Beneath the plodding of my weary feet My path seems to forevermore extend Unceasingly, no respite or retreat, Without beginning nor with hope of end. The possibility I might complete This journey seems far too much to pretend For one who can’t imagine what he’ll meet Around the very next upcoming bend. Yet even if I stop, or turn aside There’s no foretelling what might come my way: All that’s my own, within a world so wide, Is whether I will choose to go or stay. I place one foot before the other, free To shape the course of my own destiny.
Almighty mother of the Erotes Whose arrows excite and impel Whose persuasion none can resist Ineluctable charms draw ever upward Recalling soul to her source Setting a divine spark within Enkindling there an all-consuming flame.
Yet sometimes, softly, in silence, You whisper to me, “Rest.” And this, too, is love.
Over the weekend, one of my friends mentioned that she’s interested in the creative work of writing poetry, and asked me for a few guidelines, that could help get her going. I’m sharing some of my thoughts here, in hopes that they might be useful to others, too.
The gifts of true friends: Sharing both joy and burdens, Making light heavy loads, with Hands, heart, speech, shared silence. To see, to be seen In a clear, polished mirror – Not as we might seem, But truly, in the depths. Rest, comfort, safe and secure, Side by side, in peace.
In the darkness, twin candles
burn brightly at your shrine,
illumine you Nine Holy Muses,
who illumine me in turn.
You breathe in the incense –
breathe into me, I pray;
inspire me by your presence.
You for whom honeyed tapers
burn down – lay upon me
gifts from your sacred beehives.
To see and be seen:
Gift of gifts, dearest treasure.
To gaze beyond the body,
Past the surface, plumb depths
So rich, yet rarely beheld.
Eye a window on spirit,
A tiny, mirrored reflection of
The truth of one’s heart.
To recognize, in that encounter,
A kindred soul gazing back.
All too often, we dismember:
Rend part from part, limb
From limb: opponents and enemies,
Flesh of the living Earth,
Even our own precious lives.
Deny coherence, blot out meaning,
Tear thought from thought, leaving
Each one discrete, isolated, alone.
Thinking “there is not, nor
Ever was, a greater whole.”
What would it be, if
Slowly, softly, mindfully, we remember?
Put our thoughts back together?
Find connection, pattern through all?
If we tell structured stories,
With beginning, middle, and end?
See each moment, each life
Fitting, forming a cosmic whole?
A world full of meaning,
A world we might remember.
Mnemosyne, Lady of Sweet Recollection,
Please help us to remember.
Who roam these valleys,
Hallowed by your footfalls,
Lady of the wild,
Who wend your way amidst the resinous Pines,
Who wander these mountainsides in the moonlight,
I call to you.
Pray bless this land,
Holy and dear to you.
Bless us who dwell here.
Bless all who call upon you,
By whatever names they know you.
Hear my prayer.