the great joy of church being over! The rest of Sunday would have been spent at home, playing in or outside, perhaps a family dinner. Maybe not idyllic, but certainly pleasant enough.
When I was 20 years old, I was in college in Philadelphia. Sunday was the last day of weekend, usually spent studying and partying. So I would be wrapping up both, no doubt. Or continuing both, depending on how you look at it. I suppose I liked Sundays. No classes, no job...at that point I worked on-campus during the weekdays. So Sunday truly could be a day off, yet there was no strong urge to dread the coming week.
When I was 30 years old, I was a working gal. I was also getting divorced, so Sundays probably were spent largely alone. It wasn't a happy time in my life at all. Sunday may have been one of the worst days, but only because it was part of the weekend. For that matter, Sunday might have been good in the sense that I knew the work week was coming; when I could go to work and forget my troubles for a while!
When I was 40 years old, I was a working mother, and I was pregnant with child # 2. Then I had child # 2! So, first Sundays were a whirl of house care and child care and preparation for the work week, and squeeze in a little rest there too, if possible. Sundays were the DAY OF DREAD. I did not like Sundays when I was 40. Rather I HATED Sundays when I was 40, at least while I was working. I knew what was coming. The M word. Leaving my son was heart wrenching, especially on Mondays. So by Sunday evening, the awful feeling would be welling up inside of me. Later, after the baby came, Sundays were just a blur, of course, marked only by a greater presence of hubby.
And now I am 50. And now, Sunday is my favorite day of the week. Mainly because I don't have to get up and go to a job on Monday morning. Also because everyone else I live with generally does leave the house on Monday. Then I get to have some time for whatever! I love them, I really do! But sometimes they are so loud and intense that I can not even hear myself think!
That is why I love Sundays. Because it is like a clean slate, a new start to the week, a day of rest or not, a time to start anew.
I wonder what Sundays will be like when I am 60?
Monday, August 10, 2009
I could see peace instead of this.
I could see peace instead of this.
That is a line from A Course in Miracles. I like to think of it when I am feeling worried or anxious. It is so calming to remember that I am free to choose the thoughts that can then direct my feelings.
That is a line from A Course in Miracles. I like to think of it when I am feeling worried or anxious. It is so calming to remember that I am free to choose the thoughts that can then direct my feelings.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
What I don't need
"Write about.....what you don't need"
I don't need all these old clothes in my closet. Who am I kidding? I am not ever going to wear that silk blouse from the 1990's for goodness' sake. I loved the blouse, I wore it often, it slipped out of my repertoire, it went out of fashion, and there it sits. I keep thinking I will wear it again, but the truth is, I haven't worn it in over ten years. I don't need it, clearly. Even though I have winnowed out much clothing periodically, certain items keep clinging, most likely because of some sentimental attachment.
But now is a time to ask myself: do I need this in my life? If the answer is, no I don't need it, then out it must go.
I don't need those clothes, and as a matter of fact, that lack of need is a clarion call: simplify! purge! cast off the old to make room for the new! Let those old pieces of fabric (for that is really all they are) be a metaphor for your whole life, Meredith! Make room for some new clothes!
OK, here I go!
I don't need all these old clothes in my closet. Who am I kidding? I am not ever going to wear that silk blouse from the 1990's for goodness' sake. I loved the blouse, I wore it often, it slipped out of my repertoire, it went out of fashion, and there it sits. I keep thinking I will wear it again, but the truth is, I haven't worn it in over ten years. I don't need it, clearly. Even though I have winnowed out much clothing periodically, certain items keep clinging, most likely because of some sentimental attachment.
But now is a time to ask myself: do I need this in my life? If the answer is, no I don't need it, then out it must go.
I don't need those clothes, and as a matter of fact, that lack of need is a clarion call: simplify! purge! cast off the old to make room for the new! Let those old pieces of fabric (for that is really all they are) be a metaphor for your whole life, Meredith! Make room for some new clothes!
OK, here I go!
Monday, July 20, 2009
I Don't Want to Hear It
(Note: I am back to taking inspiration from "Thinking About Memoir" which has page after page of instructions to "Write two pages about....")
I don't want to hear about all your problems, if you don't also say what you are going to do about them. I don't want to hear about every little thing that bugs you. I don't want to hear that you can't, or won't, or don't want to. I don't want to hear that you are sad, depressed, frustrated, anxious, worried, angry or jealous. I don't want to hear that I have any negative effect on you whatsoever.
I don't want to hear anything at all about all the bad stuff that goes on in the world. I don't want to hear about murder, war, exploitation, elder abuse, famine, pollution, political corruption, child molestation, or global warming. I don't want to hear about how television and the internet are ruining us. I don't want to hear any rap, heavy metal or hip hop music booming out of the car next to me at the stop light.
I don't want to hear any of it. But I do. It enters me and runs around like crazy, trying to find a home in my psyche. It does not find a welcome home, and that only makes it crazier. If only there were a filter for all of this stuff, a protective barrier to keep it all away. I crave silence. If I could only have enough silence, I could start to hear my own self think. Then maybe I could figure out what to do with my life. But all the noise keeps coming at me. All the noise drowns out the silence, until I can barely breathe, let alone think. But the dictate is to keep on going, in spite of the cacaphony.
This is not a complaint. Because I KNOW you don't want to hear that.
I don't want to hear about all your problems, if you don't also say what you are going to do about them. I don't want to hear about every little thing that bugs you. I don't want to hear that you can't, or won't, or don't want to. I don't want to hear that you are sad, depressed, frustrated, anxious, worried, angry or jealous. I don't want to hear that I have any negative effect on you whatsoever.
I don't want to hear anything at all about all the bad stuff that goes on in the world. I don't want to hear about murder, war, exploitation, elder abuse, famine, pollution, political corruption, child molestation, or global warming. I don't want to hear about how television and the internet are ruining us. I don't want to hear any rap, heavy metal or hip hop music booming out of the car next to me at the stop light.
I don't want to hear any of it. But I do. It enters me and runs around like crazy, trying to find a home in my psyche. It does not find a welcome home, and that only makes it crazier. If only there were a filter for all of this stuff, a protective barrier to keep it all away. I crave silence. If I could only have enough silence, I could start to hear my own self think. Then maybe I could figure out what to do with my life. But all the noise keeps coming at me. All the noise drowns out the silence, until I can barely breathe, let alone think. But the dictate is to keep on going, in spite of the cacaphony.
This is not a complaint. Because I KNOW you don't want to hear that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)