Happy Easter and a Little Emily Dickinson
The Sun Just Touched the Morning
By Emily Dickinson
THE SUN just touched the morning;
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring.
She felt herself supremer,
A raised, ethereal thing;
Henceforth for her what holiday!
Meanwhile, her wheeling king
Trailed slow along the orchards
His haughty, spangled hems,
Leaving a new necessity,
The want of diadems!
The morning fluttered, staggered,
Felt feebly for her crown,
Her unanointed forehead
Henceforth her only one.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Stilling the Waters Is Now Available
We are pleased to announce that Don Iannone's new poetry book, Stilling the Waters, is now available from Medicine Wheel Publishing Company.
To learn more about the book, click here to download the book cover and read what reviewers had to say about the book. Click here to download the book's table of contents and a couple poems from the book. Finally, click here to download the book order form.
Contact the author Don Iannone by email at: diannone@ix.netcom.com; or by phone at: 440.449.0753 if you have any questions about the book, purchases, or related matters.
Ramana Maharshi
Born in 1879, Ramana, at the age of sixteen, left his home, his family, and all he knew. He felt drawn to Arunachula - a small mountain in Southern India. Several years later he came to know the Truth of himself. Here he lived for the rest of his life. His only possessions were a piece of cloth to cover himself, and a walking stick.
Little by little word of a sage living alone on Arunachula mountain became known. Many felt drawn to sit in his presence. He seldom spoke. But occasionally he would respond to questions. His profound awakening to the One was conveyed to those who came to hear him by his continual asking of them – Who is this “I” that asks this question? He died at Arunachula in 1950.
Born in 1879, Ramana, at the age of sixteen, left his home, his family, and all he knew. He felt drawn to Arunachula - a small mountain in Southern India. Several years later he came to know the Truth of himself. Here he lived for the rest of his life. His only possessions were a piece of cloth to cover himself, and a walking stick.
Little by little word of a sage living alone on Arunachula mountain became known. Many felt drawn to sit in his presence. He seldom spoke. But occasionally he would respond to questions. His profound awakening to the One was conveyed to those who came to hear him by his continual asking of them – Who is this “I” that asks this question? He died at Arunachula in 1950.
One for the road...
"Our true home is in the present moment. To live in the present moment is a miracle. The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green Earth in the present moment, to appreciate the peace and beauty that are available now. Peace is all around us - in the world and in nature - and within us - in our bodies and in our spirits. Once we learn to touch this peace, we will be healed and transformed. It is not a matter of faith; it is a matter of practice."
--Thich Nhat Hanh, Vietnamese Zen Master
"Our true home is in the present moment. To live in the present moment is a miracle. The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green Earth in the present moment, to appreciate the peace and beauty that are available now. Peace is all around us - in the world and in nature - and within us - in our bodies and in our spirits. Once we learn to touch this peace, we will be healed and transformed. It is not a matter of faith; it is a matter of practice."
--Thich Nhat Hanh, Vietnamese Zen Master
Friday, March 25, 2005
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Boarding a Bus
In a small-knit Iowa town I watched
a couple board the bus and take the seat
behind me. They'd waited till then to count
their cash. I could hear each of them whisper
fives and ones like vespers, and repeat, then declare
they couldn't afford to go. "But," she added,
"we haven't had a vacation in—" "That's
very true," he said. And they sighed into the rolling scene:
the sunset on a sea of corn,
a lonely red gas station, an old man changing a flat.
I don't want to scare anyone, but
this is your life too. Tell me how it's any different.
By Steven Huff, from Proof
In a small-knit Iowa town I watched
a couple board the bus and take the seat
behind me. They'd waited till then to count
their cash. I could hear each of them whisper
fives and ones like vespers, and repeat, then declare
they couldn't afford to go. "But," she added,
"we haven't had a vacation in—" "That's
very true," he said. And they sighed into the rolling scene:
the sunset on a sea of corn,
a lonely red gas station, an old man changing a flat.
I don't want to scare anyone, but
this is your life too. Tell me how it's any different.
By Steven Huff, from Proof
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Monday, March 21, 2005
On second thought...
For most of us, the seductive and unstated part of "if I had enough time" is the unstated sentence "to hear myself think." In other words, we imagine that if we had time we would quiet our more shallow selves and listen to a deeper flow of inspiration. Again, this is a myth that lets us off the hook -- if I wait for enough time to listen, I don't have to listen now, I don't have to take responsibility for what is trying to bubble up today.
--Julia Cameron
For most of us, the seductive and unstated part of "if I had enough time" is the unstated sentence "to hear myself think." In other words, we imagine that if we had time we would quiet our more shallow selves and listen to a deeper flow of inspiration. Again, this is a myth that lets us off the hook -- if I wait for enough time to listen, I don't have to listen now, I don't have to take responsibility for what is trying to bubble up today.
