Her body is not so white as
anemone petals nor so smooth- nor
so remote a thing. It is a field
of the wild carrot taking
the field by force; the grass
does not raise above it.
Here is no question of whiteness,
white as can be, with a purple mole
at the center of each flower.
Each flower is a hand’s span
of her whiteness. Wherever
his hand has lain there is
a tiny purple blemish. Each part
is a blossom under his touch
to which the fibers of her being
stem one by one, each to its end,
until the whole field is a white desire, empty, a single stem,
a cluster, flower by flower,
a pious wish to whiteness gone over-
or nothing.
….William Carlos Williams
when we kiss this life with vulnerable eyes and skin and heartbeat…..here we know the color white as a thousand shades of sweet breath and hunger and opening to something….what does spring blossoming mean anyway?
The shift from living in one’s imagination to living in reality is not just a mental transition. It is a change in the way we inhabit our body. The reality of actual contact with oneself is, at the same time, actual contact with our environment. It is a very interesting aspect of our nature that to heal the split between body and mind is, at the same time, to heal the split between oneself and one’s surroundings, or between oneself and other people. Life is, to some extent, illusory- for everyone. We all regard life through the filter of our past experience and our templates, our early learning of the world. We all color our circumstances with our hopes and fears. We imagine a separation between a world out there and the consciousness (in here) that perceives that world. As we come into greater contact with ourselves and the world, these filters and projections begin to dissolve. This direct, immediate contact with life feels like it is happening right now; it feels real; it feels complete; there is no part of ourselves that is left out of the experience of the present moment…….Judith Blackstone
This morning
the beautiful white heron
was floating along above the water
and then into the sky of this
the one world
we all belong to
where everything
sooner or later
is a part of everything else
which thought made me feel
for a little while
quite beautiful myself.
…..Mary Oliver
As I read your note, I wondered ‘where.is Mary’? Both of them – Mary Oliver, and the other one, the one who leaves her fingerprints everywhere – in the delicate trumpet of the honeysuckle, the map of ancient roots, becoming our path, our story, our heartbeat. You remind us (Mary reminds us). We are old; we are new; we are Spring beyond the grieving Winter. Thank you, my dear one. You are a blossom returned for the light. 🌼
flowers, bouquets, tendrils of color & wind……no beginning in the wind, nor the heart, nor our stories…..only this light that feeds, always feeds the roots……flowers entwine Bobbie……
Persephone returns, life springs from the underworld, what was withdrawn up wells from the roots, the leaves on the trees reconnect the sky to earth … May beauty run deep in your garden …
yes Persephone! because we cannot stay in stagnation, we cannot bloom without darkness……