This week's poem is about what we hear in the spaces between all the noise. All meditation practices and all beginnings of art start with such a listening.
But I will try. Sometimes my
heart trembles like a butterfly
in a jar and I'm afraid to let it
out. Yet there are days my heart
is a mountain on which my life
grows. Sometimes when deeply
alone, I can hear the bead of
silence renewing the beginning,
a drop from nowhere enlivening
each moment. This is where my
questions live, in the quiet center
that illuminates our eyes. I believe
the heart-breaking music that pries
us open is the sound of the world
turning on its axis. I believe the
souls kept in the heart become a
tribe. They drum our memory of
them into a sweetness that joins
life and death. No matter the
passage, trust the process you
are in. Receiving the down-
pour, we rise with the stream.
A Question to Walk With: What kind of process are you in right now? What is the world saying to you? Where do you sense you are being led?
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