--Julia Cameron
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Stilling the Waters Is Now Available
We are pleased to announce that Don Iannone's new poetry book, Stilling the Waters, is now available from Medicine Wheel Publishing Company.
To learn more about the book, please click here to download the book cover and read what reviewers had to say about the book. Click here to download the book's table of contents and a couple poems from the book. Finally, click here to download the book order form.
Contact the author Don Iannone by email at: diannone@ix.netcom.com; or by phone at: 440.449.0753 if you have any questions about the book, purchases, or related matters.
We are pleased to announce that Don Iannone's new poetry book, Stilling the Waters, is now available from Medicine Wheel Publishing Company.
To learn more about the book, please click here to download the book cover and read what reviewers had to say about the book. Click here to download the book's table of contents and a couple poems from the book. Finally, click here to download the book order form.
Contact the author Don Iannone by email at: diannone@ix.netcom.com; or by phone at: 440.449.0753 if you have any questions about the book, purchases, or related matters.
Friday, March 18, 2005
Mockingbirds
By Mary Oliver
This morning
two mockingbirds
in the green field
were spinning and tossing
the white ribbons
of their songs
into the air.
I had nothing
better to do
than listen.
I mean this
seriously.
In Greece,
a long time ago,
an old couple
opened their door
to two strangers
who were,
it soon appeared,
not men at all,
but gods.
It is my favorite story--
how the old couple
had almost nothing to give
but their willingness
to be attentive--
but for this alone
the gods loved them
and blessed them--
when they rose
out of their mortal bodies,
like a million particles of water
from a fountain,
the light
swept into all the corners
of the cottage,
and the old couple,
shaken with understanding,
bowed down--
but still they asked for nothing
but the difficult life
which they had already.
And the gods smiled, as they vanished,
clapping their great wings.
Wherever it was
I was supposed to be
this morning--
whatever it was I said
I would be doing--
I was standing
at the edge of the field--
I was hurrying
through my own soul,
opening its dark doors--
I was leaning out;
I was listening.
By Mary Oliver
This morning
two mockingbirds
in the green field
were spinning and tossing
the white ribbons
of their songs
into the air.
I had nothing
better to do
than listen.
I mean this
seriously.
In Greece,
a long time ago,
an old couple
opened their door
to two strangers
who were,
it soon appeared,
not men at all,
but gods.
It is my favorite story--
how the old couple
had almost nothing to give
but their willingness
to be attentive--
but for this alone
the gods loved them
and blessed them--
when they rose
out of their mortal bodies,
like a million particles of water
from a fountain,
the light
swept into all the corners
of the cottage,
and the old couple,
shaken with understanding,
bowed down--
but still they asked for nothing
but the difficult life
which they had already.
And the gods smiled, as they vanished,
clapping their great wings.
Wherever it was
I was supposed to be
this morning--
whatever it was I said
I would be doing--
I was standing
at the edge of the field--
I was hurrying
through my own soul,
opening its dark doors--
I was leaning out;
I was listening.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
To N, in absentia
By Robyn Sarah
I do not know how you went out of my life
or when exactly. The leaves of the Norway maple
are beginning to turn yellow, fall has come.
I last saw you on an evening at the end of July
but I think you were already gone then,
I think by then you had been gone for a long time.
And so it seems meaningless to count the days
yet still I count them, August, September,
October now half over, terrible days,
And I do not know where you are
or when I may have news of you again.
But I remember as if yesterday the day
you came out of my body into this world,
a fine splash in full midsummer, a small cry
like the meow of a Siamese cat,
your eyes wide open and looking all around;
remember how in the early hours of that morning,
before you arrived, I heard pass down our street
(as I had heard each morning that summer
of my thirtieth year) the clopping sound
of a lone horse pulling a calèche,
his sleepy driver bound for the road
that climbs Mount Royal's slope.
No one can take away that morning
or the exactness of its place in time.
I go there often.
I visit it like a temple.
By Robyn Sarah
I do not know how you went out of my life
or when exactly. The leaves of the Norway maple
are beginning to turn yellow, fall has come.
I last saw you on an evening at the end of July
but I think you were already gone then,
I think by then you had been gone for a long time.
And so it seems meaningless to count the days
yet still I count them, August, September,
October now half over, terrible days,
And I do not know where you are
or when I may have news of you again.
But I remember as if yesterday the day
you came out of my body into this world,
a fine splash in full midsummer, a small cry
like the meow of a Siamese cat,
your eyes wide open and looking all around;
remember how in the early hours of that morning,
before you arrived, I heard pass down our street
(as I had heard each morning that summer
of my thirtieth year) the clopping sound
of a lone horse pulling a calèche,
his sleepy driver bound for the road
that climbs Mount Royal's slope.
