Invisible Dream

*Originally published on my Wordpress blog 08.24.2022

I am keenly aware of my mortality these days. My kids are raised and are now raising their kids. My professional life has drawn to a close. My body lets me know every day that I am not the youthful runner with the smooth skin that I used to be. It is painful for me to lose the things that used to be. I haven’t lost everything. I still have my curiosity, my quick smile, my joie de vivre, my attention to detail, my desire not to be frumpy, my drive to learn - these are all important and still present. But I miss the physical energy and the attractive youthful appearance. More than anything else I miss the dreams that no longer happen.  I watch the losses in my head - the days that used to be - and it feels as if nothing could compare to those days. Nothing can hold the promise of 45 or 50 years ago - even 30 years ago. There were dreams about homes and children and trips and jobs - so many dreams and plans and hopes and big ideas. Now? Not so much.

I know you will say what about Rory and Liv? Sure, I will enjoy watching them grow up but I know the time will fly by. I can’t predict how much contact I will have with them. I know I want a close relationship with them but there are no guarantees around that. I can only make myself available and present and so that’s what I do. But they really can’t be part of my dreams.

So I look at my life now. I struggle every day with an awareness of what has already gone by. And I walk through the house and, in some ways, am burdened by the things that I once thought I would be or do. That is infinitely sad. I took Alex’s old bedroom and made it into an art room where I have created some cool art work but really? These days when I go in there I feel pressure to produce something. I wondered this morning if it wouldn’t be okay to simply empty that room. Let go of all that stuff and all the pressure it puts on me. Dismantle this part of my life.  Take the pressure off me.

I look around at all the books I have. It’s painful to know that they were acquired with such excitement and hope. I am guilty of collecting books because I very much want to read them but I have more books that I will ever be able to read (especially since I also read the reviews on new books and get those routinely from the library). I have 50 or more art books related to either studio art or art history.  I foolishly thought once upon a time that I would look at them all and look at them repeatedly. I would use that pastels instruction book to expand my skill. Ditto the acrylics guide. And the watercolors guide. And the drawing guides. I believed that I would page through and read the beautiful art history books but really? Will I ever? I am sad because the books were all acquired with such excitement and so many plans - plans to paint, to improve my skills, to be proud of my pieces. Now they just sit and remind me of all that I did not do.

I look at the various tools I have for exercise. I have fewer now than 20 years ago but I have the same issue here. I bought the yoga instruction books, the weight training books, a couple of bike maintenance books - but why? I don't look at them. Yes, I do yoga work and weight training but only the same stuff every day. I say that “some day” I am going to expand and I will do more but is that true? Most sad of all is my bicycle. I am mourning the loss of long bicycle rides. Sure, I can ride in town errands but those long Sunday morning hours of solitude, beauty , challenge? I have had too many bike accidents to continue. The bike accident itself is not the issue but the long and painful recovery (which never fully happens) is what I don’t want anymore. I can hike and walk .That’s something but it is not what I most want. The lovely years of challenging myself with bicycle adventures are gone. No more dreams there.

I have a whole shelf of travel books. I say I want to travel . Now that is something that is still calling to me. But it has gotten complex and expensive to travel. It’s demanding to do the actual act of traveling . Once I get to the destination, it’s fine but the driving or the flying?  Challenging in so many ways. And, on top of all that, I am oddly afflicted with FOMO on the home turf.  I also don’t have a playmate, although I could arrange for a sibling to come along most likely.  But that’s not the same as traveling with a lover. Travel dreams are still alive but they seem to be infected with reality. Who knows how long they will live? 

It really boils down to four things: family, outdoor excursions, books, and writing.  It’s kinda sad but that’s what I see for the next 15 years . I will watch the little girls grow and continue to support their parents in whatever ways I can. I will take walks and hikes and sit out at the beach and enjoy the ocean. I write for fun and games. I can still do that. It doesn’t take a bunch of supplies but it takes time. I can read. I can write. I can watch YouTube videos and learn lots of things that way. I can even just watch some good old movies, something I rarely do these days. And I can wait to exit the planet.

Social life? Yes, I guess that factors in there too. It’s been difficult to get back into the swing of it post pandemic.  I only want to stay home. I don’t want to give my precious non child time to anyone other than a book or a hike. Yes, I spend some time in the online world but that overall is making me feel sad and lonely. People disappoint. Or people put stuff up and I feel stupid (the curse of social media.) In short, I can work toward re-establishing some social ties but I will be discerning. I am not going to meet up with anyone unless they are interesting to me.

