Prayer is not an old woman’s idle amusement. Properly understood and applied, it is the most potent instrument of action. — Mahatma Gandhi In case you have never used a rosary, mala, or other prayer bead tool (I certainly had not when I first made mine), the idea is to construct a circle or line … Read more
Sunset Rainer Maria Rilke Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new colours which it passes to a row of ancient trees. You look, and soon these two worlds both leave you, one part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth, leaving you, not really belonging to either, not so helplessly dark as that house … Read more
THE LORDS OF SHADOW by Fiona MacLeod (William Sharp) Where the water whispers mid the shadowy rowan-trees I have heard the Hidden People like the hum of swarming bees: And when the moon has risen and the brown burn glisters grey I have seen the Green Host marching in laughing disarray. Dalua then must sure … Read more
Morning Poem by Mary Oliver Every morning the world is created. Under the orange sticks of the sun the heaped ashes of the night turn into leaves again and fasten themselves to the high branches — and the ponds appear like black cloth on which are painted islands of summer lilies. If it is your … Read more
Please remember: poetry is meant to be read aloud! EARTH YOUR DANCING PLACE by the glorious May Swenson Beneath heaven’s vault remember always walking through halls of cloud down aisles of sunlight or through high hedges of the green rain walk in the world highheeled with swirl of cape hand at the swordhilt of your … Read more
My morning started off pretty rough, being awakened by the cries of a fawn and so finding its tiny sister or brother dead by our creek. Then, as I wandered back to the house, I discovered that, despite hours of work putting up ugly chicken wire cages, some animal keeps coming in the night; last … Read more
The First Roots Creep Up* by Deena Metzger (Healer, poet, novelist, playwright, b. 1936) I am learning to come upon the tree, slowly, to surprise it for the song its memorizing. The water runs up, the sap runs down and the tree chant knows the difference. The water has lived in the dark places, knows … Read more
I love the poetry of Fiona McLeod, who was in fact a man named William Sharp. Those who follow the ways of Faerie know her well, for she wrote passionately of her dreams and encounters with the Fae. I chose today’s selection for its lighthearted simplicity, so perfect for a Springtime Sunday. I hope you … Read more
I offer this particular selection, because today is the 39th anniversary of my first Grateful Dead show (Dillon Gym, Princeton). It changed the course of my life forever. Thank you, especially you, Jerry. I’m forever grateful. Attics Of My Life Robert Hunter/Jerry Garcia In the attics of my life Full of cloudy dreams unreal, Full … Read more
As I have mentioned in my April newsletter (you are signed up to receive my newsletter, WINGS, aren’t you?), I will be offline during a retreat for the next several days. Please feel free to “talk amongst yourselves,” and let us know how your feng shui projects are going! Also, if you have favorite poems … Read more