The Journey – Mary Oliver

I know that this is reprinted many times, but I love this poem by Mary Oliver and wanted to share it again.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice —
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do —
determined to save
the only life you could save.

~ Mary Oliver ~

(Dream Work)

 

Soul Songlines

Soul Songlines – paths of your soul’s journey in this incarnation.

Piglet’s Song

Let’s find a Way today,
that can take us to tomorrow.
We’ll follow that Way,
A Way like flowing water.

Let’s leave behind,
the things that do not matter.
And we’ll turn our lives,
to a more important chapter.

Let’s take the time and try to find,
what real life has to offer.
And maybe then we’ll find again,
what we had long forgotten.
Like a friend, true ’til the end,
it will help us onward.

The sun is high, the road is wide,
and it starts where we are standing.
No one knows how far it goes,
for the road is never-ending.

It goes away,
beyond what we have thought of.
It flows away,
Away like flowing water.

~ Benjamin Hoff ~

(The Tao of Piglet)

Rage for the Light!

RAGE FOR THE LIGHT

Dreams of Orstraya Outback

And towns like Kalgoorlie, Western Australia,

where once gold fever ran molten along the streets and

where now the gold Super Pit operates 24 hours a day

coughing up the ore of dreams, lost hopes and nightmares.

Where men are men,

and women are skimpy barmaids, topless or in transparent lingerie,

or whores tucked away in Hay Street where you can go

And watch the women sitting in brothel windows.

Kalgoorlie – where the wide streets and heritage hotels

Hide the underbelly of this outback gold-mining town:

where a white man can run over and kill an Aboriginal boy

  – Joshua Doughty, 14 –

in a Nissan Navara SUV, because he believed the motorbike

Doughty was riding had been stolen from his home.

A white man gets sentenced to a pathetic three years in jail

by an all-white jury

and may be released just 18 months – 18 measly, pathetic months –

after taking the life of a son, grandson, friend to many,

because he’s got black skin.

That’s what is okay in Kalgoorlie – kill a child because a possession is worth

More than Elijah’s life.

The killer’s not alone in a town notorious for its racism:

A leaflet out the Kalgoorlie train station reads in large, red writing:

“If a thief was to steal my motorbike, I would run him down with my Nissan Navara”.

It then added “cull a thief day, justice is served”.

In this town swirling with the wealth of gold dust, a possession is worth more

Than a child’s life.

A black child’s life, that is.

Goddamn it, that child had the right to a life – to live, to laugh, to play,

To sing, to dance, to have a future, to be loved by his family.

Not to be crushed under an SUV for the sake of a thing, a possession.

Because when possessions outweigh human life

– a black kid’s life –

A society is sick, rancid and heartless.

Remember Joshua  Doughty!

A pox on racism. A pox on racists.

Rage against the darkness of hate.

Rage for the light of tolerance and love of humanity,

For a better, kinder, loving world.

The Life and Loves of Stones

I
Do not
Want to step so quickly
Over a beautiful line on God’s palm
As I move through the earth’s
Marketplace
Today.

I do not want to touch any object in this world
Without my eyes testifying to the truth
That everything is
My Beloved.

Something has happened
To my understanding of existence
That now makes my heart always full of wonder
And kindness.

I do not
Want to step so quickly
Over this sacred place on God’s body
That is right beneath your
Own foot

As I 
Dance with
Precious life
Today.

~ Hafiz ~

(The Gift – versions of Hafiz by Daniel Ladinsky)

The Soul’s Song

 

This is what you should do:
Love the earth and sun and animals,
despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks,
stand up for the stupid and crazy,
devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants,
argue not concerning God,
have patience and indulgence toward the people…
reexamine all you have been told in school or church or in any book,
dismiss what insults your very soul,
and your flesh shall become a great poem.

~ Walt Whitman ~

 

(Excert from Preface to 1855 edition, Leaves of Grass)

 

Woody Wonders

I was reading an article today about the way in which woodland, sadly, is being cut back in the UK. It reminded me of when I was young and staying with my grandparents at Blackheath, London. They lived down an isolated lane which lead, for me, to MagicLand. As a kid I loved nature (still do!) and almost the first thing I’d, when I’d arrived at my grandparents’ home, was to greet them then run out into the land of the trees beyond the confines of daily life.

My grandparents had a largish back yard (well, big for London), and when you walked out of the gate at the end of the garden, you entered what was for me a land of magic, peace and quiet. There was no sound of traffic, just the wood pigeons cooing, only fields ahead of me and, further down the wild area, a wood that was absolutely beautiful. It wasn’t big but it held trees, bushes, flowers (it was a carpet of blue when the bluebells were in season), and lots of secret places to explore. I could feel the nature spirits around me, offering loving support and support for my retreat from the world I found very difficult as a child.

I know that woodland and fields no longer exist as they’ve been sold for housing and other developments. But memories of my magical times in that small wood remind me of the power of trees, their strength, their hidden communications, their roots feeding deep into the earth beneath.

I would wish that other children – and adults- could experience the power of being in nature – it’s soothing, it’s healing and it connects us with All That Is resonating between all life on Planet Earth and throughout the Galaxy.

Lost
 
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you,
If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
 
~ David Wagoner ~

(Riverbed)

 

Still I Rise/Nevertheless She Persisted

This is a tribute to the 98% of black women who voted for Doug Jones in the Alabama election and helped contribute to the defeat of Roy Moore.

Still I Rise

Maya Angelou, 19282014

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.