No one can take away that morning
or the exactness of its place in time.
I go there often.
I visit it like a temple.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Monday, March 14, 2005
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Affirmation
By Donald Hall
To grow old is to lose everything.
Aging, everybody knows it.
Even when we are young,
we glimpse it sometimes, and nod our heads
when a grandfather dies.
Then we row for years on the midsummer
pond, ignorant and content. But a marriage,
that began without harm, scatters
into debris on the shore,
and a friend from school drops
cold on a rocky strand.
If a new love carries us
past middle age, our wife will die
at her strongest and most beautiful.
New women come and go. All go.
The pretty lover who announces
that she is temporary
is temporary. The bold woman,
middle-aged against our old age,
sinks under an anxiety she cannot withstand.
Another friend of decades estranges himself
in words that pollute thirty years.
Let us stifle under mud at the pond's edge
and affirm that it is fitting
and delicious to lose everything.
By Donald Hall
To grow old is to lose everything.
Aging, everybody knows it.
Even when we are young,
we glimpse it sometimes, and nod our heads
when a grandfather dies.
Then we row for years on the midsummer
pond, ignorant and content. But a marriage,
that began without harm, scatters
into debris on the shore,
and a friend from school drops
cold on a rocky strand.
If a new love carries us
past middle age, our wife will die
at her strongest and most beautiful.
New women come and go. All go.
The pretty lover who announces
that she is temporary
is temporary. The bold woman,
middle-aged against our old age,
sinks under an anxiety she cannot withstand.
Another friend of decades estranges himself
in words that pollute thirty years.
Let us stifle under mud at the pond's edge
and affirm that it is fitting
and delicious to lose everything.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Friday, March 11, 2005
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
The Sun
By Mary Oliver
Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful
than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon
and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone--
and how it slides again
out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower
streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance--
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love--
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure
that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you
as you stand there,
empty-handed--
or have you too
turned from this world--
or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?
By Mary Oliver
Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful
than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon
and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone--
and how it slides again
out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower
streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance--
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love--
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure
that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you
as you stand there,
empty-handed--
or have you too
turned from this world--
or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Monday, March 07, 2005
Sunday, March 06, 2005
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Winter Lambs
By Jane Kenyon
All night snow came upon us
with unwavering intent—
small flakes not meandering
but driving thickly down. We woke
to see the yard, the car and road
heaped unrecognizably.
The neighbors' ewes are lambing
in this stormy weather. Three
lambs born yesterday, three more
expected...
Felix the ram looked
proprietary in his separate pen
while fatherhood accrued to him.
The panting ewes regarded me
with yellow-green, small—
pupiled eyes.
I have a friend who is pregnant—
plans gone awry—and not altogether
pleased. I don't say she should
be pleased. We are creation's
property, its particles, its clay
as we fall into this life,
agree or disagree.
By Jane Kenyon
All night snow came upon us
with unwavering intent—
small flakes not meandering
but driving thickly down. We woke
to see the yard, the car and road
heaped unrecognizably.
The neighbors' ewes are lambing
in this stormy weather. Three
lambs born yesterday, three more
expected...
Felix the ram looked
proprietary in his separate pen
while fatherhood accrued to him.
The panting ewes regarded me
with yellow-green, small—
pupiled eyes.
I have a friend who is pregnant—
plans gone awry—and not altogether
pleased. I don't say she should
be pleased. We are creation's
property, its particles, its clay
as we fall into this life,
agree or disagree.
Friday, March 04, 2005
One Star Less
By Miguel Gonzalez
I set a gaze upon an evening sky
The quiet splendor of a starry night
How infinite stars make the darkness shy
How my eyes are awed by the heavens’ light
In silence, a question now comes to mind
If a single star were to fade and die
Would we on the earth be able to find
One star less amidst an infinite sky
A twinkle has gone yet many remained
In the heavens, stars and in darkness, light
My vision still awed by what seemed unchanged
At splendor still kept by a starry night
Yet I realize what the truth contest
The sky is kept greater, not one star less
By Miguel Gonzalez
I set a gaze upon an evening sky
The quiet splendor of a starry night
How infinite stars make the darkness shy
How my eyes are awed by the heavens’ light
In silence, a question now comes to mind
If a single star were to fade and die
Would we on the earth be able to find
One star less amidst an infinite sky
A twinkle has gone yet many remained
In the heavens, stars and in darkness, light
My vision still awed by what seemed unchanged
At splendor still kept by a starry night
Yet I realize what the truth contest
The sky is kept greater, not one star less
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Gifts of Spring (Repost from March 3, 2004)
By Don
An old man approaches the park bench
--armed with a single daffodil.