I imagine a house reduced to the bare essentials - the books I WILL read, the space for family to visit.  There is house and yard maintenance that I could do even more of. Not paint. Not whatever.  IDK - I feel pressure to do things. As long as I am in this cordial but not intimate marriage,  all  I really want to do is read, write, and be outside.

I AM grateful for all that I have been given in life. Make no mistake about that. Is it okay to want more though? Is it okay to be grateful but also to be aware of wanting more? Wanting an intimate relationship, someone to share these last years with? It's okay if it never happens. I have plenty of goodness but I can also want it to happen too. I think it I did have that close , playful , intimate, loving connection, images of the the past would not dominate my days. I would be able to dream again and make plans and have big ideas. IDK 

Being Okay

*Originally posted on my Wordpress blog 08.19.2022

When it comes to life, I am way beyond irritation. Irritation is when some entity doesn’t return a call  or when you can’t find your favorite brand of PB on the store shelf anymore. Those are annoying moments in life but I deal.  I know there is a ton of beauty and grace in the Universe and I am open to all of it.  But then there are days/weeks/months/years like this when life is disappointing.  NOT disappointing across the board, not everything.  I know I have much for which to be grateful.  I am, however,   in some significant arenas, defeated and disillusioned.  I don't think I am the only one who is walking around wearing a happy mask but I might be one of the few willing to say it out loud (or, actually, hide it in a blog post that has a limited audience :).   Too funny. I am deeply mourning the loss of connection.  This absence leaves an aching emptiness that feels as big as the universe.  A confluence of factors has led to this loss. I am in a long term marriage that provides financial stability and serves as a  reservoir for family connections and memories.  We have a cordial and respectful relationship which has dissolved into superficiality.  Enough said. Our children are responsible, kind, and understandably busy working and raising families. I delight in supporting them in ways that I can (child care mostly)  but their needs/interests have shifted.  Connecting with me beyond the family rituals is beyond what they need to do as adult children of mine. I have eight siblings and I do value my connections with all of them.  Unfortunately they all live more than a couple of hours drive from me and I let that distance get in the way. It's hard for me to deal with all the driving and the necessary overnight stays so that's a bummer.

COVID shot to hell the small but important cadre of  personal friendships that I had.  For some reason (and I hear many other people comment on this), I have reconnected with very few of the people I used to get coffee or a glass of wine with back in pre-Covid days.  IDK why.  I admit that I am not a compliant ZOOM person so that is my bad. I do have an active on-line  friendship group (primarily but not exclusively through Twitter) and that has had some delightful encounters. But it's a screen world.  Screens can only offer so much.  There's only so much depth to be had absent all the cues that come with IRL interactions. There are also so many ways to unintentionally hurt or disappoint (or be unintentionally hurt/disappointed)  by on-line connections. It's a dicey place, the world of screens and images. That world contains it all:  candor, hopefulness,  duplicity,  vulnerability, fear, humor, levity, loneliness, kindness, beauty, tears, ordinary day stuff. You name it, it's there and it wants your opinion.

I know a few things though. I know I am an expert at putting one foot in front of the other. I know the strength and value of curiosity.  I know that everything changes. I know enough to appreciate the beauty and grace that I see and feel every day in the Universe. They are real. I am not afraid to question everything. I'm not afraid to sit in stillness on a regular basis.  Life is absolutely messy and, even though I am a Virgo and am not fond of messy, I can also enjoy the messiness of days fully lived. So there's that.

Oh, and I have one superpower. I know how to pretend until pretend becomes real. I will be okay. 

One Early Lesson

*Originally posted on my Wordpress blog 08.18.2022

A certain small child went to her first full day of child care this week. Because she was born in the time of COVID, she has not mingled much with other children and, in fact, has never been cared for outside the family circle. She knows the homes of close family members but that’s about it. Her dad took her to visit for awhile at the small day care location last Friday so that she could  gain a bit more familiarity with the people there (she had been there with mom once before). She was fine when dad dropped her off last week.  She didn’t object when he left and she was interested in the other kids. Nap time arrived and she actually did go to sleep. Unfortunately, she woke up from the nap disoriented and upset. She cried the entire hour and half before mom arrived to take her home.  

All the adults in this child’s life were concerned about how today was going to go. Mom reported that there were HUGE tears at drop off (hard for mom too).  The day care provider sent a couple of photos of a not crying (but clearly subdued) small child at a couple of other points in the day. She did, however, lay down at nap time.  Yes, she woke up crying but she calmed down after a bit and was content to watch the other kids.

