the wild & salty now
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
Parker J. Palmer with a light-hearted metaphor from Rumi — on the unexpected visitor and welcoming her in, serendipitous chaos and all.
through wind and waves in the open sea,
the wind wanting to wipe me sideways,
waves lurching me about,
the constant pressing, the effort,
the all aloneness of it,
a little dot in an ocean wide of green,
the struggle so welcome, so satisfying,
because I was there.
I have climbed mountains and hiked deserts,
raised children and journeyed through a marriage
simply to be there.
You have swung the hammer, sewed the seams,
taken the bus, changed the diapers,
recovered from the illness, done the time.
You run races, you wash dishes,
you row your body through its failings,
you work the work of youth or of aging,
you put your shoulder to it.
Even in prayer’s stillness
you go the distance.
This is the holy pilgrimage:
to meet the given day.
You give yourself to this moment as it is,
hand to hand, all in,
and beyond all accomplishment
you are given the gift
of this life.
You come home with salt in your hair
and a whole wide sea in your heart.
A Bit of Heaven,
and I thought about how important our little bit of time is here on this earth.
The vast importance of now!
To never hold back sharing our love,
our bit of time here with the ones we love.
This morning, as I scrolled through my Facebook feed,
I read posts from various friends,
anniversaries of loss.
The shock of too young loss.
The bewilderment of unexpected loss.
The anger of longing for the love loss.
Persons missing persons.
I listened to the music these friends shared.
Music chosen in a very personal, intimate way,
helping them deal,
bringing them comfort,
tapping into their passion,
their extreme feelings,
their great oceans of emotion.
Music helping them allow,
helping them to move,
helping them release,
as they remain here, feeling left and bereft.
Music. Always music.
I cried with them,
for my own tsunami of losses.
As their music poured into me,
I felt their particular loss,
and I stood along side them and held them in love.
I honor the grieving hearts of the world.
I honor the gift, and power, of music.
Amy Lloyd (AL)