The wind howled and howled all day.
This evening in yoga class
I challenged my students
to identify the story they told themselves
that was holding them back.
I also challenged them to discover
the practice that would facilitate
their living into the biggest version of themselves.
The wind kept howling just outside the studio window.
It was a mournful sound, a sound of
deep, inconsolable sadness.
I heard the voices of those who had gone on,
the voices of those who regretted deeply
not living the lives
they were born to live.
Now only the wind speaks for them.
Let the wind blow through you,
Let the earth support you,
Let the water flow through you,
Let the fire warm you,
Let the ethers inspire you.
You, descendant of the stars,
you, who have inherited
the vast inner landscape of consciousness—
what will you do with this one precious life?
Where am I?
Sirens screaming by
Strange twilight haze
When the redbud, radiant in her new pink gown
places her arms around the forlorn forsythia and asks
Friend, stay awhile yet,
When the saucer magnolia
cries soft pink tears that pool in the grass
and spill overflowing into the road,
When the chilly wind stirs the wisteria
and frees the cherry blossoms
from their distant perch
When winter’s icy fingers still clutch
at the robes of the Goddess Spring
who longs to break free of the chains
and dance in the warmth of awakening–
When the green mist of rebirth
splashes the forest with promises
of incalculable abundance
then let us go by the river
and listen to this life that is ours.
It was a gusty warm March day,
and I had my two little ones
along with my nephew for the afternoon.
On the way out the door to the playground,
I remembered the kite we bought
a few years ago.
it took a moment to assemble
so long had it been since I had last flown that kite.
Once the parts were fit together
It didn’t take much for it to grab the wind
whose hearty puffs of energy quickly
bore the kite aloft into the vast expanse of blue sky
and I remembered childhood kite flying days
and the thrill of watching my kite
grow smaller and smaller
as the distance stretched
between my hand
and the bright colors of soaring magic.
I enjoyed about ten minutes of tugging on the kite string before passing it on to my nephew who did quite well manning the vessel. And then a child who wanted to take a turn flying the kite after my nephew let it careen off into the forest where it got stuck in a tangle of trees and briars. It was ensnared about 25 feet up in a small tree with no branches to climb to fetch it. The little boy’s mother said she was sorry about the kite but sadly made no offer to contribute to a replacement. What made it worse was that she had mentioned them having the same kite so she knew how expensive it was– between forty and fifty dollars–not a cheapo plastic one, but a beautifully constructed work of flying art. For the rest of the afternoon and evening I was nursing a pretty righteous grudge; if the tables were turned I would’ve surely offered some money as well as a sincere apology. My husband and I tried to retrieve it when he got back home from work at dusk but our ladder wasn’t long enough, neither was the telescoping pole with an X-acto knife taped to it that we were hoping to use to cut the string and free the kite. The air grew colder as the sun set, and my hands began to sting from the wind exposure. Sigh. No more kite. Another fine opportunity to practice forgiveness and non-attachment.
People hurrying, bundled,
running to the warmth of their homes.
But there are those without homes.
I wonder about the homeless;
I hope they will find shelter tonight.
Already this year,
six people in Baltimore have lost their lives
because of the bitter cold.
On this Valentine’s Day,
my heart breaks to think of it.
What can I do now but send metta?
May all beings be safe
May all beings be free from suffering
May all beings have mental and physical happiness.
May all beings be at ease.
May all beings be happy.
A rainy day in Baltimore city
An airplane flying overhead
Wind rustling the changing leaves
Drops of rain ending their descent
on asphalt, concrete, metal, glass, garbage
but also on earth, grass, flowers, trees,
and puppies scampering by with umbrella-ed owners
A neighbor sings as she walks down the street
The latest pop tune?
I don’t know,
I’m disconnected from that scene
I prefer to listen to the inner music,
the music that no one else can hear,
but maybe they can see
when they look at me
what a mixture of unconscious dissonance and
deliberate harmony can produce
in this human life
of sounds and silence.