This feels like a pivotal day / week in this girl’s life. Up until now, her days were always in the steady and familiar care of people she knew. She was innocent and had no idea that there were going to be days like this. It feels as if she was blindsided. Her world got shaken to the core.  She found herself in a situation where she knew no one. Yes, of course, this is life. We must all get used to it but isn’t this experience  going to change her at the core?  Now she knows fear where I am not so sure she knew it before. Now she knows abandonment. She knew nothing about being on her own and now she does. 

Of course, it has to happen sometime. That’s the goal of parenting: to raise independent and competent human beings. It comes at a price though. Her bewilderment and fear/anxiety are partly about the fact that she has had such a secure life so far. If her parents and the care provider handle it well, she will come out of this week with new skills and an expanded world view.  She will discover that she can manage in an unfamiliar environment. 

In the end, she will most likely eventually enjoy playing with the other kids. She will bond with the provider and, leaving mom most mornings will not be the painful experience that it was this week. Is there a residual impact? Well, don’t we all have residual? Yes, I guess so. That’s what makes us the mix of humanity that we are. These are the adventures and ordeals that make us into the people we are. This is why childhood events are so important. Lessons get learned. It can be hard to unlearn them so we are lucky when the lessons teach us the truth and not just some random misrepresentation. Small girl is learning how to take care of herself. She is learning that she can manage life. She is learning that she can trust her parents to secure loving and capable child care providers when they have to work.  Those lessons translate into confidence and ease in life. If only all children could have the same safe and non stressful learning environments that this little girl of privilege has enjoyed this week. Maybe she will grow up to be a person who can facilitate such experiences for all human beings? One can hope.

*Originally posted on my Wordpress blog 07.04.2022

I was on my way to somewhere else this morning, when I thumbed open my journal and re-discovered this poem. I do that sometimes. I find a poem or a piece of writing that impresses me and I print it out and tape it into my journal. Later I get a delightful surprise when I chance to find it hidden away. Today's  encounter with an uncovered treasure only served to demonstrate the presence of serendipity. The last few mornings have been a wee bit dark in my head.  There are lots of reasons for that (not the least of which is the state of the world) and I can too easily allow myself to be sucked under by gloom and dismay.

So imagine my surprise when the phrases in this poem stared back at me. The poet speaks about all the words that are absent, the words that don't exist. The word for a break in friendship , for example or - get this:

"No verb for accidentally
breaking a thing
while trying to get it open
- a marriage, for example."

He lists several examples of words that don't happen in our vocabulary, spaces that remain empty.  Finally, he ends the poem with this:

"No word for waking up in the morning
and looking around,
because the mysterious spirit

that drives all things
seems to have returned,
and is on your side again."

I swear. That is exactly what happens to me all the time. I think it used to happen to my dad too. He would go weeks in a dark frame of mind and then, one day, for no reason that any of us could discern, his frame of mind would lighten and he would be okay again. I likely have a more complete understanding of moods and mood disorders than my dad had. I certainly have more tools than my dad ever had to deal with the scattered energy of emotions. Yet I get pulled down and what pulls me up? Some mysterious spirit.

Mystery is a guest in my life all the time. When I was younger, I think I generally just declined her presence. I would simply not answer the door. Or I would politely answer the knock and then give the same line I gave to the Mormons or the Jehovah's Witnesses who used to frequent the neighborhood:  "Thank you. I like my life as it is so you don't need to waste your time here."  In other words, don't bother me with your pointless words about things that don't make sense.

But here I am, some years later, older and perhaps wiser? Or perhaps simply more open? More curious? More receptive to that which I don't understand?  At the moment, I don't care what has changed, only that it has changed.  Life is nothing if not mysterious, amirite?

 

Here is the full poem.

Special Problems in Vocabulary

BY TONY HOAGLAND

There is no single particular noun

for the way a friendship,

stretched over time, grows thin,

then one day snaps with a popping sound.

 

No verb for accidentally

breaking a thing

while trying to get it open

 —a marriage, for example.

 

No particular phrase for

losing a book

in the middle of reading it,

and therefore never learning the end.

 

There is no expression, in English, at least,

for avoiding the sight

of your own body in the mirror,

for disliking the touch

 

of the afternoon sun,

for walking into the flatlands and dust

that stretch out before you

after your adventures are done.

 

No adjective for gradually speaking less and less,

because you have stopped being able

to say the one thing that would

break your life loose from its grip.

