As I begin to awaken my cells with the Rosen sessions, I begin to feel what it was like to have the chemo, pure poison, sweep through my veins. Though I thought I was open to feeling it, I can feel how I clenched, and now I feel "safe" enough to let some of that holding go.
I am influenced by that and the death of the 23 year old who died this week in her sleep and now I hear of another friend of a friend who died this week, at 62, in their sleep. I am living very aware of the preciousness of each moment, and there is such peace in that. I have time for all I want and need to do and, in this moment, there is no rush, hurry, or indecision. There is time. There is space.
Here is a poem from Olav H. Hauge, who writes that, "A good poem should smell of tea. Or of raw earth and freshly cut wood."
- Olav H. Hauge
The great storms
are behind you now.
Back then you never asked
why you were or
where you came from, where you were going,
you were simply a part of the storm,
But it's possible to live
in the everyday as well,
the quiet gray day,
to plant potatoes, rake leaves,
or haul brush.
There's so much to think about here in this world,
one life's not enough.
After work you can roast pork
and read Chinese poetry.
Old Laertes cleared brambles
and hoed around his fig trees,
and let the heroes battle it out at Troy.
This poem is from his book, The Dream We Carry: Selected and Last Poems and is published by Copper Canyon Press. I think it is important that we notice who publishes the books we buy. I will not buy a book published by Harper Collins. I think they stooped too low in this with Sarah Palin, first to publish what is not true and then, to discount it below cost. I think we need to support the publishers with a conscience, who weigh the cost of the words with the value of the trees.