Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.
when I lived well, I gave you stars in my dreams……
inquiry for today~ why do you sift through your heart looking for dirt?
From the Nordic triad of weaving Goddesses, the Norns, we are given the vision of Wyrd, the whole world as one interconnected web. Wyrd is a luminous field of energy that vibrates in constant communication among all beings here.
We each have our unique thread in this vast tapestry that we call our world. Becoming conscious of ourselves as a thread in the Wyrd we are initiated into a grand collaboration, it revives a bone deep sense of meaning in our lives, right here, right now.
IB, the words ‘why do you sift through your heart looking for dirt’….. ❤
And may your heart feel each misstep as an enlivening and a joy. The “yes” of remembering. Many blessings Jane….
The Hopi knew about the Web that binds everything … why we choose ignore it has many reasons… lThere are times I believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast”
Our intuitive heart is the nurtured heart. And nurtured hearts connect and regenerate. And so it goes. With each year we deepen our knowing. Right? Thanks g.f.s…..
Yes, it becomes intuitive, at times I can’t even explain, only through poetry can I paint the picture with words …