 

Certainly no name that one can imagine

for the aspen tree outside the kitchen window,

in spade-shaped leaves

 

spinning on their stems,

working themselves into

a pale-green, vegetable blur.

 

No word for waking up one morning

and looking around,

because the mysterious spirit

 

that drives all things

seems to have returned,

and is on your side again.

 

Tony Hoagland, "Special Problems in Vocabulary" from Application for Release from the Dream. Copyright © 2015 by Tony Hoagland. 

Listening to Sunday Rain

*Originally published on my Wordpress blog 06.05.2022

Sunday morning dawn
Cold under the covers
Wanting to listen.

I listen to the rain
And hear the sharp sting
Of needles on my skin.

I listen to a familiar voice
Repeating “breathe, just breathe”
And hear my lungs respond.

I listen to the pounding in my head
Thoughts and fears demanding freedom
And the walls echoing their alarm.

I listen for some god to say
You’re okay and they don't
Or I can't hear  them.

I listen to their absence
Sounding like a crack in my chest
An ache so deep
That it makes me invisible.

I listen to the roar of my past lives
Running away,
Angry at being dismissed.

I listen to my breathing
And hear an emptiness
Begging to be filled.

I listen to my partner turn away
Lean as far as he can
to the other side of the bed.

I listen to my future
Greeting my present.
Or is it the present
Nodding to the future?
They really aren't speaking
Or I can't hear them anyway. 

I listen for what is:
The buried lament of loneliness,
The heavy roar of regret,
The casket lid clicking into place,
The explosion of blue orange flame.

I listen to the crows outside in the rain
Crows being crows
Watching their territory,
Tracking down breakfast.

I listen to the crowded voices of the past
All talking at once,
all the crying, the laughter, the anger
the stillness, the wonder.
A great cacophony
becoming more and more quiet.

I listen to the life force
Saying shush,
A little old lady whispering hush.

I listen to my own denial,
Soft and muffled screams
Growing into fierce and strong truth.

I listen to echos of past screams
And wonder what is the point.
What is the point?

Stillness.
I keep listening. 

Baby Liv cries.  She wants to be heard,
to be touched, to be taken in fully.
To be safe, to be loved. 

I hear the ocean.
How is that possible?
Oceans can’t be heard from ten miles away.

I hear the magic and the mystery,
and the murmur of what if,
The sigh of the unknown.

I hear gratitude replying to
the kiss of hope,
the giggle of surprise.

I listen to the rain stabbing the air
and wonder what the sun sounds like.
What does she say? How does she sound?

I listen to a memory of the sun.
Sounding like creek water over shiny rocks
gentle soft sounds of water jewels
singing as they dance.

Alive and aware
Listening not for what was
or what will be. 
Simply listening for now.

Shifting Gears

*Originally published on my Wordpress blog 05.31.2022

The Universe has spoken. Well, the Universe speaks all the time but this time I am listening. I got hit by a car while riding my bicycle early on Sunday morning. I thought I was being safe: waiting until it was light, wearing a safety vest, lights on the bike, mirror to be aware of what is behind me, choosing a time of day/week when there is little traffic. But this is a largely rural county. The roads have always been viewed as the purview of cars and agricultural equipment. Bicyclists ride on them at their own risk. I have been taking the chance for years. 

This was the fourth bicycle accident in twelve years and, finally, I am listening. I was only mildly injured. I am lucky that I am not having to make a date with a surgeon as I have had to do after previous accidents. But I am done with road bicycling. The accident occurred on a narrow road and the driver admits to taking her eyes off the road for just an instant. That’s all it took, right? I was thrown to the ground but the driver did have the decency to stop and offer assistance. I declined the 911 call because I knew I did not need that level of care. I needed a ride home and a way to get the damaged bike home (both of which the driver could provide via her Subaru). When I got home I had my local EMT (who also happens to be my son) check me out and we agreed that I could lay low with ice and Advil for a day and see if more was needed. 

I know how lucky I was. It could have been so much worse. People die riding bicycles in this county all the time. People are permanently disabled from accidents. I have pushed my luck by riding all these years.  It is time to find another way to get the exercise and exhilaration that I get from bicycle riding. I will still allow myself to ride on designated bike trails but not on highway bike lanes. They are simply not safe from vehicular traffic. The designated bike trails (rails to trails often) around here are not challenging enough nor are there very many of them but they can give me a feel for the good old days of road biking. I also will allow myself to continue bicycling on errands in town. Yes, my most severe bike accident occurred right in the downtown sector (right hooked by a truck pulling into the Safeway parking lot) but, when I ride in town, I ride on wide residential streets. I can get to the library, the post office, the Whole Foods, the dentist, the Art Center, and other locations by selecting  my route carefully, Yes, I could still end up in a bike accident but all the risks are diminished. 

