Heart Happy (cathy_edgett) wrote,
Heart Happy

Guided and Guiding!

Here is my morning flow. 

I begin with Change, and end with feeling how much I am guided, and how, I, also am given the reins to guide.  This is always so, I suppose, this balance, like flying a kite with two hands, left and right.  Jane's poem of this morning follows in the next posting.  We feel our writing of this morning is woven.  We are saying the same thing, touching the same place.  I feel awe this morning, grace, peace, beauty, joy.  I am so grateful for life!


vicki moves to new mexico
louise to mendocino
my insides shift coast to coast
and north to south -

    Like a martini,
     I am well-shaken -

Where will I  come and go,
            frolic and rest,
       now that awareness
                of death
           grants liberty
                to chest,
                 breath -



I read this poem on wabi-sabi.   Though it is a description of autumn, it fulfills the simplicity I feel now inside.


                All around, no flowers in bloom

                    Nor maple leaves in glare,

                      A solitary fisherman’s hut alone

                                On the twilight shore

                                                Of this autumn eve.


                                The poem is by Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241)



I welcome the desert, in me, on the planet, a place simple with little or nothing to block or hide.



Peace today

a crescent moon
lipping the sky,
the day turns
cartwheels in me,
crossing the grass,
pebbles, and rocks -
the only reply
is Yes, Yes,
I am here,
I am guide,
weaving the strands
so bare to the touch
so deeply grained 
with  care



Guide dogs for the blind
are trained -
are we trained to guide
the path of the sun
burning inside
the yearning
of eyes
both seen
and unseen,
the holes
in the beads
on the strand



writing in light and dark
black on white
where is the deepest stirring -
in day
or night -

I feel seen
by the light
stirring  within,
    a cauldron
       a  sun.



Mandu comes in
to be my muse
to sleep in a ball
to offer a fuse



withered ash
unless we call
the muse to fuse
the offerings
that fall
waiting for our wand
to cohere the ball
to hold and throw
back and forth
me to you - you to me -
the guide, our father,
the sun, our mother,
the moon,
watching us fill
and filled
with  love -
The cauldron stirred and stirs -


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