The old woman blushes, and
pretends to look surprised.
Her radiant smile says volumes--
about the flower,
the man,
and springtime.
The two sit quietly together--
knowing, no matter how old they grow
--it will always be springtime, in their hearts.
By Don
An old man approaches the park bench
--armed with a single daffodil.
The old woman blushes, and
pretends to look surprised.
Her radiant smile says volumes--
about the flower,
the man,
and springtime.
The two sit quietly together--
knowing, no matter how old they grow
--it will always be springtime, in their hearts.
Thursday Thought: From Where Happiness Hails
"Most true happiness comes from one's inner life, from the disposition of the mind and soul. Admittedly, a good inner life is difficult to achieve, especially in these trying times. It takes reflection and contemplation and self-discipline."
--William L Shirer
"Most true happiness comes from one's inner life, from the disposition of the mind and soul. Admittedly, a good inner life is difficult to achieve, especially in these trying times. It takes reflection and contemplation and self-discipline."
--William L Shirer
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Lost is a Place, Too...
Lost Is a Place, Too: Ronald Rolheiser, author of (The Holy Longing) is a specialist in spirituality and systematic theology. He regularly writes a column in The Catholic Herald and lives in Toronto, Canada. This piece reframes the way we look at the dark, painful patches in our lives which John of the Cross called "the dark night of the soul." This can be a good place to be, a biblical and mystical place. "That doesn't make it less painful or humiliating, it just gives you the consolation of knowing that you're in a valid place, a necessary one, and that everyone before you, Jesus included, spent some time there and everyone, including all those people who seem to be forever on top of the world, will spend some time there too." Rolheiser suggests that while we are experiencing unpleasant feelings and fears, subtle transformations are going on in and around us. "The need to name being lost as a valid place is important for us, both communally and personally." Watch for his new book of essays due out in May; it's called Forgotten Among the Lilies: Learning to Love Beyond Our Fears.
Lost Is a Place, Too: Ronald Rolheiser, author of (The Holy Longing) is a specialist in spirituality and systematic theology. He regularly writes a column in The Catholic Herald and lives in Toronto, Canada. This piece reframes the way we look at the dark, painful patches in our lives which John of the Cross called "the dark night of the soul." This can be a good place to be, a biblical and mystical place. "That doesn't make it less painful or humiliating, it just gives you the consolation of knowing that you're in a valid place, a necessary one, and that everyone before you, Jesus included, spent some time there and everyone, including all those people who seem to be forever on top of the world, will spend some time there too." Rolheiser suggests that while we are experiencing unpleasant feelings and fears, subtle transformations are going on in and around us. "The need to name being lost as a valid place is important for us, both communally and personally." Watch for his new book of essays due out in May; it's called Forgotten Among the Lilies: Learning to Love Beyond Our Fears.
Wednesday Thought: Beyond Our Minds
From the Spiritual Literacy Blog: "Boundless Qualities of Mind--Joan Halifax, author of (The Fruitful Darkness, A Buddhist Life in America) is Founder and Abbot of Upaya Zen Center in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
As Director of the Project for Being with Dying, she counsels dying people and teaches health-care professionals about the dying process. In the first of a series of essays for Gratefulness.org, she ponders the Four Boundless Abodes taught by the Buddha: lovingkindness, compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity.
These qualities of mind and heart can be directed to yourself, a benefactor, a friend, a loved one, a difficult person, or a person about whom you feel neutral or all beings. Halifax gives examples of phrases that can be used to generate vital energy from these practices. For example, you can nourish compassion by saying: "May you be free from pain and suffering. May you take care of yourself. May you be open to feel the pain in and around you. And may all beings be free from suffering."
From the Spiritual Literacy Blog: "Boundless Qualities of Mind--Joan Halifax, author of (The Fruitful Darkness, A Buddhist Life in America) is Founder and Abbot of Upaya Zen Center in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
As Director of the Project for Being with Dying, she counsels dying people and teaches health-care professionals about the dying process. In the first of a series of essays for Gratefulness.org, she ponders the Four Boundless Abodes taught by the Buddha: lovingkindness, compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity.
These qualities of mind and heart can be directed to yourself, a benefactor, a friend, a loved one, a difficult person, or a person about whom you feel neutral or all beings. Halifax gives examples of phrases that can be used to generate vital energy from these practices. For example, you can nourish compassion by saying: "May you be free from pain and suffering. May you take care of yourself. May you be open to feel the pain in and around you. And may all beings be free from suffering."
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