May all my days be holy to me !
This is what joyous wisdom
Is always, always praying in me
May all my days be holy to me.
~ Friedrich Nietzsche
In that first hardly noticed moment in which you wake,
coming back to this life from the other
more secret, moveable and frighteningly honest world
where everything began,
there is a small opening into the new day
which closes the moment you begin your plans.
What you can plan is too small for you to live.
What you can live wholeheartedly will make plans enough
for the vitality hidden in your sleep. Continue reading
I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter,
Up vistaed hopes, I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
From those strong feet that followed,
~ Francis Thompson Continue reading
Some days I am a nature mystic ~ ~ ~
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
More posts that feature Wendell Berry:
Today we surround ourselves with the Green Robe of the Mother Earth, our Grandmother. She is a greening thing, a Flowering Tree that sends up her shoots to shade and delight, to nurture and rest you. She is a stream of running water, a cup to drink, a cleansing bath to restore the body, a benediction to renew each moment.
Let her winds wrap you in gentle, powerful blankets. Let her voice soothe your thoughts and fears, the things of long ago that wound you still. Let her words and sounds comfort you until you hear only the voice of her prayer; the wind, the streams, the flowing rivers, the pounding sea, the rains and thunder, the song of birds, the cry of wolves, the whistle of hawk and eagle, the flutter of tiny moths, the droning ones, the silence.
Today, as you walk in her forest, her generous carpets of mulch and leaf, stone and clay, her beds of cedar and moss, remember to walk there in soft, in reverent, in mindful dance. Greet everything around you — and speak to the earth you touch.
Breathe deeply and slowly, letting all that harms you go.
Receive her gifts. Let the Holy Fire come up and bless you.
Step softly, and walk as if you had no place to go.
~ adapted from Djohariah Toor, Songs from the Mountain