Those long Sunday morning bike rides mattered to me. I am enchanted with the eye candy of this county. The colors, the views, the fresh air - they are intoxicating.  I do listen to music via one headphone and that added to the experience. I am also a person who thrives on movement and enjoys my own physical strength. Even though it can be a killer, I love the long and/or steep hill work. There is satisfaction when the hill is climbed and exhilaration when I descend the hill. In truth, it felt to me as if cycling was my perfect exercise. So now what? 

For years I was a runner and that had a lot of appeal. I developed arthritis at a relatively early age and subsequent total knee replacements have put running out of my game forever. I turned to swimming for a couple of years but the pool lap schedule just doesn’t work in my life. I will add that I am not a natural swimmer and find swimming to be too difficult to be fun for me. I like kayaking but that is a big proposition. I have to rent the kayak and just deal with the inconveniences so not such a great option for a routine exercise activity.

I have considered adopting mountain biking as an option. There are still the charms of eye candy and exhilaration but getting injured continues to be an issue. The cars might not be present but rocks, gravel, other bikers, tree branches/roots are still along the trails - all potential accidents waiting to happen. Additionally, I would need to invest in the bike and the equipment - a different helmet, more padding, and a rack for the car. And then there is the matter of driving to the mountain biking location so I would need to tack more time onto the endeavor.  

I like working out on a bicycle so I am wondering about investing in a recumbent stationary bike. I can use this for half hour periods (about the longest I can handle the boredom of stationary machines) several times a week and then also take daily neighborhood walks. I live in a town that has plenty of hills so I can push myself as much as I want. I currently do some free weights on a regular basis and some yoga on a daily basis but both of those have become ritualized. Perhaps now is a good time to refresh those activities?

My fall back activity since childhood has always been hiking. I am thinking that I can trade in those long Sunday morning rides for long Sunday morning hikes. That’s doable, isn’t it? Again, there are many hiking options available in this county and even in adjacent counties. I would never run out of places to hike. I have also returned to a long ago interest in birdwatching. Birdwatching is not easy to do on a bicycle but it seems like hiking is the ideal partner to birdwatching. I enjoy photography and was accustomed to stopping for photographs while out on those long bike rides. Hiking might slow me down enough to discover more photo opportunities. I own a high quality Canon camera. I could even learn how to maximize its use rather than turning exclusively to my iPhone. 

Yes, the Universe is speaking to me. They are saying, “It’s time to shake things up a bit. It’s time to try on something new. You’ve been in this cycling thing for quite some time. That’s all very well and good. There is more, however, to life than a bicycle. Look around you, girl!"  In general, I’ve been asking myself how to listen. Maybe the Universe is showing me how to listen and also how to respond.  I can stay open to possibility, I can stay curious. What a ride, eh? 

On Being

*Originally published on my Wordpress blog 05.27.2022

I’m a long time fan of the podcast On Being. This podcast, hosted by the articulate, intelligent, and always equanimous Krista Tippett, began life as radio program on NPR in 2003. Its original title was Speaking of Faith and, at the onset, it was relegated to one of those Sunday morning church spots. I would catch it occasionally but didn’t really pick up on the program until it morphed into a podcast and the name changed to On Being. In the beginning, the program had a focus on creating content that would treat religious and spiritual aspects of life as seriously as the media treats politics and economics. Over time it has evolved into something broader, more all-encompassing. As the On Being website explains, On Being “takes up the great questions of meaning in 21st-century lives and [examines the questions] at the intersection of spiritual inquiry, science, social healing, and the arts. What does it mean to be human, how do we want to live, and who will we be to each other?”

I often listen to this podcast while taking a very early morning walk in the neighborhood. The predawn darkness and the solitude allow me to focus on the conversations while watching the night sky turn to day. It’s the perfect ambiance for such existential discussions. There are close to 300 episodes in the archives so I have gone back and listened to some more than once. The interviews have introduced me to new ideas, new books, new poems. I sometimes carry ideas from the podcast into conversations out there in my own world. Anyone who knows me well, knows I have a reflective and curious child living in me who gets so excited about mystery, art, ideas, and connections. That young person owes a lot of gratitude to Krista Tippett and the On Being staff.

