If you felt your life with both hands, you are now ready for the Bloomfelt adventure...
FAITH
I want to write about faith,
about the way the moon risesover cold snow, night after night,
faithful even as it fades from fullness, slowly becoming that last curving and impossible sliver of light before the final darkness.
But I have no faith myself I refuse it even the smallest entry.
Let this then, my small poem, like a new moon, slender and barely open, be the first prayer that opens me to faith.
-- David Whyte
Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into the conversation. The kettle is singing, even as it pours you a drink. The cooking parts have left their arrogant aloofness and seen the good in you at last. All the birds and the creatures of the world are unutterably themselves. ,
In Your Company
Up early, my breath still
visible in the coffee, the stars
still conversing in their glitter
before our noise makes them
retreat. I feel the groove of my
awe. There is a comfort in this.
Up early, alone, standing on the
same shore as those before me;
staring at the same pins of light,
feeling the same ounce of wonder,
the way a small wave lapping at the
bottom of a cliff briefly feels every
small wave that has lapped
there before.
Mark nepo.
