Listening and Leaping
It's been ages since I've written in this space.
I've been tapping out short snippets on Facebook and leaving it at that.
Fewer words (if any) come to me when I ask myself what helps to support leaping into compassion, courage, and joy? (my usual prompt when I sit to write).
Perhaps I need a new prompt.
I've been reading lots of other blogs and thinking - they have it covered - not much else to add.
This is not a dissing of myself - more an appreciation for what others are writing and a wondering about my own voice - what do I actually burn and bleed to say.
Burn and bleed?
No - let me correct that.
What do I actually love and yearn to say and how do I want to say it?
What wants to pour out of me - cannot be stopped?
What form does my passion take with the written word?
The answer to all of the above: Spare, less words, veering into poetry and out of prose, non-academic, non-therapy-speak - around the theme of LEAPING into more compassion, courage, and joy.
Yet - I'm not really a poet - don't have the chops for that - the education - the skill.
Again - not dissing as much as being honest.
This is definitely turning into one of those stream of consciousness blog entries that borders on the self-indulgent. Letting you overhear what I'm just overhearing myself say to myself.
Whatever.
So - perhaps instead of going on about what I want to write and why I might not let myself write it - I'm going to share a poem with you; a poem that speaks to the way LEAPING comes in many forms but the core quality is the courage to listen deeply to what is so - even if what is so ain't so easy to listen to.....
I've been tapping out short snippets on Facebook and leaving it at that.
Fewer words (if any) come to me when I ask myself what helps to support leaping into compassion, courage, and joy? (my usual prompt when I sit to write).
Perhaps I need a new prompt.
I've been reading lots of other blogs and thinking - they have it covered - not much else to add.
This is not a dissing of myself - more an appreciation for what others are writing and a wondering about my own voice - what do I actually burn and bleed to say.
Burn and bleed?
No - let me correct that.
What do I actually love and yearn to say and how do I want to say it?
What wants to pour out of me - cannot be stopped?
What form does my passion take with the written word?
The answer to all of the above: Spare, less words, veering into poetry and out of prose, non-academic, non-therapy-speak - around the theme of LEAPING into more compassion, courage, and joy.
Yet - I'm not really a poet - don't have the chops for that - the education - the skill.
Again - not dissing as much as being honest.
This is definitely turning into one of those stream of consciousness blog entries that borders on the self-indulgent. Letting you overhear what I'm just overhearing myself say to myself.
Whatever.
So - perhaps instead of going on about what I want to write and why I might not let myself write it - I'm going to share a poem with you; a poem that speaks to the way LEAPING comes in many forms but the core quality is the courage to listen deeply to what is so - even if what is so ain't so easy to listen to.....
Not Shattered
Amazing exhaustion
Transcendent fatigue
Exaggerated weariness
Dog tired
Pooped
Bushed
Done in
Beat
Not shattered
Not shattered
Rescued by an astounding whisper to
STOP
all that does not heal my soul sleepy self
In my bones
down to my toes
a cry for rest
A scramble to still the squirrel noise
The worry
The fret
The endless squawk that life is not safe
and I am not home
My knees ache to fall under the load
Collapse and slip across the floor
Relinquish control
meet the cool floorboards with a graceful slide
Stretch out and let loose a deep
animal belly release
calling me away from this life
of doing the next thing and then the next
Not shattered
The whisper calls me to the edge
Warning me
Wooing me
Not shattered
Just ready to patiently rest
like the beloved red ball left by my grandson on the dewy spring grass
___________________________________
That's my moment of listening and leaping.
I'll leave it at that.
Chops? You mean lamb chops? This is your poem, isn't it Elizabeth, this marvelous map to the leaping point? I think it speaks to many, many, including myself and I'm so glad you posted it.
ReplyDeleteThank you my stalwart friend. This was a big leap for me. Nice to leap into loving arms.
ReplyDelete