I was thinking of highlighting just three episodes that had an impact on me but, when I went to the website, I found this page which is so much better than I could have done. It’s called Starting Points
(https://onbeing.org/starting-points/) and it is wonderfully curated collection of some of the best loved shows. It gives a short synopsis that give the reader a place to start exploring the podcast. Ms. Tippett has interviewed guests ranging from poets to physicists, doctors to historians, artists to activists. Her guests include the 14th Dalai Lama, Maya Angelou, Mohammed Fairouz, Desmond Tutu, Thich Nhat Hanh, Rosanne Cash, Wangari Maathai, Yo-Yo Ma, Paulo Coehlo, Brian Greene, John Polkinghorne, Jean Vanier, Joanna Macy, Sylvia Earle, David Whyte, Pádraig Ó Tuama, Mary Oliver, Jane Goodell, Sharon Salzberg, Sylvia Boorstein, Esther Perel, Elie Wiesel and so many others.

One thing I really like about the website is that you can listen and/or download the episode but you can also see a transcript of the episode. I appreciate that as I often want to go back and read some particular part of the conversation or I want to capture the words on paper for future reference.

And, yes, that graphic at the top of the page appears not to be an error. The graphic for the program always appears as O Being. There has to be a story about that somewhere but I can't find it.

Here are summaries for just three recent episodes that I enjoyed. Perhaps you will find these and others as engaging as I do.

David Whyte: Seeking Language Large Enough

“It has ever and always been true, David Whyte reminds us, that so much of human experience is a conversation between loss and celebration. This conversational nature of reality — indeed, this drama of vitality — is something we have all been shown, willing or unwilling, in these years. Many have turned to David Whyte for his gorgeous, life-giving poetry and his wisdom at the interplay of theology, psychology, and leadership — his insistence on the power of a beautiful question and of everyday words amidst the drama of work as well as the drama of life. The notion of “frontier” — inner frontiers, outer frontiers — weaves through this hour. We surface this as a companion for the frontiers we are all on just by virtue of being alive in this time.”

Sylvia Boorstein: What We Nurture

A few years ago, Krista hosted an event in Detroit — a city in flux — on the theme of raising children. The conversation that resulted with the Jewish-Buddhist teacher and psychotherapist Sylvia Boorstein has been a companion to her and to many from that day forward. Here it is again as an offering for Mother’s Day — in a world still and again in flux, and where the matter of raising new human beings feels as complicated as ever before. Sylvia gifts us this teaching: that nurturing children’s inner lives can be woven into the fabric of our days — and that nurturing ourselves is also good for the children and everyone else in our lives.

Pádraig Ó Tuama: “This fantastic argument of being alive”

Pádraig Ó Tuama is a friend, teacher, and colleague to the work of On Being. But before that was true, Krista took a revelatory trip to meet him at his home in Northern Ireland, a place that has known sectarianism and violent fracture and has evolved, not to perfection, yet to new life and once unimaginable repair and relationship. Our whole world screams of fracture, more now than when Krista sat with Pádraig in 2016. This conversation is a gentle, welcoming landing for pondering and befriending hard realities we are given. As the global educator Karen Murphy, another friend of On Being and of Pádraig, once said to Krista: “Let’s have the humility and the generosity to step back and learn from these places that have had the courage to look at themselves and look at where they’ve been and try to forge a new path with something that resembles ‘together’ … Right now we should be taking these stories and these examples and these places and filling our pockets and our lungs and our hearts and our minds with them and learning deeply.” And that’s what this hour with Pádraig invites.

Oh!  One More!  MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE ONE

John O’Donohue: The Inner Landscape of Beauty

No conversation we’ve ever done has been more beloved than this one. The Irish poet, theologian, and philosopher insisted on beauty as a human calling. He had a very Celtic, lifelong fascination with the inner landscape of our lives and with what he called “the invisible world” that is constantly intertwining what we can know and see. This was one of the last interviews he gave before his unexpected death in 2008. But John O’Donohue’s voice and writings continue to bring ancient mystical wisdom to modern confusions and longings.

And his poem:

John O’Donohue: Beannacht

On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.
.
And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The gray window
And the ghost of loss
Gets in to you,
May a flock of colors,
Indigo, red, green,
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.
.
When the canvas frays
In the curragh of thought
And a stain of ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the waters
A path of yellow moonlight
To bring you safely home.
.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.
.
And so may a slow
Wind work these words
Of love around you,
An invisible cloak
To mind your life.