layers of white

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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… 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

we know

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

4 thoughts on “layers of white

  1. As I read your note, I wondered ‘ 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……

  2. 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 …

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