Tuesday, January 4, 2011
No longer young, still half perfect.
Today is a good day to be alive in Washington DC. The moon has turned, the eclipse cycle is over until June. The secular year has turned and we're well past winter solstice. All is new and fresh. The sun is shining and the sky is blue.
Also, it's Tuesday which is my Saturday. I have nothing planned today except for a massage I will receive later this afternoon. The spaciousness of a mostly unplanned day is such a luxury. I'm on the upswing, too, in terms of my dreams. Last night my dreams were only tinged with menacing themes; the nightmares are galloping away at last.
What I'm thinking about this morning is how easy it is to believe, when I'm in the doldrums, that I'll be stuck there forever. It's part of the thought form, I guess. But it's never true, not ever. The return from the mean reds is so joyous. Oh yeah. Happy new year.
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.