It is St. Patrick's Day. I go to Inverness.
I am in need of retreat, a break from the news. I cannot believe what is going on. It is horrific on every front, every headline. It is a time for me to enter and observe meditation and retreat. There is a place to withdraw and this is that day for me.
the old ones did and disappear into the originality
of it all. Be impatient with explanations
and discipline the mind not to begin
questions it cannot answer. Walk the green road
above the bay and the low glinting fields
toward the evening sun. Let that Atlantic
gleam be ahead of you and the gray light
of the bay below you,
until you catch, down on your left,
the break in the wall,
for just above in the shadow
you’ll find it hidden, a curved arm
of rock holding the water close to the mountain,
a just-lit surface smoothing a scattering of coins,
and in the niche above, notes to the dead
and supplications for those who still live.
Now you are alone with the transfiguration
and ask no healing for your own
but look down as if looking through time,
as if through a rent veil from the other
side of the question you’ve refused to ask,
your arms could rise and your palms
turn out to bless the world.