weeds and wheatLet the weeds and wheat grow together
until the harvest.
Your difficulties belong.
What angers and seduces you,
what pains you or confounds you,
are pages of the book.
They are your teachers.
They are the rough desert
where your savior abides.
The story of grace
has many chapters,
and much suspense.
Read the whole book,
and keep in your heart
the gift of hope:
knowing there is wheat
among the weeds
the Faithful One
knows how to harvest,
knowing the story
isn’t over yet.
The weeping cherries have cried their last for me this spring and are spent and ragged from their bouts with this wracking grief
We have eaten cake and shared a toast or two, full of promises and new love
The dogwoods and lilacs having waited, now bloom just for me perfumed air follows me for all these miles
My heart is still full and empty at the same time, life is always bitter and always sweet. always both at once.
Flaming bushes hatch their eggs and throw holy joy into the blue sky
My tears find their way to the ocean, to mingle with their brothers and sisters
Freedom is never free, the cost is always found on the edge of a cruel mans sword
I lay on feathers of lost innocence those birds plucked for my dinner I will eat with relish
My body, still adjusting to this new age, burns away the old days, realizing this present moment is all I have
What does it mean that I spoke, for a minute, about you, about good hair, you in a suit and tie, aesthetically pleasing to the eye and ear?
I wonder what will become of me in these nexts, in these upcomings, in these wild, deep blue yonders
My new friend, Khalid Bin Al Kamaal reminds me:
‘Don’t wander off alone in thought lest you dear feel lost’ – I have not listened to his well-intended advice
I am forever lost to my own thinking, forever making towards the light of my own future, forever stepping into the now of my own footsteps,
forever inhabiting my own self, forever revealing my own hearted purpose for be-ing here, forever knowing myself as I am known
Over and over I find new truth, for better or worse, I am that I am
The road in the end taking the path the sun had taken,
into the western sea, and the moon rising behind you
as you stood where ground turned to ocean:
no way to your future now but the way your shadow
could take, walking before you across water,
going where shadows go, no way
to make sense of a world that wouldn’t
let you pass, except to call an end
to the way you had come,
to take out each frayed letter you had brought
and light their illumined corners; and to read
them as they drifted on the late western light;
to empty your bags; to sort this and to leave that;
to promise what you needed to promise all along,
and to abandon the shoes that brought you here
right at the water’s edge, not because you had given up
but because now, you would find a different way to tread,
and because, through it all, part of you would still walk on,
no matter how, over the waves.
From PILGRIM : Poems by David Whyte
Once in a while
I just let time wear on;
Leaning against a solitary pine
As does the whole universe.
Ah, who can share
This solitude with me?