poetry, blossoms, presence

I come across a quote that I love.  I write it down, again.  How many times will I write these words, how long until they’re etched into my being forever?  I will write them for as long as it takes.

If you attend to yourself
and seek to come into your presence,
you will find exactly
the right rhythm for your life.

~ John O’Donohue

Self, presence, rhythm, life.

I start the day with coffee and poetry.  Tears begin to fill my eyes with each successive poem read, eventually a few tears spilling onto my cheek, the carefully chosen words tenderly arranged upon the page, the poet’s page, now my page, a bridge from the poet’s heart to mine.  There is a tipping point, the skin around my eyes holding initial tears, then my eyes unable to hold even one more, a point of crossing over, first containing then reaching capacity then allowing for release, the poetry in that.

Rhythms, rituals, practices, supports.  Tuning in, leaning in.  Trust.

We drive to D.C. to see the cherry blossoms.  It’s windy and chilly but much warmer than last year, and no masks required.  I smile at so many people and receive many smiles in return.  This feels good, to see whole faces, smiling faces, and whole blooms, feels good to peer at buds and sense imminent openings.  I’m almost ready, they whisper and I tell them that I see them, hear them.  I praise them for their knowing, of how long to keep it all close and when to let it all go, when to unfold into their fullest expression, unaware of how deeply their beauty touches the hearts of so many, simply doing what they do, though perhaps, maybe—yes, I think so—sensing that all the smiles reflect their way of being.  They lean in, they find exactly the right rhythm, they embody presence.

I make pictures, make notes, and when I tuck into the covers at night, I lean into the truth of that day, the collection of days which make a week, this week, a tipping point when one day ends and another begins, a container, some capacity, some eventual release.  I lean into that rhythm, that poetry, come into my presence.

P.S. Wanna write with me? And try a short meditation? Registration is open for April's The Quiet Page. Join the live gathering, or sign up for the digital version to enjoy on your own time. All details right here.